#otherwise they DO look chapped

[forcebookish]

did someone seriously put in the tags that they should have just 'made' sebastian's lips actually chapped as if that is a reasonable thing to do to another human being

let's just peel off a layer of skin on one of the most sensitive parts of your body every filming day

you know. for cinema

?????

[intcrastra]

Brainrotting abt Gallagher again:

So like. What is NEEDED for him to be able to assimilate traits of another person? Does he need to kill them? Ingest the DNA (him or the Meme)?? Just observe them & work from there??? WHAT IS IT????

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (8)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n : I had to cut some scenes, explained in the notes below, to be saved for a bonus chap or drabble. Also, I altered the outline, and this story isn't ending with 9 as originally intended. Happy Chem Ov release day! Enjoy 🖤

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The reader is left confused by Ewan's online stunt. If he really is content with keeping things casual, then why is he acting otherwise? Tensions reach their peak and Ewan is forced to face the consequences of the arrangement.

Day or night, Ewan will answer your call. 

Even when you seem overly irate at him, greeting him with, “Ewan, what the fuck was that picture?”

He exhales haughtily, your tone almost bringing him some twisted sense of pleasure. Like a ‘this is what you get’ type of reaction. Was he 7 or 27? He’s been labeled sensitive before, but right now, he can’t muster the energy to care.

“Hello to you too, darling,” he says, smoke billowing out of his lips as he lounges on his apartment balcony in London. He had convinced himself that his worries about you and Matt vanished the moment he reaffirmed you as his to the world. In this day and age, in your profession, that can easily be accomplished by something called a hard launch. The first image he posted was supposed to do just that, but the internet has a fickle memory. 

Several months had passed with nothing concrete circulating about you and Ewan, leading fans to readily accept the possibility that you were now dating Matt, prompted by the recent Deuxmoi feature. Granted, Ewan was spotted sneaking out of your building once, but what does that really prove?

Unfortunately, some others spun the story beyond recognition, protected by the anonymity afforded by their black mirrors. Aided with nothing but conjecture, they took it upon themselves to accuse you of infidelity. 

All in all, it had been an eventful 24 hours. His impulsive act of possessiveness quickly turned into a mutable gossip headline.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you reply immediately. “Why would you post that? I didn’t even know you took it in the first place.”

“I was doing you a favour. Don’t you see? People are under the impression that we’re still together.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Darling, you know it matters. It’s not a good look that you were spotted with someone else, you know what people are like,” he said. 

“Oh, thank you so much for saving me from public ridicule, Ewan,” you say, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Since when do you care about what people say? You stay offline for this exact reason.”

“I know some mean things were being said about you.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” you insist, but you no longer sound sure.

“I’m doing you a favour,” he says. “If that picture remains, then it’s basically a ‘fuck you’ to all the people who accuse you cheating on me.”

“How can I cheat on you, Ewan? We’re not together.”

He bristles at that statement, the truth that sits unpleasant in the back of his mind. It hurts that you’re right. “You know what I mean,” he musters. 

He hears nothing for a while, save for some shuffling in the background. Are you screaming your frustrations into your pillow? Is your fist raised at the skies, cursing his name? Tell him you hate him, and he will crumble. The three words will come out of him unrestrained. I love you, followed by, please don’t leave me. 

But they already have spilled out of him, lost among his tearful pleas in the car. That night in September, he crumbled and he lost you anyway. What good would it do now? What difference would it make?

You finally speak, and he hears the frustration in your voice, even as it softens, “You’re so fucking infuriating.”

He can’t help but chuckle, the sound low and easy, “Hey, baby, you’re the one who called me.”

But your next words wipe the smile right off his face. “Ewan… this isn’t going to be the last of it. Sooner or later, we’ll have to make it known that we’re not as in love as everyone thinks.”

He frowns, not accepting that you’re pressing on the topic. “Why?”

“Your memory must be so twisted, Ewan,” you sigh, and he can picture you shaking your head, “Don’t you have that ironclad PR arrangement for your new film?”

His chest tightens. Leave it to you to be the bearer of harsh truths. “That… That might not happen.”

“Might not? Oh, for fuck’s sake, you didn’t quit, did you?”

“No, I didn’t quit,” he answers quickly, trying to keep his voice steady. “But can we not talk about the film? It’s not what matters right now.”

“But it does, Ewan,” you insist, the concern in your voice gnawing at him, “you’ve got this important thing, and I… what if I want out? What if I want something real?”

“Something… real.” It's like a punch to his gut, nightmare fuel, and he scrambles for a response. “Like what?”

“I don’t know… I just – ”

“This isn’t real enough for you?” There is no hiding the vulnerability in his voice now. It wouldn’t even work if he tried. “I… I’m not…”

“Ewan.”

You refuse to answer his question, and he thinks it’s for the best. He responds with his usual, “Darling.”

“What are you going to do about that picture?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” he finally decides. 

“What?”

“I’ll get rid of it.”

“Okay. Good.” He can hear the relief in your voice, but he’s not done yet. 

“But you can’t get rid of us,” he says firmly, leaving no room for negotiation. “I won’t let you.”

You groan, “Ewan… ”

His reply is curt, daring you to disagree, “Darling.”

He’s met with a long and uncomfortable silence, the air thick with everything left unsaid. He needs to break it. He needs a diversion. “Are you home?” he asks.

“Why?”

Even over the line, he can feel you pulling away, like your tether to him is loosening. He can’t let that happen again. “Are you still angry with me?”

“Why?”

“Why don’t I come over and we can hash it out?” His voice drops into that rhythm, the one he knows you couldn’t resist. 

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Maybe so,” he admits, a small smile playing on his lips, “but I want you.”

He waits with bated breath, ready to run out the door at your word.

“I can’t believe you, Mitchell,” you sigh, your amusement at him bleeding through. It’s all he needs.

“See you soon, darling.”

All throughout the night, he doesn’t let you go. The moment he steps through your door, the tension from the call dissolves into something more primal, something neither of you can resist. Every touch feels like a desperate attempt to hold onto a love that might slip away, even if just for a moment.

Deep down, he knows, just as you do, that this can’t last. But as the night stretches on and he holds you close, he pushes that thought away, burying it in the recesses of his mind. 

This is enough, even for now. 

And so the song remains the same.

Clad in full costume, you tread the halls of the set, your posture noticeably straighter. Alyna’s attire has a way of transforming you, making each step purposeful, each glance sharp. The familiar weight of the prop weapons at your side makes you feel like a true fighter. 

The Watford studio is buzzing with energy as the Entertainment Weekly photoshoot unfolds, the set alive with activity. It is one of the actual sets used for the show, so you feel right at home - Alyna Rivers in her natural habitat. 

You weave through the crowd, careful to avoid Ewan, whose presence you can never shake off. You’ve never actually been together, in a big group setting such as this, since the beginning of the arrangement. The cast definitely knows something is going on, especially after Ewan’s last daring post on Instagram. Ewan hadn’t deleted the post – he simply deactivated his profile instead. You noticed it the next day when you tried to check, only to find his account gone.

The realisation left you conflicted. On one hand, it meant the picture wasn’t out there anymore. But on the other, it felt like a temporary fix, a way of avoiding the real issue rather than confronting it head-on. It was a pause, not an ending. The post still existed technically, suspended in some middle realm. 

Since the cast is not privy to the sordid details of your arrangement, you think it best to keep interactions with him at a minimum. It had been constantly nagging at you, the thought of being with him but not really. Are you even allowed to hold his hand in front of your friends? Won’t that be crossing the line, breaking the rules that he set when he promised that, you won’t be his and he won’t be yours?

Alyna would never, not in a hundred years, allow herself to be put in this position. Especially not by Aemond Targaryen, of all people.

Just as you start to relax, Matt materialises by your side, a wide grin plastered on his face.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the fiercest bastard in the realm,” Matt says, looking every bit as Daemon with his Targaryen blacks and silver-blonde wig, giving you an exaggerated once-over. “Looking for your next conquest?”

“Careful, Matthew,” you shoot back, smirking. “Alyna’s got a list, and you’re edging pretty close to the top.”

“Good to know I’m on your mind, and as a top priority, nonetheless,” he teases, nudging you playfully. “But let’s be real, you’d miss me too much.”

You laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “Miss your terrible jokes, maybe.”

“You love my humour,” he insists. “I’m just saying, when you get tired of shooting arrows and swinging swords, let me know. I would like to take you out into the real world.”

You raise an eyebrow, cheeks heating up. He caught you off guard, so thank the gods for the sheer boldness that Alyna wears like skin, rubbing off on you as you stand in her shoes. “Is Daemon asking Alyna on a date, Smithy?”

“Depends,” he quips, a sly grin on his face. “Is it working?”

Before you can respond, Tom saunters over, clearly not one to miss out on the fun. “What’s this I hear? Matt finally working up the nerve to ask his on-screen sidekick out? Either I’m going mad or my five espresso shots are working.”

“Watch it, you,” you warn him playfully, unable to suppress a grin. “Alyna’s still got some arrows left. And I’m not his sidekick.”

Tom smirks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re all talk.”

“Want to test that theory?” you challenge, raising an imaginary bow. Matt lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest as if struck.

“See? Deadly,” Matt says, winking at you. “So, what do you say? Coffee, next week? Somewhere far from dragons and politicking?”

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. “You know, that doesn’t sound half bad. As long as you promise not to reenact your last attempt at flirting.”

“Ouch,” Matt laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll do my best.”

As the photographer calls for everyone to take their places, you catch a glimpse of Ewan watching from a distance, his jaw clenched. The amusement in Matt’s eyes tells you he’s noticed too.

“You’re playing with fire, you know,” you whisper to Matt as you walk toward the set.

He grins, lowering his voice. “I wasn’t called the Rogue Prince for no reason. Besides, I am the blood of the dragon.”

“Sure you are,” you reply, but you are unable to ignore the thrill of Ewan’s intense focus. 

The set buzzes with activity, cast members instructed to maintain their character’s demeanour for the photographs. The Greens go first, with their designated groupings, with Ewan and Gayle sharing a close-up shot. From where you stand behind the cameras, you can feel Ewan’s gaze locked on you, his presence heavy and distracting. After a while, you feel the need to step away, walking further to the side. 

He remains silent, his focus clearly split between you and Matt, who keeps up a steady stream of clever remarks that make you laugh. Each one seems to darken Ewan’s mood further. The tension becomes so palpable that the director finally calls out, “Ewan, can we get your attention over here, please? You’re off your mark.”

Liv and Phia, still awaiting their cues, scurry over to where you stand. Liv leans in with a knowing smirk on her face, whispering in your ear. “Trouble in paradise?” Of course they’ve noticed Ewan’s odd behaviour. 

“More like purgatory,” Phia quips, scrunching her nose.

“Something like that,” you murmur, eyes flicking over to Ewan, who’s now talking with Gayle and the director, looking over the shots taken, though his attention doesn’t stray far from you.

“Well, if you need an escape route, just say the word,” Liv offers, her voice full of concern.

“Do you want me to stare back at Ewan?” Matt cheekily offers, making you punch him on the shoulder. He only laughs openly, the sound free and uninhibited and just Matt. 

“Thanks, guys,” you say, grateful for their friendship. But you know there’s no easy way out of this tangled mess. Not with the way Ewan is watching you and Matt like he’s one step away from bringing The Battle Above The Gods Eye to fruition.

Not long after, it’s time for the Blacks to step onto the set. As you move into position, you can feel Ewan’s gaze practically searing into your back. You fight the urge to laugh. Or grimace. Or shoot him a questioning look. The idea of Ewan in his full Aemond costume brooding over you is something indeed. The fangirl in you would have been sent reeling, if only he wasn’t so fucking infuriating. 

You spot Liv, Tom, and Phia swooping in like a rescue squad with a mission to derail Ewan’s brooding. Phia, ever the animated theater kid, practically throws herself in front of Ewan, waving her hands like she’s recounting the world’s most thrilling tale.

“Ewan, did you catch that last shot of Helaena? Absolute perfection,” she says, grinning.

Tom saunters up, “Care to explain why you are standing here lurking like some stalker? You’re scaring the crew, mate.”

Phia gently nudges Ewan away from your line of sight. “Come on, Ewan. Let’s go for a smoke, it’s stuffy in here.”

Ewan’s clearly torn, but he’s powerless against his friends’ instigation. You bite back a laugh as you see him getting pulled in every direction. Your makeshift rescue team really needs to get their act together, but you love them anyway. The camera snaps away, and you focus on your poses. Knowing that Phia and the gang are running interference, you’re free to enjoy the moment and be Alyna as the photoshoot demands. You can save the enjoyment from watching him squirm later. 

The photoshoot wraps up in the evening and everyone begins to gather their things, preparing to leave. Cast members chat, stretch, and discuss plans for the week.

“So, coffee next week?” Matt asks again, this time with a bit more seriousness.

“Yeah,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll see what I have scheduled then I’ll give you a call.”

“Great. I’ll even let you pick the place. Well, I’ll be off, love, I’m meeting my sister.” he says. Then, as if sensing something, he leans in closer. “But I’d better give you something to remember me by.”

Before you can react, Matt pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you warmly. The embrace lingers just a moment longer than necessary, and as he pulls back, he plants a soft, teasing kiss on your cheek. You catch the mischievous glint in his eyes. What is he up to?

As Matt releases you and heads out of the studio, you spot Ewan coming toward you, his presence all too familiar. He doesn’t say anything at first, and just stands there, his silence more charged than anything he could have spoken. His expression is stoic, but with the way his lips are pursed and his nostrils are flared, you would say that he’s bothered. He’s jealous.

“You seemed to be having fun,” he finally says, his tone casual, though the tension is unmistakable.

“Mmm, maybe I was,” you reply, meeting his gaze head-on. “Is there a problem?”

Ewan’s eyes narrow slightly, but he shakes his head. “Not at all. Just… nevermind. I’m sure you know, we’ve been booked for a magazine feature coming up in a few days.”

You freeze. “Yeah, I heard. What about it?”

“I’m just making sure that you’re okay with it, darling.”

“It’s work, Ewan,” you reply tersely. “We’ll deal with it.”

The tension breaks when Fabien swoops in, his flawless smile in place. “So, you’re stealing Matt away from me now?” he teases, and there’s an edge to his question. He’s still on the fence about you and Ewan, as he feels protective of his friend. But he’s aware that there’s no simple right or wrong here. You both hurt each other; that much is clear. 

“Maybe,” you quip back, shrugging with feigned innocence. “He seems to like my company.”

Fabien laughs, though there’s a hint of something serious beneath it. “I’ll allow it – this time. But don’t forget, I’ve got dibs on him for the next round of drinks.”

As Fabien’s laughter fades, Ewan’s voice cuts through the lightheartedness. “I don’t think she needs your protection, Fabien.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, rolling your eyes. “I don’t need looking after, Ewan.”

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his voice dropping to something darker. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop.”

There’s a challenge in his words, one that sends a thrill of anticipation through you, even as you know it’s a dangerous game you’re all playing. The fire between you smoulders, waiting for the next spark to ignite it. Is Matt that spark? No, you realise, both your actions will be enough to bring everything crashing down.

For now, you step away, leaving Ewan to stew in his misguided jealousy. 

“See you around, Fabs,” you wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a hug goodbye. “I’ll see you for our shoot, yeah?” you tell Ewan, making it clear that you’re not up for another dalliance in between. 

He gets the hint, nodding tersely. But he doesn’t just let you go, not without making his mark, the thing he ached so badly to do in front of Matt, but couldn’t. 

He briefly casts a glance around the room to make sure no one else is hovering, then presses a soft against your lips, leaving you no time to protest. 

You’re exhausted. You’re frustrated. You shouldn’t give in to this, but you do. He feels right; he feels like home. 

If home is a Motel 6 along the highway, ready to kick you out at a moment’s notice. Isn’t that just a knife in the gut?

You pull away after a second, and he smiles, his thumb lightly grazing your cheek.

Fabien shakes his head, a feeling of warmth rising within him at the sight of his two friends who clearly belong together. If only they would get their heads out of their asses.

You seem to remember his presence, pushing away from Ewan’s hold.

Fabien can only roll his eyes. 

Only two days later, and you’re back to work once more. The British Vogue photoshoot has its focus on high fashion, set against the backdrop of an American West-inspired ranch. It doesn’t dwell on you and Ewan as celebrity figures, which is why you agreed to the shoot in the first place. 

Walking onto set, you’re struck with awe at the dramatic tableau of worn wooden fences, hay bales, and lasso props. But your amazement reaches its absolute peak when Ewan emerges, in full cowboy attire. 

Fuck. You bite your lip, and you can almost hear your heart pounding. Unbeknownst to you, the crew notices your flustered state, but they think it’s just you admiring your boyfriend as expected. 

He meets your eyes from across the room, then saunters over to you, that characteristic smirk set on his lips. Your breath catches in your throat, when he tips his hat and greets, “Howdy, darling.”

“Why, hello, good sir,” you try to match his tone, giving a playful curtsy. 

“Ready to give them a show?” he asks, and you’re sure if he’s referring to the photoshoot or the possibility that the two of you might have to play at being a couple as these people expect. You opt to believe the former. 

As the shoot progresses, the tension between you and Ewan becomes almost unbearable. You’re clad in an elaborate, haute couture cowgirl outfit. A sculptural corset made of brown leather, with a tailored vest on top. A floor-length skirt with a high slit reaching your upper thigh, dyed to a rich gradient of burnt sienna. Knee-high heeled boots. A leather choker with a central silver pendant rests on your neck, dangling provocatively. 

For the first set of shots, both of you casually lean against the fence. Ewan poses beside you, watching you with an intensity that is both electrifying and maddening. His gaze is hungry, almost predatory, and you almost forget about the elaborate set around you. Thankfully, each blinding flash of the camera pulls you back into the real world. Keeping you from riding a cowboy right down on the hay bales. How does the saying go? Save a horse…

The photographer snaps you out of it, as he shouts a direction for you to pose solo with a lasso draped over your shoulder. Ewan steps out of the frame, leaning against a wooden post, his eyes locked on you as if he’s trying to memorise every detail of this look. 

“Alright, let’s try a more dramatic pose,” the photographer instructs. “Maybe something with a bit more attitude.”

You adjust your stance, twisting slightly to emphasise the curve of your waist. As you do, you momentarily meet Ewan’s gaze. His eyes are dark with something like desire, and his lips are set in a grim line. 

“I can’t even articulate what you’re doing to me, darling,” Ewan murmurs in your ear, when the photographer calls for a 5-minute break. Set assistants run onto the scene, adding and rearranging props for the next round of shots.

You smirk, “Speak for yourself, Mitchell.”

“Mmm,” he hums, satisfied. 

The next shot calls for Ewan to stand behind you, his arms wrapped around your figure, the position as intimate as can be. Each click of the camera seems to heighten the tension.

His breath is warm against your neck, the sheer proximity electrifying, causing your entire body to heat up underneath the layers of leather and cotton. His heartbeat matches yours, quick and erratic. His voice is a mere whisper, barely audible over the camera clicks. “You’re making this incredibly difficult, you know.”

You tilt your head slightly, “Difficult how, exactly?”

“Keeping my hands off you is the hardest part of my day,” he replies, his voice husky with restrained desire. “It’s like you’re daring me to break every rule we’ve set.”

That you’ve set, you want to correct him, but you bite your tongue. A bitter chuckle escapes you, the sound a mix of frustration and amusement. “So what if I am,” you tease, bending back slightly into his embrace, feeling his body heat against yours. He welcomes your closeness, leaning into you. 

For the next few minutes, it’s a game of seduction and denial, every movement aimed at tormenting the other. The crew, blissfully unaware of the full extent of the tension, is generally pleased about the atmosphere of the shoot. In their minds, you and Ewan are simply leaning into your real-life chemistry and romance.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Little do they know.

In the brightly lit break room, the hum of distant chatter from the set fills the silence between you and Ewan. He’s seated across from you, his gaze unyielding as you check your phone.

His voice breaks the quiet, his tone deceptively casual but laced with curiosity. “Doing anything tomorrow?”

You look up, meeting his eyes, before tentatively answering. “Actually, yes.”

His brows lift, his curiosity piqued. “Care to elaborate, darling?”

You shift in your seat, trying to mask the tension in your voice. “I’m supposed to grab coffee with Matt.”

“Matt.” Ewan’s voice is low as he repeats the familiar name. “Just the two of you?”

“Yes.”

There’s a pause, his expression morphing from curiosity to something more intense. “Is it… is it a date?”

“I think that was implied,” you reply, your tone deliberately nonchalant as you try to maintain control of the conversation.

“Really.” His voice tightens, his response loaded with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

You notice the obvious shift in his demeanour, the way his jaw clenches and his eyes darken. “Why the long face?”

Ewan’s hands ball into fists on the table, his composure breaking. “Fuck, I—”

Before he can finish, you cut him off, your own frustration simmering. “Forget it. Don’t answer that.”

“No, just…” His voice falters, his emotions raw. “I don’t want you to go.”

You blink, taken aback by his admission. “Are you being serious right now, Mitchell?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Ewan’s eyes lock onto yours, filled with a mix of hurt and possessiveness. A concoction borne out of circumstances of his own making. Or had it been you, last September? You can no longer keep track of whose fault reigns over everything. The truth of the matter is, you love him. Of course you do.

But nothing feels right anymore. 

“I don’t know,” you retort, your voice rising slightly, “I hope you are. Because you can’t just say that to me.”

“But I am.” His tone is resigned but unwavering. “I don’t want to watch you with someone else.”

The words hit you like a cold splash of water, freezing you in place. “Then I’m ignoring what you just said. This isn’t fair to me.”

His face falls. “You can’t just ignore it. It’s not that simple.”

You stand up abruptly, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. “Well, I don’t see how this conversation is going to help anything.”

He stands as well, his expression pained and conflicted. “I just – damn it. Wait a minute, darling – ”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Look, if you’re going to act like this, then maybe we need to rethink – ”

“No,” he interrupts, his voice desperate. “I don’t want to rethink anything. I just… I need you to understand that this isn’t easy for me.”

The room falls silent, both of you breathing heavily. The unresolved problem lingers, the weight of it all hanging heavily between you. 

You take a final look at him, feeling a mixture of anger and longing. “I’m gonna go get some air.”

Without waiting for a response, you turn and walk out of the break room, the doors closing sharply behind you. Ewan is left alone, frustration clear on his face as he stares at the empty space where you once stood.

Ewan is sprawled on his couch, a half-empty bottle of beer resting on the coffee table. The warm light of a lamp casts a muted glow over his apartment, which is littered with the remnants of his evening alone. He has seen the latest headlines about you and Matt, enjoying a date in Hyde Park.

Hyde Park Outing: Is it Love in the Air for these HBO Actors?

He tries to ignore them all, but the nagging bitterness won’t let him be. The images and headlines keep flashing in his mind. Unable to shake the frustration, he sends a quick message to Tom and Phia, inviting them over for a casual distraction.

A short while later, they arrive, carrying a six-pack and a box of takeout. Ewan greets them with a tired smile, which barely masks his despondence.

“Evening,” he says, opening the door wider to let them in. “Glad you could make it.”

Phia gives him a sympathetic look as she steps inside, setting down the food. “We came prepared. Looks like you could use a break.”

Tom follows, his eyes scanning the cluttered room. “And some beers. We figured you might need them.”

Ewan leads them to the living room, where they settle onto the couch. As they crack open the beers and start munching away, the initial wariness fades, replaced by casual conversation. His two guests are careful not to broach the topic of you, but they know it’s inevitable. Soon enough, it will be time to get down to business, which is essentially what they came for. They’re the rescue squad after all. 

“So… we have a feeling we know what’s been eating at you,” Tom says, taking a swig of his beer. “We saw the headlines, mate. Don’t even deny it. It’s gotta be rough.”

Ewan grimaces, his hand gripping the bottle a little tighter. “Yeah, the headlines. they’re , uhhhh … oh, what does it even matter?”

Phia raises an eyebrow, glancing at him. “Come on, kid. It matters. You can talk to us. We weren’t cast as siblings for no reason.”

Ewan lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “We have this thing, this casual thing. But seeing her with someone else... it’s like a punch to the gut.”

Tom nods sympathetically. “I get it. I’m sure it was fun at first, but – ” 

Phia’s concern wins over her, leading her to interject, “Ewan, maybe you need to bloody talk to her. Figure out where you both stand.”

Ewan shakes his head, though his expression softens, and his unmistakable vulnerability shines through. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to see where that leads.”

Phia reaches out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “Ask her why she ended things last year.”

“I know why – ”

“Just… ask her again? You might find out more than you expect.”

Tom waits a beat before butting in with a light-hearted chuckle, “It’s better than letting it fester. At least you’ll know where you stand. You owe her that much.”

Ewan huffs out a laugh, the bitterness in his voice giving way to reluctant amusement. “Maybe. I just don’t want to make things worse.”

“Mate,” Tom shakes his shoulder, “look at the state of things. How in the bloody hell can you make it even worse? I don’t think it’s possible.”

Phia just smirks at his boldness, but she agrees, nodding to Ewan, “He’s right, you know.”

Tom raises his beer in a mock toast. “To Aemond and Alyna.”

“Oh, you absolute rascal,” Phia laughs in disbelief. 

But they all clink their bottles together, the gesture a small comfort amidst the confusion. The evening winds down after an hour, and after they depart, Ewan’s mind is still consumed with thought.

Day or night, you will answer Ewan’s call.

“Hello?” your voice patches through after a few rings.

“Darling,” he says, “I think we need to talk.”

💌 next chapter

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Some notes in the margins...

I did have Matt and the reader's date written out, but I thought it seemed superfluous for this one. Maybe in a bonus chapter?

In the next one: 'THE talk', Ewan dealing with stuff for his film, whippets, interviews, MORE headlines... will they finally resolve everything?

Also, if yous want, I can give a glimpse on what would have happened if Matt got the BV shoot instead :)

The end isn't even within reach. More angst to follow. How can there be more, you ask? Let's hash it out below 😉💙

[joelscoffeemachine]

Festival Of Hidden Longings

Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: 2.5k

Summary: After not seeing Joel at the yearly festival, you find him at the stables only to just get caught up in the moment.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, slight smut, softdom!Joel vibes, grinding, slight language, angst (in the end), Jackson era!Joel, lots of kissing. So, so, so sorry if I missed anything.

A/N: pls, don’t hate me after this. hahahah. enjoy please!

part two part three

You didn’t expect him to be at the stables. You figured he’d be at the festival like everyone else was, but of course, he had to be the odd one out.

He was stuffed in the corner of a box stall, hoof jack planted in front of him as he slouched over, engrossed in his work.

He glanced at you, only for a second, his tongue poking out his mouth as he worked meticulously on the furry foot that sat in between his legs. The rhythmic sound of the rasp against the hoof filled the otherwise quiet barn, a stark contrast to the distant laughter and music from the festival.

He finally finished the particular hoof, leaning up with a sigh of relief, using the skin poking out his black t-shirt to wipe the sweat away from his forehead.

His face was flushed from the effort, and a few strands of hair stuck to his damp skin.

“Howdy.” He huffed, sliding his gloves off and placing them on the open stall door, the rough fabric catching slightly on the splintered wood.

His fingers flexed, revealing calloused knuckles that spoke of hard work and hidden strength, the air thick with unspoken words.

The smell of slight shit and horse lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of his labor.

“You are the last person I expected to skip the best festival in town,” you tease, giggling at your own comment.

He steps out of the box stall, slowly sliding the door shut behind him. The metal latch clicks into place with a satisfying sound. He leans on it, arms crossed with his gaze fixed on you, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You looked down at his light brown chaps, dusty and worn, also noticing the jeans hiding underneath, then glancing back at his face, tilting your head.

“Long day?” you murmur, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the way his shoulders sag with exhaustion.

He sighs deeply, hanging his head down low, the weight of the day evident in his posture.

You’d assume his old bones are just giving out on him, a reason for his shitty mood. Or maybe he actually doesn’t think that the festival you and Tommy spent days planning is the best one in town. The thought stings a little, but you push it aside, focusing on the way his fingers absentmindedly trace the grain of the wooden stall door.

A scoff escapes him, shaking his head.

The day went by slow, only now nearing the night, but if he said he didn’t have a bad day he’d be lying.

His shoulders slump slightly, the weight of the day's frustrations evident in his posture.

Hell, being here in the stables around these gentle giants was enough to make him feel at peace with the world. The scent of dust and the soft, rhythmic breathing of the horses provided a comforting backdrop. Besides, it allowed him time to himself, to think about a few things that had been weighing on his mind.

“Just needed some time alone,” he responds, his gaze finally locking onto your own.

The intensity in his eyes speaks volumes. “I do plan on going. Just didn’t wanna deal with them damn people.” His voice carries a mix of weariness and resolve, hinting at the internal struggle he’s been facing.

You raise your eyebrows, a small comforting grin creeping onto your face. It went quiet after a few seconds, being left alone with the blowing noises coming from the horses. The gentle rustling of their movements and the occasional snort filled the space, creating a serene atmosphere.

You sigh sharply, pressing your back up against the stall across from the one he leaned on. The earthy aroma of the stables surrounds you, grounding you in the moment.

“You want me to bring you a drink or something? I can stop by your house, get your guitar.” You say, furrowing your eyebrows with concern.

Your voice is soft, hoping to offer some comfort. The thought of him playing his guitar, the familiar chords filling the air, seemed like it might bring him some solace.

He shakes his head, letting out a quick ‘no’.

His refusal is firm but gentle, a clear indication that he just needs this time to himself. His eyes, however, soften slightly, showing his appreciation for the offer even if he can't accept it right now.

Joel was never one for parties or large crowds. The noise, the chatter, the constant need to engage in small talk—it all wore on him. He usually was able to deal with it for the sake of being friendly, putting on a brave face and enduring the social rituals. But tonight, the heaviness of the world seemed to press down on him a little harder, and he wanted to be alone, needed to be alone. The solitude of the stables called to him, offering a quiet refuge from the chaos.

“No, darlin’. I’m fine.” He responds, his voice steady but low.

He watches you lean your back against the stall he stood across from, the dim light casting soft shadows on your face.

He watched the way your eyebrows furrowed, knowing that look, that look of worry and concern that you always had when you saw him like this. He hated to admit it, but he enjoyed that look on you.

There was something comforting about knowing you cared, even if he couldn't bring himself to fully accept your help.

“Well, the least I could do is keep you company.” You suggest, a shrug of your shoulders as you try to lighten the mood. He lets out a quick chuckle, the sound echoing softly in the quiet stables, but you’re not sure if he caught the meaning of the joke, the playful glint in your eyes going unnoticed.

You and Joel were never exactly close. Sure, you had to accept the fact that his brother married your best-friend, and you’d crack a joke with him every now and then, sharing brief moments of levity during gatherings. But you two never had a full conversation.

Until now.

The silence between you was filled with unspoken words and untapped potential, a connection that had yet to be explored.

He doesn't say anything indicating that he had caught on, only taking a deep breath before moving. His eyes seemed distant, lost in thoughts you couldn't quite reach, but there was a subtle shift in his posture, a hint that he appreciated your presence, even if he couldn't fully express it.

A small smile appeared on his face as you mention keeping him some company. Surprisingly, he didn’t turn you away. It was strange, but not unwelcomed. The smile was brief, almost hesitant, but it warmed the space between you, breaking the barrier that had always seemed to exist.

Joel pushes off the stall, stepping a little closer, the scent of his musk and leather filling the air. It was a comforting mix, natural and familiar, grounding you in the moment. He stands a few inches from you, his presence solid and reassuring.

He runs his fingers through his greying hair, letting out a sigh, his gaze lingering on your form. His eyes traced over you, not in a scrutinizing way, but lust almost.

Maybe he had caught onto the joke. Was it even a joke? Were you joking?

The silence stretched, but it was a companionable one, filled with the quiet understanding that sometimes words weren't necessary.

You swallow hard, him being inches away somehow suffocating you. The heat between you is palpable, making it hard to breathe.

You look away anxiously, your heart pounding in your chest.

His hand finds your jaw, tilting your head up just enough so he could see those pretty eyelashes flutter. His touch is firm, sending shivers down your spine.

“Joel..” you whine, and he gives in.

The feeling of his lips against yours makes you want to melt into his touch, the world around you fading away.

You instantly place your hands on his neck, one in his hair, feeling every strand. His hair is soft and slightly damp from the day's sweat, grounding you in the reality of the moment.

His long arm wrapped around your waist, pressing your warm body into his. The pressure is both comforting and electrifying, making your skin tingle with anticipation.

When he pulls back, you gasp for air, your chest heaving. One hand moves to his arm, holding on for dear life as he presses messy kisses on your neck.

His beard grazes your skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Each kiss is desperate, filled with a hunger that matches your own, and you can't help but arch into him, wanting more.

The moan that escaped you only encouraged him further, a small smirk finding his face as his lips left yours, trailing kisses down your neck, all the way to your collarbone. Each kiss felt like a spark, igniting a fire within you that you couldn't control.

Every time he felt like you weren't close enough, he'd hold you tighter, pulling you flush against him.

The feeling of your body against his nearly sending him into a frenzy, his hands clutching your hips with a possessive grip as he bucked his hips into yours, making you feel how hard you made him. You could feel his heartbeat racing, matching your own.

He let out a deep hum, his facial hair rubbing against your skin just right, eliciting another gasp from you. The sensation was intoxicating, the roughness of his beard contrasting with the softness of his lips.

You could feel the tension building, every touch and kiss pushing you both closer to the edge of doing something you'd both regret.

He sucked on your sensitive skin, earning sharp groans from you that echoed in the quiet room, each sound intensifying the heat between you. Your hands found the plush skin under his shirt, running them up and down, feeling the taut muscles beneath, placing scratches on his lower back that made him shiver and hiss with pleasure.

“Joel, I need you..” You whisper, your voice trembling with desire, he moves his head to look at you, his breath hot against your skin, his eyes dark with longing.

He wanted to give in. The way you looked at him with such pleading eyes, the way your hands felt on his chest, the way your touch set his skin on fire—

“Joel, the hell you doin’ in here?” The familiar voice of Tommy rang through the night as you ran and hid in one of the stalls, trying to control your breathing, your heart pounding in your chest.

A low curse under his breath left Joel as his head perked up. He tensed, knowing that his moment with you was interrupted, his muscles coiling with frustration, his jaw clenching tightly.

“Just takin’ a break from the noise.” He calls back, his voice deep, an underlying growl hiding beneath, betraying his irritation and the raw desire still simmering just below the surface.

His eyes flickered with a mixture of annoyance and longing, the tension in the air was barely visible as he tried to maintain his composure.

“So, you came here?” Tommy questions, eyebrows furrowed.

Joel looks around at the horses, then at his gloves that hung from one of the stall doors. Tommy breaks out into a smile, taking a step closer, close enough to playfully smack Joel on his back.

“Aww, I’m just fuckin’ with you.” Tommy wraps an arm around Joel’s shoulders, forcing him to walk out of the stables with Tommy.

You stay put, finally being able to catch your breath, your heart rate slowly returning to normal.

“Listen, there’s this girl I want you to meet,” Your heart sank, a feeling in your chest you never felt before.

Joel with another girl just five seconds after whatever the fuck that was? A mix of confusion and jealousy churned inside you, your mind racing with thoughts, each one more unsettling than the last. You stood there, rooted to the spot, the weight of the moment pressing down on you as their voices continued to fade into the distance.

Tommy was the same as always, always the one to lighten the mood with humor and jokes. Joel didn’t mind it, but right now, he wished he didn’t have to deal with the jokes. He had more important things, or rather, someone else to deal with.

You could tell Joel shoved Tommy away from him, turning back to the stable as his voice got louder.

“Tommy,” Joel groans, his voice still gruff, “if you’re gonna set me up with another one of these women, it ain’t gon’ work.”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head, not taking Joel’s words as anything serious. The appreciable heat between the two intensified, as Joel's frustration was evident in every tense muscle and furrowed brow.

“C’mon, Joel. She’s been practically droppin’ her panties for you ever since you came to Jackson. Just—” Tommy stops to take a deep breath, the arm that he used to pull Joel back, falling to his side. “Do it f'me, Please?”

Joel slightly squinted at Tommy, the sound of cicadas and the loud music in the distance filling the air.

The night was warm, the humidity making the air thick and heavy. Joel could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, mixing with the craving of your hands on his skin again.

The corners of Joel’s mouth turn downwards in annoyance, a sigh leaving him. His broad shoulders sagged slightly, the realization that he has no choice here hitting him. Although he knew that he’d eventually give in to his little brother's wishes, the reluctance was clear in the furrow of his brow and the tightness of his jaw.

“God damn it,” he mutters, clenching his fists at his sides since his chaps didn’t have pockets.

The rough leather of the chaps brushed against his legs, grounding him in the moment. He’d humor his brother this once, just to get him off his ass. The flickering lights of the distant bonfire and bright fairy lights stretch long shadows, making the night feel even more oppressive.

“Fine, Tommy. I’ll talk to the damn girl,” Joel grumbles.

His voice was low, almost a growl, as he turned on his heel and began to trudge towards the gathering. He could feel Tommy's eyes on his back, a mix of gratitude and amusement that only fueled Joel's irritation.

It went silent after Tommy’s loud laugh.

You moved slowly and quietly towards the door of the stables, peeking around the corner to find the pair gone. The soft glow of the moonlight filtered through the wooden slats, shadows falling on the hay-strewn floor.

A part of you wanted to sigh in relief, but another part of you ached for Joel. For Joel to finish what was started.

The memory of his touch, the way his beard had brushed against your skin, how his sounds sounded when he humped your clothed entrance, lingered in your mind, making your heart race.

You thought about going back to the festival, but the thought of being in the same room as Joel while he hit on someone else after his tongue was so deep in your throat made you feel stupid.

The festival lights twinkled in the distance, and the sound of laughter and music floated through the air, mocking your inner turmoil.

So, you went home. The walk back was filled with the sounds of hoots from owls and the distant hum of the festival, a reminder of what you were leaving behind.

The night felt brutal, each step heavier than the last, as if the weight of your emotions was dragging you down. You reached your doorstep, the familiar creak of the wooden boards underfoot a small comfort. As you entered, the cool air of the house welcomed you, but it did little to soothe the ache in your heart.

[entirelysein-e]

Hiiii! How are you? I've never requested from you before...or at least I don't remember doing so.

👉👈 could I maybe request headcanons for what the first kiss would be like with Genya and Kyojuro and maybe...Zenitsu? If you don't like those picks of characters,.then I'd be open to other demon Slayer characters.

Thank you so much! Feel free to make it smutty if you feel it could be. Otherwise I'm super happy with fluffy and super cute and blushy blushy

Oh I can so do that hehe 🫶 I already have this in wips with 3 other characters but fuck 'em

Some cute tooth rotting fluff coming right up!

『 First Kisses』

☼ synopsis: Your first kiss with them

☼ characters: Genya / Kyojuro / Zenitsu

☼ wc: 1,3k

☼ cw: gn!reader, first kisses

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹ Genya:

✧ It was nerve wrecking for him to even think about leaning in and kissing you right on the lips

✧ So nerve wrecking that he had to wipe his palms on his trousers to rid himself of the sweat that built there

✧ He knew your lips felt soft, they kissed his hands and the scar on his face countless times but what if he was bad at it? what if you hated him after?

✧ It took him countless times to actually kiss you and he always got so mad at himself after, chewing the inside of his lip or biting his tongue until he tasted the coppery taste of blood

✧ Why can't he just kiss you? You deserve a partner that shows how much they love you

✧ Genya leaned in again after making sure you get home safely after your date but kissed the corner of your lips again

✧ Every time he leaned in, he got a little closer to your lips and you could see the way he beat himself up again on the inside

✧ Gently you grabbed his cheeks and leaned in to kiss the scar on his cheekbone once again but didn't pull back, your lips hovering over his

✧ You didn't want to force him, giving him a moment to decide what to do

✧ But you felt his lips on yours just mere seconds later, a little chapped and the kiss was rough

✧ You knew it was his first kiss, not your very first but the first with him and you didn't expect it to be perfect

✧ His lips moved against yours roughly, almost overly excited to the point where he pinned you against the door unknowingly

✧ His body gravitated towards yours, wanting to be so close

✧ You pulled away for air and he looked like a kicked puppy, thinking you hated it but your little love sick smile told him everything he needed to know

✧ You wanted to be with a whirlwind of emotions and that's exactly what you got - and you loved every second of it

✧ "Good night, Genya" you whispered and kissed him once more before going inside

✧ Genya stood in front of your door for a moment longer, his brain struggling to process that he just really got to kiss you, his cheeks slowly turning pink

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹ Kyojuro:

✧ Kyojuro and you both never kissed anyone before, the nerves about it obvious

✧ Although he left the decision to you, wanting you to initiate when you're ready for it, scared he'll push you to do something you're not ready for yet or don't know how to say no to

✧ But he was more than ready to finally feel your lips on his, the act of kissing so intimate to him

✧ Perhaps he got a whole lecture by the sound pillar before, learning the etiquette of what to do and what not

✧ But he patiently waited for you to lean into him, to capture his lips into a loving kiss, to steal his breath away with your love

✧ Kyojuro was a patient man but the way you struggled to initiate it made it hard to hold back

✧ So he didn't hold back when you two were sitting on the Engawa of the Rengoku residence

✧ His haori was secured around your shoulders to keep the cold breeze of the night away

✧ You two spent a beautiful day together, now sharing some sweet Dango as a dessert while watching the crackling fire in front of you

✧ Every time he spoke you turned towards him, your eyes flickering to his lips after every second word and at first he thought the sweet sauce was stuck to his lips but that wasn't the case

✧ "My flame, is there something you would like to do?" He asked politely, the corner of his lips curling up to a smile

✧ You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks when he asked the question and struggled to find words, your eyes however were glued to his lips

✧ "Perhaps you would like for me to kiss you?" He asked more bold this time, waiting for your permission before he even leaned in

✧ The moment you nod softly however, his lips are you in an almost possessive way

✧ It was his first kiss but he took the lead, taking your breath away with how good it made you feel

✧ Hips lips were soft and you could definitely taste some of the dango you two just shared on them but that made it so much sweeter

✧ His hands respectfully rested on your neck and cheek when he pulled away, looking deeply into your eyes and you saw a side of him you've never seen before

✧ Kyojuro looked at you with so much love and adoration, now being absolutely certain that you're the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with

✧ A single little kiss held more power than both of you assumed so you leaned back in, pecking his lips until both of you had to stop

✧ heavy breathing shared between the two of you, lips slightly swollen and your hearts burning

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹ Zenitsu:

✧ Zenitsu was never silent about his crush and his feelings for you, everyone knew that he was head over heels for you

✧ He doesn't mind showering you in his words, telling you how beautiful you are, how happy you make him, how much he loves you

✧ But when it comes to physical intimacy? Holding hands? Kissing you? The thought alone makes him so giddy he almost faints

✧ He wants his first kiss with you to be as perfect as you are to him but that's impossible - no first kisses are magical which is what gets him panicking

✧ He tries to play it down when you two talk about your firsts and shockingly enough he learns that he's not your first kiss

✧ So you could compare him and if you hated how he kissed? That would absolutely shatter his heart

✧ “Oh I've kissed so many people before!” He laughed nervously after that sentence left his lips

✧ It was so obviously a lie but you acted along, teasing him about it and leaning in, taunting him to show off his skills and kiss you

✧ Of course he leaned away and told you he can't just take your breath away unprepared like that. What if you pass out?

✧ At this point it was hard to stifle a laugh so you pouted “don't you want to kiss me?” You asked slightly dramatic and saw even more panic bubble up in your boyfriend

✧ His heart was beating like the heart of a hummingbird as he felt the sweat build on his palms

✧ “I do but… I never-” he mumbled, fumbling with the right words to say but you looped your arms around his neck, lips dangerously close to his now

✧ “May I kiss you?” You asked sweetly, not making fun of his inexperience but instead of an answer he leaned in, bumping noses with you on accident

✧ Zenitsu was so embarrassed he wanted to sink into the ground but you didn't let him ponder, gently cupping his cheeks and leaning in

✧ The kiss was a little messy, almost sloppy but the shaking in his hands got less, the longer it lasted

✧ And the love struck expression on his face when you pulled away, made you want to kiss him over and over again

[parfaitblogs]

waiting room ❀ s. reid x reader

in which he breaks up with you, and your life slowly falls apart. so obviously you should see him?

pairing: ex!spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: implied alcohol reliance? lots of nothing happening not even a gun to my head could get me to write action... do not read if emotionally stable because i sure wasn't when i wrote this. word count: 1.9k a/n: i never write in second person so if there's a cheeky she her they them somewhere in this ignore it!!! i do not know what i am doing!!! probably not proofread enough. also no happy ending i hate those let the people cry i say! i haven't posted my writing in like three years be nice...

also posted here on my ao3 !

"Hey."

"Hi."

Awkward silence. Horribly awkward silence.

Your eyes darting around a bar that you found all too familiar, with decor that you could paint on a canvas with your eyes closed, and such a distinct smell that you could imagine it from miles away. You didn't think you'd ever forget the way the air moved in this bar, or the sound of the same three bands singing every Friday night on repeat. You knew all the words to their songs by now. And the bartender knew your name, embarrassingly so. 

And even over the sound of patrons talking, and the clinking of glasses and every other overwhelming sound that drove you crazy, you felt like you could hear your heartbeat slamming against your chest. Your lips chapped, never wetting no matter how many times you produced the saliva in your otherwise dry mouth to lick them. Hands wrapped around an ice cold glass that did nothing but numb some part of your body, to accompany the numb feeling in your chest. 

You looked better than you felt, but he was knocking both parts of you out of the park. Maybe that's why your mouth was so dry. You'd tell yourself that it is, at least. He's too attractive to talk to. But you could talk to him. You did talk to him. All the time. About everything, and nothing. Because that's what you two did. 

And yet; the awkward silence. 

He cleared his throat, and it prompted you to take a sip of your drink, mixed alcohol falling down your throat and leaving a burn that shouldn't comfort you, but did. You didn't pull a face at the taste of it the way you used to, and you found yourself wishing that part of you that you despised was back. 

Maybe he would tease you for it again.

"How's work?"

The words felt foreign on your lips. It wasn't really what you wanted to ask him, but every inquiry you had died on your tongue before you could ask them, nothing feeling good enough. 

"It's good," he answered, eyes studying you in a way that made you want to shrink into nothingness. 

"That's good," you said, and you saw the small twitch of his lips — brief, before they fell back into their natural downturned shape. 

It was almost comical how much silence sat between you two. Two people who would talk until people around them were groaning and regretting asking them a question, falling silent in the presence of one another. 

He cleared his throat again. Maybe you should offer him some water, but then you realised this wasn't your house and he was fully capable of getting his own water. And everything else in the world.

"How's work for you?"

"It's good," you answered, half-heartedly, because you really didn't know. You hadn't been in months. 

You didn't really realise a breakup would affect you this much. You had always been good. Good at putting emotional turmoil on pause for your busy life. You never considered the possibility of putting your busy life on pause for emotional turmoil. 

But then Spencer Reid left you. You never considered the possibility of that happening either, until it did. 

"Is it?" he asked, and you watched his body shift slightly in his seat, almost leaning closer to you. 

And unfortunately, you can only pretend in front of the man across from you for so long. "No," you said.

"Why not?" 

"I'm not going." Your voice was embarrassingly quiet, but you knew he heard you, because his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, and his lips parted for a second. It made you want to take the words back; to lie again. "I got laid off a week ago."

He slowly nodded his head in recognition — that would explain your sudden request to meet. "I'm sorry."

You could imagine a million things you knew he'd be saying the words for, but not one part of you really believed it for any of them. So you only nodded your head, gaze dropping from him to the glass in front of you, the paper straw disintegrating in the liquid — something you weren't used to; you would finish drinks too quickly for that to happen. 

You didn't come here to mope. You do that every other Friday night. You didn't need to do that tonight, when the man you were spending your nights sobbing and your mornings numb over was right there with you.

"How's your mom?" you ask instead, lifting your head back up, and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. 

"She's okay. Same as usual," he said, and you nodded your head. Short answers seemed to be the only thing you guys knew how to do. "How's yours?"

"Good," you answer, because the question doesn't really have the same weight as it did when you asked him; he only did it to be courteous. "She misses having you over."

That brought a small smile to his face. "I miss being over."

You can come back, you want to say, but you know that isn't true. 

You don't know how much longer you two sit in silence before he breaks it with a sigh that, if you didn't know better, you'd think was irritated. But it wasn't; simply exhausted. 

"Why did you want to meet me?" he finally asked, and your lips parted, before shutting again, because you're not too sure the answer is something you're allowed to say aloud. 

You say it anyway.

"I missed you."

You watched his facial features soften, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and that only seemed to bring more nervous energy to you. 

"You shouldn't," he said, and if your heart had anything left for him, it probably would have cracked again. 

You knew that you shouldn't. You had told yourself to get over it a thousand times before. Your go-to mantra was grow up. But you couldn't. Your brain wouldn't let it go and your eyes could just never stay dry for long enough to think it's finally over. It was almost pathetic. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding your head, slowly, and you were pretty sure tears were welling in your eyes, which felt even more pathetic in front of him. 

"I'm sorry."

This time it was you to apologise, and you knew he didn't believe your apology either. Not when you didn't even know what you were apologising for. Missing him, meeting him here, ever even dating him in the first place.

"It's okay," he said, instead, and you watched him exhale shakily, his lips rubbing against each other — usually a telltale sign he didn't want to be wherever he was any longer. That broke your heart too. 

Words died in your throat as you abruptly stood up, the stool you were perched atop wobbling slightly with your sudden movements. 

You stared at him for another moment, committing his face to memory, before you nodded your head to him in acknowledgement, pocketing your phone. You forced a smile, and left. 

Maybe not the best move you've ever done in your life. Not the move you wanted to do. But certainly the smartest. 

Because the second the cool, early fall air hit your skin, so did your tears, and you found that even ordering an Uber was difficult through blurry vision. So you decided to walk. Walk where, you didn't know. Away from the bar. Through the people-filled square; people as drunk as you wished to be, people out with friends and partner's, to have fun. People having a much better night than you, clearly. 

You heard your name. And something in you screamed to not turn around, to not give in to the caller. Probably the logical part of your brain. But your heart ignored it, and you halted in your tracks, turning to see him walking towards you, eyebrows furrowed in so much concern you think you'd crack further than you already have. Maybe if you split yourself down the middle it would finally stop hurting. 

"I miss you too."

Four simple words that could be heard even over the mixed songs playing from the clubs around you, even over the beeping cars and the chattering people. 

"Please don't lie to make me feel better," you croak, and you're acutely aware of the tears on your cheeks. 

"I'm not lying," he breathed out, and you were far enough away from his body to see his hand twitch. For whatever reason you didn't know. "Sweetheart, you're breaking my heart, here."

Oh.

You swallowed down a sob, swiping another set of falling tears before they could get too far down your cheeks.

"Spencer, please," you said, so desperately that you wanted to shoot yourself. "I shouldn't have asked you to meet."

"No, you shouldn't have," he agreed, and your heart stuttered in your chest, because he was telling you things you shouldn't do. Again. "Not that I—" he cut himself off with a sigh; frustrated, this time. "Not that I didn't want to see you, because I did. You're the only person I want to see recently. But I was getting better, and I know I've ruined all that by being here with you tonight."

I was getting better. The words echoed over and over in your brain. If he was just as bad as you were, maybe it would make this easier. Maybe you aren't as pathetic. 

"I hate this," you settled on, fidgeting awkwardly with your fingers. 

He didn't respond for a few too many moments, and it had you wanting to take back your words. He rubbed his eyes with another sigh. 

"I'm not going back on my decision," he said, and you didn't need to ask what decision; you had an idea, and your stomach twisted uncomfortably.��

But you did anyways. "Which decision?"

"Breaking up with you."

You were silent for a few moments too. "I'm not asking you to—"

"—No, but you want me to," he cuts you off. "And I'm telling you I won't. You know why I did it. That trumps whatever feelings I have for you."

Have.

"I don't know why," you said, shakily. You did. He gave you a reason, and if you had to explain the breakup to someone, you could tell them why. But the ongoing conflict in your brain confused you anyways. 

"Yes you do," he answered, his jaw tensing. When you shook your head, and went to respond, he cut you off, stepping closer. "I can afford to lose you. I can't afford for the world to."

He had said something similar the day he left. Something about a fear of you dying. Something you had tried to reassure him of, failing to do so clearly. 

"What about me?" your voice cracked and you cursed it.

"It will get better."

You could've cried all over again, in the middle of the square. Everything always for the better. Never for the right now, for the things you both wanted. But for the everlasting fear Spencer had in his brain, that you didn't know how to help. 

"Apparently," you replied, sniffling as you took a step away from him. "I think I should go."

If he wanted to protest, he didn't show it. He simply nodded his head, lips parting in a silent exhale. 

And so you did, with wet cheeks, and a quiet, "Goodbye, Spencer."

loml (part 2) ♡

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[shotmrmiller]

absolutely not a smoker but

imagine stepping out of that rowdy pub you tend to visit with your friends. The chilly evening air cooling your overheated skin.

The place can get a little too lively, sometimes you have to step out to take a breather. Or a smoke break, like in this instance.

Placing the lit cigarette in the corner of your mouth, you lean back against the brick wall of the establishment, feeling the cold seep through your jacket. Tipping your head back, you gaze at the night sky; shimmering specks of light scattered across the deep darkness, with the full moon gently illuminating the surroundings.

And then the pub doors squeal as they swing open, but you keep your eyes up and away.

Gravel crunches under the person's feet as they walk. Only for those footsteps to get closer to you.

God fucking damnit. You don't want to talk to anyone right now- your social battery is currently charging.

Exhaling softly, you close your eyes and open them as you turn to look at whoever is approaching and... the cigarette almost slips from your fingers from the fright.

A man that's a head taller than most, shoulders too broad, chest like a barrel. His thigh was the size of both of yours pressed together. He wore all black- the leather jacket creased around where the sleeves and where the elbow crooks. Well-worn but still in good condition.

But what almost sent your heart into failure was the skull balaclava mask he wore over his face.

Fucking hell, why is he staring at you like that?

Tapping the smoke with your pointer, you place it back in your mouth and pull the sides of your open jacket over your midsection, crossing your arms after.

"Can I help you?"

His response is immediate. "Bum a cig off ya?" he asks, a mancunian accent heavy on his tongue.

Shrugging to yourself, you shake the box and offer him the one, which he takes without even a thank you.

Ingrate.

"Got a match?"

Wordlessly, the lighter clicks once and a weak flame comes out of it. Only to get snuffed by the crisp breeze. Your thumb rotates the spark wheel once again, but this time you cup your hand around the pathetic little fire.

It holds long enough, so you watch him pull the mask up just enough to put the smoke in between his thin, chapped lips and lean forward to the lighter in your hands.

A warm puff of air extinguishes the flame.

His dark eyes cut to you- dark, nondescript. You flick the tip of your cigarette with your tongue in frustration.

Then his gaze wanders to the dim, orange glow on the other end. "Bum the light, then."

Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline but otherwise do as he says- rising to the tiptoes, and draw in a steady breath, the burning end flaring.

His face gets too close to what anyone would deem appropriate, getting a real good view of his unfairly long, wispy ash-brown lashes that framed his eyes.

The furl of smoke begins to rise, stinging your nose, and he finally straightens, the lit cigarette bouncing in his mouth.

The silence after is comfortable, just two complete and utter strangers having a smoke.

Tossing the filter to the ground, you step on it and crush it with your heel as exhale the remnants of it. A small wave his way and you head back inside.

If you'd paid any sort of attention, you would've noticed that the smoke that came out of his mouth was too thick, concentrated. As if it just sat there, instead of going through his lungs.

He gives it 3 more minutes before putting out his own, nearly full cig under his boot and following right behind you.

[sunsherbet]

Got Milk?

In which you ask your neighbor to borrow a glass of milk for a recipe.

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

CW: None

You wish you could say there was a first for you.

That deep down you were some uber-responsible twenty-something who made their grocery list and checked it twice, but you weren’t. This was the third time this week you’d forgotten something from the grocery store and only realized when it was that exact ingredient your recipe depended on.

It wasn’t even like you cooked often. You were a habitual air-fryer indulger whose culinary portfolio consisted of elevated cup ramen and just-add-water pancakes. 

But your sister was coming over, and you wanted to surprise her with her favorite chili oil pappardelle pasta. Hence, you needed a few more ingredients than your usual frozen dinners required, one of which was milk—an ingredient you realized, as you looked in your fridge, you were completely out of.

The minute hand ticked loudly, and your head snapped up to glance at the cupcake-shaped clock, which was slowly approaching 8:30—giving you less than an hour to finish your meal.

With time counting down, you had two choices for getting the milk: First, you could run down to the corner store and hope the creepy cashier wasn’t working tonight. That normally wouldn’t have been a massive concern, but it was winter, which meant it was dark outside already. And honestly, your sister's pasta just wasn’t worth the risk of dealing with someone who gave you the shivers. That left you with the second choice: flashing your best smile and begging your neighbors for a cup.

To the right of your apartment were Mrs. Hyde and her wife—two sweet old ladies who smelled like vintage perfume and flabby wine. Unfortunately, they went to bed at 7 p.m., so that was out. On the left were Mikael and his daughter Erin, but you two never quite got along, so that wasn’t an option either. Which left the one who lived across the hallway. He was supposedly a 'charming young chap' (according to the Hydes) and had lived there longer than you, but you’d never seen him.

Six months ago, when you first moved in, you’d baked some muffins and left them at his doorstep, but you’d forgotten to write a note and had been too embarrassed to try another introduction. So, this would be your first encounter with him. But it was an emergency, you swear! Otherwise, you wouldn't be bothering him with your trivial milk problems (even though they weren’t so trivial—after all, you'd already started the noodles and needed the cream base. Fast).

You grab a pair of neon Crocs, their bright contrast to your wine-red dress a jarring reminder of your frantic state, and rush out of your apartment, making sure to turn off the boiling water and secure the lid.

When you reach the door, you’re not sure why your heart is pounding in your chest or why your arms are covered in goosebumps. It’s probably just the nerves of meeting someone new, you decide, shaking yourself a little to readjust.

You curl your fingers to tap against the door, but just before your knuckles rap against the sturdy wood, it swings open. Standing in the frame is a tall guy with wire-frame glasses. He’s got a slimmer frame than his baggy plaid shirt can fill out, and a brown cardigan button-up rests just above his slacks. His bronze-like hair and matching doe eyes give you a not-so-subtle once-over, full of curiosity.

You jump in surprise, balancing yourself on the tacky wallpaper of the hallway. He quirks an eyebrow in a way that’s frankly adorable but you’re just a bit too stunned to fully appreciate just how attractive your neighbor happens to be.

“Can I help you?” 

“Uh, yeah, do you happen to have any milk?” 

He quirks his eyebrow again and this time you take note of the way his hair flops in front of it, “Yeah just not like grain or anything.”

You wave a hand in front of your face and shake your head, "Oh don't worry I'm not a hipster or lactose intolerant." The joke is rewarded with a small chuckle and you quickly decide it’s endearing. Dropping your hand from in front of him you stick it out, “Uh I’m your neighbor by the way. Not some random looking for milk handouts.” 

“I’m Spencer.” He provides, though he lets your hand hang between the two of you awkwardly, "Did you know the number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering? It's actually safer to kiss."

Dropping your hand to your side you pucker your lips dramatically, and tease, “Are you asking for a kiss?” 

“W-What? No!” He leans back and you erupt into a giggle, shaking your head at his grimace.

“Well if you don’t want a kiss do you mind if I get that milk?”

“Yeah, of course, I can help you with your..?" He trails off, seemingly not knowing what to call your predicament.

But you certainly know what it should be called, and answer without hesitation, "My life or death dilemma? The reason for my current milk escapades."

Spencer seems to relax a bit more at your rambling, his posture less stiff and more calm, "Hm, seems like it's pretty important." He quirks an eyebrow, leaning against the door frame.

"Well, I did say life or death didn't I.” You look over at his watch and tap a foot impatiently, "Hey um I'm kinda in a rush, my sister is coming over and I'm not even half done with the stupid sauce. Though in my defense, I didn't know she was coming until like a week ago and I'm an avid cereal eater so the likelihood of me even having milk when she came over is slim to none - but I took the risk and now I'm milkless and totally screwed because cooking is hard and god I think I burnt the noodles for this stupid chili oil pappardelle pasta-which by the way I don’t even know how to make." 

Spencer is biting his cheek because he can’t laugh. He can’t laugh because it’s rude to laugh at someone he’s only just met, even if you’re blabbering and blushing and wearing adorable chartreuse platform Crocs. 

When you moved in across the hallway, Spencer Reid had admittedly looked into you. It wasn’t that he meant to be intrusive—it was just in his nature. He’d always been wary of new people, especially given his line of work. So when the long-vacant apartment finally filled and the scent of Yankee Candles began to waft through the hall, he might have asked Penelope to do a little digging.

Though her extensive report didn’t do justice to the person standing in front of him now. 

"Oh my god, you're laughing!" You exclaim, positively mortified at his audacity to laugh at you in this time of need.

"Sorry! Sorry!" He catches his breath after a moment and licks his lips with a flick of his tongue, "Maybe I can make it up to you?"

You smile but your foot is still tapping, "Do tell."

“While I’ve admittedly never made chili oil pappardelle pasta I’m quite quick to pick things up. If you need any help I could-?”

"Oh please thank you!" Letting out a sigh of relief you go to grab his hand, only pulling back when you remember his tangent about germs,  "She'll be here in thirty minutes so we have to hurry."

"Okay, let me go get the milk, and uh we can start."

"Thank you, Spencer.”

"Oh ... you're welcome."

You don’t notice the blush.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

i love from me to you sm! 😭 like it aimed directly to my heart 😭 you're so good at writing stuff so, here i am asking for a zoro!fic where reader hides that she got wounded during their last battle and zoro founds out and our poor moss head thought reader was gonna die so, he confessed (i just love flustered zoro) 😚 n e ways, continue writing the best stories!! lotsoflove! - glasses of nanamin

i feel like this is your second ask cause of the "n e ways" but lol, eitherways that's such a cute concept!! i would love love love this (i tweaked the prompt a little bit to fit it better, but i hope you like it it still)

got me losin' my cool ft. roronoa zoro!

set-up: as anon asked!! you get hurt during a fight and zoro almost has a mental breakdown haha live, laugh, love <3

warning: a bit of angst, zoro is a dumbass. otherwise, wholesome!

roronoa zoro's feet pound against the earth and he was sure that with every leap he took, his heart sunk further under. his fingers were clammy. so very clammy against your soft skin. and he was sure the sweat dripping off his forehead and dropping onto your bloodied tank top was the last thing you wanted to see before you died.

"zo—" you rasped helplessly and your voice felt like graters against his skin. your chapped lips, almost closed eyes, the wound on your stomach and your week, blood-stained hand on it. he couldn't even bear to look at you without wanting to breakdown.

"stop talkin, please." he clenched his jaw tighter, the sound of teeth against teeth jarring. and although he refused to look down at you, cradled carefully in his arms, he could hear the desperate heaves that rocked your body.

he picked up the pace, ducking under hanging vines and leaping over overgrown roots of ancient trees carefully, so, as to not hurt you. the ship should be two minutes away, docked at the edge of the island and chopper must be there. and chopper would know what to do. how to help you.

zoro had to just deliver you to chopper.

but with his poor geographical skills, he felt like he had been running for the past thirty minutes without finding the ship. and he was certain the ship was docked only 10 minutes away from where the fight was taking place between the strawhat crew and a local pirate crew.

"zoro—" you started again.

why were you speaking? DID YOU WANT TO DIE?

"—don't use up your breath. please." he panted, feet still working to find the ship. where was that goddamn ship?

"that side—" you winced as you pointed your arm in the opposite direction. you coughed, wincing again before whispering, "the sunny."

zoro's head whipped around to look behind him. and at once, he changed the course. running as fast as he could, he soon found himself at the rocky beach the ship had been docked at.

"CHOPPER!" the swordsman bellowed for the mini doctor as he climbed up the ship. the reindeer was peering over the deck and when he looked at your nearly passed-out figure, he yelped in surprise.

"she got stabbed." zoro explained as he carried you inside to chopper's makeshift office/operation theater. laying you down gently, they both looked guilty as you groaned and clutched your own hand on the wound tighter.

"i need to apply some anti-septic, clean the wound and stitch it up." chopper stated, eerily calm in the heat of the moment. "here—" he gave zoro a sterilized cloth from his cupboard, "—apply it to her wound. put pressure on the area, i need to go make the anti-septic really quick."

"you have to make it? how long will that take?" if the swordman wasn't scared out of his wits, he would be surprised at how desperate he sounded.

"five minutes."

zoro looked at the reindeer wide-eyed. but the reindeer ran off, presumably to make the said medicine.

he looked back at you, putting the cloth to the wound and gently pushing down. he knew how to make the bleeding stop, he had done this multiple time. what he hadn't done multiple times was see you so lifeless, so incredibly overtaken by pain.

"hey." he found himself saying softly. softer than he had ever spoken before, "hey, can you look at me? hear me?"

you nodded slowly and relief washed over him. atleast you hadn't lost all cognitive senses.

"just focus on my voice, okay?" he knelt down so that he was on your eye-level from the bed. his other hand gingerly took ahold of yours. mindlessly, he rubbed soothing circles on your skin. he repeated, "just focus on my voice. yeah, close your eyes. i'm here okay?"

you found yourself closing your eyes, relying solely on the darkness of your eyelids and his voice to guide you to safety. his hand felt like a familiar weight against your stomach, the kind of touch that will renew a dead man and get him climbing back from his grave. his voice was sweet, too sweet to be even called his.

"i—" he paused, rubbing your skin with the pad of his thumb, "chopper's gonna fix you up, you know. h-he always does. i mean you're stronger than this. you'd survive, right?"

he's not sure if he meant to ask it as a question. he was sure he had said it to sound reassuring. but somewhere in between him uttering the words and you hearing them, they had turned into a desperate, desolate plea.

your chest fluttered underneath him, your breath strained. the face he adored slowly scrunched up from the pain. and he found himself talking even more.

"focus on me, okay? just me." he steeled his voice. and his nerves. "you'd be okay. you know, you always said you'd make me mochi, you never did. you said you'd make sake flavoured mochi. is that even a thing?" he laughed despite himself. it was barely a laugh. a pitiful scoff maybe? it was not the kind of laugh that would fool you.

"uh— once you get better." he pretended to ignore the way your body seemed to go slack under him. he repeated, "once you get better, i'm gonna convince franky to make us fireworks. you love those. and- and nami. i'd convince that money-hungry witch to lend me some money so that i can take you out. we will go shopping. you always said you—"

why were you so awfully quiet? usually, you'd talk to the point where he wanted to cut his ear off. now, he wanted to her you. he wanted to hear you call him a moss-head like sanji and he wanted you to laugh when he yelled at luffy for doing something stupid. and—

"—hey?" his voice pitched higher, "please wait, chopper will be back yeah?"

but you didn't even shake your head a weak yes. his shaky fingers reached out to look for your pulse on your neck. it was there. feeble, but there. but for how long?

how long till he lost you?

his throat was closing up, he couldn't breathe. his eyes burned and he was sure he was gonna mark your skin with his own from the way he held onto your wrist.

why won't you talk to him? call out his name, god fucking dammit. nobody called his name the way you did. as if you liked the syllables enough to make a home out of them. nobody smiled at him the way you did. so sweet, too sweet for him. you were everything. even though he was just another wrecked, broken boy with dreams too big for his mortal body, you were everything.

"please," he clutched onto you like a maddening bastard, "please. just hold on, okay?"

but bile seemed to crawl farther up his throat every time you didn't respond. not even a slight glance. not even the movement of a pinky. his fingers checked for your pulse. faint, but there.

and he couldn't hold his words back. he called out your name in a desperate effort to awaken you. water blurred his vision and he blinked it away. his throat was scratchy. too scratchy. and where was chopper?

"i love you." he finally confessed, not thinking much of his words than the fact that he just wanted you to hear them. "i love you so much. i have for so long. i-it wasn't supposed to be like this. i- i was gonna take you out to explore some island. i would have bought you food and called you an idiot when you smiled at me. then— then." he paused, "i would have told you i loved you. you would have said nothing back. and i would have loved even despite that."

he called out your name, sobs racking through his body like accursed symphonies.

"move." chopper was back, in his hand was a ceramic bowl with a green, gooey paste. "go out. i'd call you back, okay?"

if chopped noticed the state zoro was in, he simply chose not to dwell on it. and if zoro had any residual doubts for what kind of a doctor chopper was, he didn't dwell on them either. he caressed your hand one last time and stepped out.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

the swordsman had been pacing around the deck. none of the members were back and it gnawed on his heart. what if they were hurt too? should he go back to see? but how could he leave chopper and you alone here? and what kind of a first mate was he if he cannot even save his own crew?

the world's greatest swordman be damned.

chopper stepped out and zoro looked at the doctor, frantic. chopper gave him a sigh and chased it with a smile, "she's okay."

zoro was not sure if it was the exhaustion, or the relief, or some other feeling his gut had concocted in him without asking. but he crashed down on his knees. his palms felt rough against his face and when he inhaled, he could smell dried blood on them.

"hey." chopper trotted towards him, keeping his paw on the green-haired man's shoulders, "she's okay, really. they missed any vital spots and she didn't lose a lot of blood. she will heal, okay?"

zoro couldn't do anything but just nod along. then, when he had the courage to look away from his hands. he looked at the doctor, finally muttering a faint "thank you."

the reindeer blushed at the compliment, "don't thank me. but you know, once she's better, you should tell her how you feel. this time maybe while she's conscious."

"chopper." the swordsman groaned.

the reindeer shrugged mechanically, "i won't tell anyone what i heard if you promise to take her out on that date."

after much deliberation— having to choose between humiliation at the hand of his crewmates when they discovered his crush or the humiliation from his crush when he finally confessed— he finally gave in. after all, humiliation from one was better than humiliation from seven. especially that fucking cook.

"fine." he grumbled, "i'd take her out."

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

it had been two weeks since you were stabbed. well, you didn't talk to anyone about it, really. but when you drifted off into the wicked embrace of sleep, you would be plagued by the memories. and well, a confession.

it's not like you were pretending to be dead!! your body had simply given up. it was exhausted from the fighting and the not-dying. so, when you were laid on chopper's bed to be patched up, your body had gone slack. but just because your body had gone slack doesn't mean you weren't awake.

it had been two weeks and you hadn't told the green-haired asshole what you had heard. why? maybe cause you thought he would make the first move. or maybe because you weren't quite sure if he actually said those things or if you hallucinated it to dilute the pain.

eitherways, seemed like things between you and the mosshead were the same as they were before the incident. and you were really starting to consider the hallucination excuse. but then—

"hey." zoro quipped up as he came to stand beside you. it was cloudy today, the grey skies churning in anticipation of a storm. the winds were unkind and the sea was malevolent. beautiful nonetheless.

"oh hey." you turned and gave him a small smile. you shifted from one feet to another, pretending as if you weren't terrified of the route this conversation might take, "whats up?"

"uh—" he looked back for a spilt-second and you saw— from the corner of your eyes— chopper hidden behind a bunch of boxes, giving zoro his best death glare. zoro sighed, "so, uh, this is random, i think? but when we dock on the next island tomorrow morning. do like... do you want to go see some new sword-cleaning equipment with me?"

you shouldn't have laughed. but you did.

"what's funny?!" his eyes widened and his cheeks were dusted pink.

"no-nothing." you heaved, closing your eyes. "that's the best excuse you could come up with? sword cleaning equipment?"

"what do you mean 'excuse'? i need some equipment!"

"zoro." you forced open your eyes, your smile still frozen over your lips, "if you want to go out on a date with me, you should say that okay?"

his ears went red and he looked away. you were sure if the weather was quiet, you could hear his heart picking up the pace. clearing his throat, he finally asked, "who told you? chopper?"

"no, dummy." you reached your hand out, taking his calloused palm in yours. your thumb rubbed familiar patterns on his hand, "you did."

"me?" he snapped to look back at you, "me?"

you just gave him a grin, "this reminds me, i did promise you i'd try making sake flavoured mochi. i never did. but again, you said you'd ask frankie to make us fireworks and we're still firework-less. but hey, i forgive you if you forgive me okay?"

his head could have burst open from the sheer pressure on his brain but you continued, "but eitherways, what i really mean is that if you said i love you." you stepped a bit closer, "i'd say i love you too."

your hand let go of his and you chose to walk away, leaving him dumbfounded. when his senses came to him, he ran upto you, "YOU HEARD THAT ALL?!"

"all of it."

"ugh."

"heh, it was kinda cute."

"i thought you were dying, woman."

"in a way, we all already are."

"have you been hanging out with robin too much? god, kill me."

"god doesn't need to. you're already dying."

"i want to die faster."

you took his hand back in yours and pulled him towards yourself. pecking his cheek, you said, "no. we still have to go on that date. i mean, if you ever actually ask me."

the flustered mess that was rorononoa zoro just sighed. accepting his fate, he asked, "well, do you wanna go on that date or what?"

you snickered, "i'll think about it"

"do you live to annoy me?"

"maybe. but you love meee."

"i might change my mind after this."

but despite his words, his fingers stayed gently intertwined with yours. hey, maybe getting stabbed in the stomach wasn't all that bad? (jk, it was very very bad)

a/n: i love writing stoic men are flustered little guys lmaoo. hopefully y'all like this? i've been writing a lot of fluff/semi-angst lately. i wanna write some nsfw content but im so out of ideas. send reqs if you guys have anything in mind!!

[gyuscoquetteribbon]

^᪲᪲᪲ kisses from all the way across the universe

SYNOPSIS: it was a popular notion that the moles on one's skin are places where their lover in the past had kissed them. but, you thought otherwise.

PAIRING: mingyu x gn!reader

GENRE: fluff, established relationship

WORD COUNT: 900+

notes: npr !! another self indulgent piece because im sad that i don't have a pretty lil partner whose moles i could kiss :( but also i was supposed to post this on mingyu's bday or a little after 😭 also as i was writing this i realized just how much i didn't like how it turned out like i could personally do better than that 😞

also requests are open so you can send in requests if you have any (it doesn't necessarily have to be fluff !) 🥹🥹

it was the evening after mingyu's birthday. the room had a dull glow to it, the only source of light being the night lamp shining bright by the bedside table. you were not only engulfed by your boyfriend's buff figure, but also silence, save for mingyu's soft breathing falling against your chest.

the rest of the day up until now was a slow blur, where the two of you took a nap for the majority of the day, curled up against one another, arms and limbs tangled as though you both were one body instead of two.

mingyu had his head pressed against your chest. he was awake, but he had his eyes closed as he reveled in the feeling of your fingernails gently scraping against his scalp. you look down at him, a fond smile painting your slightly chapped lips. mingyu looked peaceful; content.

you lean down to press a kiss against the mole on the side of his jaw. you loved mingyu's moles. sometimes, when he'd lay in bed without wearing a shirt, you'd take your time, mapping out the moles on his honey-colored skin like astrologers mapping out stars in the sky.

when there's new ones on his skin, you'd excitedly point it out, leaving a gentle kiss behind.

a soft chuckle escapes mingyu's lips. his eyes open and he looks up at you, gleaming with fondness. "back at it again?" he asks, referring to your habit of kissing his moles.

you smile at him, your eyes turning into little crescents, "they always stand out, it's not my fault," you shrug and to reiterate your point, you lean down to peck the tip of his nose.

mingyu pulls away from you. with a gentle dip on his side of the bed mingyu holds himself up by his elbows. "do you think you were my lover in my past life too?" he asks.

a soft chuckle leaves your lips as you rech forward to brush his cheek with the pad of your thumb. "is it because of the moles?"

he gives a nod, eager to hear your answer as he leans in to your touch. you hum softly as you search for an answer in your head before you meet his expectant eyes again. "i don't know about that, really," you reply, honestly, "i'd hope so, though. But, i surely don't think your moles are marks left behind by your previous lover's kisses."

"is that so?" mingyu

you nod slowly before shifting in your place so that you're on your side with your elbow pressed against the mattress and your hand cradling your head, pretty much mirroring mingyu.

"i think," you begin, leaning forward to leave a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose once again, making him scrunch his nose and let out a short giggle, "if it was left behind by your lover in your past life, new ones wouldn't form as you grow. there's so many galaxies in the universe. there's a million different you— at least, that's what i believe."

"i think, new moles form on your skin as they get kissed by their partner. but not just any partner. new ones form only when you've found the one for yourself. you know, your soulmate."

mingyu listens to you intently, blinking slowly. a soft smile spreads across his lips, his features blooming with love and possibly a hint of shyness, "so...," he trails off, "do you think moles are formed on places where the me in different universes get kissed with love?"

you nod, mirroring his smile. "so, do you think they'd have moles all over their body in places where you've kissed me with love?" he asks you, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

you stay silent for a few moments. mingyu always had a way to make your heart stop and skip several beats. he made your stomach drop and your eyes water all the time. but, not in a bad way. never in a bad way.

"yeah," you say, breaking the silence. your voice was almost a whisper now. "i think the other mingyus in other universes have moles on different parts of their body too."

it was mingyu's turn to go silent. you knew he was thinking. you knew he wanted to ask more. "do you think you're the one kissing those moles on my skin in the other universes too?" he asks.

you suck in a harsh breath. it was hard for you to express love for someone the way mingyu did. mingyu is usually shows love in a loud way. his way of showing love could only be described as bright, vibrant colors on a blank canvas.

you, on the other hand, showed love in quieter ways. if his way of showing love was bright, vibrant colors, then yours was more quiet. you loved mingyu, you knew that much. but, what you feel for him transcends the modern definition of love.

and, it was times like these when yoy're reminded of just how much you love the man laying by your side.

loving mingyu was painful. but, it was a pain that made you crave for more. you've never loved someone so much that it makes you want to rip your heart out of your chest and squeeze it with your own bare hands.

you lean forward, placing a kiss on his forehead and then moving down to gently brush your lips against his. "yes," you answer him.

your eyes hold so much love that mere words would fail in comparison as they meet mingyu's. "it's gonna be you and i in every universe. i'll be the one to kiss the moles on your skin," you brush your lips against the mole on his cheek.

"and, i'll be the one to kiss new ones onto your skin that a different version of me kisses in a different universe."

[zablife]

Hi was wondering if I could please ask for a smut Tommy request.

Where your the new barmaid of the garrison and during your shift the feelings for needing and wanting tommy grow and he has to make you his .

If that’s something you can write, understand if your super busy can easily wait

You're My Girl

Tommy x barmaid reader

Warnings: 🔞 smut

"Tommy, what are you doing down here?" you asked in surprise as you deposited the heavy crate in your arms.

"Thought you could use some help," he replied, shucking off his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

"You don't have to do that," you waved him off in gentle protest. "I'm nearly finished."

He lingered for a bit, watching you sweep the hair from your forehead and you smirked as you caught him out of the corner of your eye. "Was there something else?"

"I've been thinking about you all day. Had to come see ya," he admitted, a slight slur to his words from the celebratory drinks he'd consumed.

"I've been upstairs all night," you reminded him with a light-hearted giggle. "You should know, you've been watching that bar like a hawk. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous," you teased with a wag of your finger.

Tommy held your gaze as he closed the distance between you, his smoldering stare silencing you momentarily. You bit your lip as his large palm cupped your cheek, voice rumbling through the dark cellar. "M not jealous," came his soft, yet firm denial.

With a wanton sigh, you leaned your forehead against his, eyes slipping closed now that you could savor a moment alone. The memory of him stood protectively behind you earlier, hot breath fanning your neck and body slotted against yours as he helped you pour pints would have suggested otherwise.

"Everyone knows you're my girl," he declared, grazing a thumb over your cheek.

"Is that so?" you ventured, neither of you having put words to the flirtation that had been building for weeks. In truth you were going mad at the thought of fucking your handsome boss and wondered what might happen if you told him so. Gazing up at him through your lashes, you whispered enticingly, "Say you want me and I'm yours."

"Oh, I do," he promised. "All of you," he hummed, eyes roving your body hungrily.

"Then take me," you whispered against his lips, leaving a tender kiss against his chapped skin.

Your stomach fluttered with anticipation as he studied you, his bright blue irises giving way to the inky blackness of rapidly dilating pupils. "In a crowded pub? Naughty girl," he chided.

Before you could put on a convincing pout, Tommy caught you off guard, leaving you breathless as his fingers ghosted over your throat. "You'll have to be quiet for me," he warned in a dangerously low voice.

"And hide the fact that I'm all yours?" you mischievously challenged with a sultry arch of your brow.

"Unless you want to be interrupted as I do this," he commented nonchalantly, his free hand raising your skirt to your waist and revealing your bottom half to the cool night air. The moment he caught sight of your nakedness, an animalistic groan tore from his throat. "Fuck you look good like this," he rumbled.

Your head tipped back against the shelves, glass clinking quietly as Tommy guided your leg to rest upon his hip. With a warm exhale of breath and the swirl of his tongue along your collarbone, your heart began pounding in desire.

Taking that as his cue to continue, Tommy's thick fingers swept along your dewy folds, collecting your glistening wetness as he felt his own arousal growing by the second. His fingers stretching you open to pleasant fullness, your breathing became shallow and you confessed your growing need. "Please...," you begged in an incoherent mumble as he increased the pressure on your g-spot.

"Please, what?" he asked as though he had no idea the effect he had.

"Fuck me now," you panted as his thumb began circling your swollen bud. He grinned back at you as you arched for him, sending another wave of glasses teetering precariously. You barely noticed as your hand grappled for a hold against the ledge, knocking a bottle of whisky to the floor just as Tommy captured your mouth in a ravenous kiss.

Suddenly the door to the cellar opened and a stream of light shot past your feet, threatening to reveal your compromising position. "Y/n? What's taking so long?" Arthur's voice boomed into the quiet space.

You froze, unable to think of a lie as his footsteps began to thud down the stairs, your heart rate increasing to its rhythm. Suddenly he stopped, eyes following the trail of amber liquid seeping from behind the tall shelves. "What the fuck you doing, eh?"

Then as his eyes began to adjust in the dim light, he caught sight of a familiar jacket. "Is that you, Tom?" he ventured suspiciously.

Your head shot up, eyes darting frantically to Tommy as he hushed you softly. A devilish grin spread across his face as he withdrew his fingers from your pussy and slid them into your mouth, pressing against your tongue gently to silence you. "Y/n needed a bit of help. We're just finishing up," he called over his shoulder.

As the taste of your arousal coated your tongue and Tommy's stubbled cheek pressed kisses into your jawbone, you nearly forgot Arthur's presence. You were momentarily calmed, sucking softly at his digits, but the sound of Arthur's boots scuffing against the floor caused you to gurgle in frightened reply.

Mustache twitching with amusement, Arthur bit his cheek to keep from laughing. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he attempted a peek at what he was certain was your bare thigh before Tommy's husky voice ordered, "Go back and enjoy the party, brother."

Arthur huffed out a laugh as he smoothed his hair back. "Yeah, alright, but watch the fucking whisky will ya?"

Free to continue your debauchery, the corners of your mouth curled into a wide smile. Tommy's fingers dropped from your lips with a trickle of saliva running down your chin in eager anticipation.

"We'll have to make this quick," Tommy whispered with a wink.

You gave a fierce nod as your fingers flew to his belt buckle, heat growing in your cheeks as your hand found his cock and began stroking him to hardness. He was even bigger than you imagined and a shot of electricity ran down your spine at the thought of having him inside you.

He didn't waste any time allowing you to daydream, however, the reality of the blissful moment you'd anticipated barreling toward you as he turned you to face the wall. His large hand pinned your wrists above your head as he pushed into you with a satisfied grunt, stilling when he'd bottomed out.

Despite your expectation for a quick fuck, he was surprisingly gentle with his first few thrusts, allowing you time to adjust to his size. Your head rolled to the side as he planted kisses between your shoulder blades, sending chills throughout your entire body.

As you shuddered beneath him, he relinquished your hands to roam your body to deliver even more pleasure, deft fingers sliding beneath the bodice of your dress to roll and pinch your sensitive nipples to stiff peaks.

Tommy strained to hear each shaky exhale and whimper from you, feeling the notes of your angelic voice course through his veins until they made his cock throb with need inside your fluttering walls. He enjoyed holding you there as long as he could have you, never wanting to let go.

However, you quickly grew impatient and began to push your ass back against him for more. "Harder," you urged feverishly.

He couldn't deny he was ready to snap himself, for his torture upon you was also his own. Soon his rough hands grasped your hips in a bruising hold. Nails leaving half crescent shaped marks in your delicate flesh, he began pistoning into you with reckless abandon.

Your hands grappled against the cold, concrete wall, bracing yourself as you lost yourself in a haze with each well placed thrust. The spark ignited in your belly only grew as Tommy guided your hand between your legs, murmuring words of encouragement. "Let go for me. Cum on my cock, sweetheart."

Under his spell, you felt your body begin to tense and shake. All promises of silence forgotten, you keened immodestly. "Tommy, Tommy!"

The shameless way you moaned his name sent Tommy over the edge as well, seating himself deep within you to spill his seed. You rode the powerful crest together, a light sheen of sweat coating your bodies in the afterglow.

When his movements stuttered to a halt behind you, Tommy pulled you against his chest in a snug embrace. The muscles of his forearms flexed to hold you up as he relished the last moments within your velvety warmth.

You turned to face him, hair falling over your eyes in disheveled glory. "That was incredible," he pronounced, leaning in for a languid, open mouth kiss.

"So you heard?" you quipped, brushing your nose against his playfully.

"I think all of Small Heath heard ya, love. Not one for rules, are ya?," he chuckled as he broke away from you to retrieve his clothes.

Smoothing your dress back into place, you grew tense at his words. "Does that mean we have to stop?" you ventured anxiously.

Tommy's fingers hovered over the buttons of his trousers, shaking his head softly. "I could listen to that every night," he confided.

"Well, you know where to find me," you concluded, turning away as a blush crept over your cheeks.

"I do," he said, pulling you toward him. "By my side. You're my girl now... announced it yourself," he pointed out with a proud, yet smug look.

You couldn't argue as you'd done exactly that and you held no regrets.

-----------------

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[eccentricallygothic]

About burglar!Curtis…

This idea occurred to me too, and to shut me up he’d use me for his needs and breed me full of his child 🥵🫣🫣

KATHYYYY YOU SEXY BEAST 🥵

| Wrong Place, Right Time | 

Warning(s): Noncon, burglar!Curtis, frisking, corruption kink, groping, unprotected p-in-v sex, bondage, breeding kink, choking, fear kink, pet names, dacryphilia, mild spanking, creampie, degradation, drugging.  

Pairing: Dark Burglar!Curtis Everett | Naive!You.

It was ironic and yet fateful. 

The house that the shadowy man had broken in to rob wasn't even yours.  

You had just been a friend who was there for a sleepover. 

Your eyes widen and you freeze in your spot between the double doors of the fridge when you hear a click from the kitchen backdoor that opens into the yard behind the house. Either you were too caught up in your rummaging of the contents inside the appliance to find something to snack on, or whoever it was that was slowly entering the dimly lit room with soft thuds of their boots now was such a professional that they hadn't required any prior tampering with the mechanism before easing it open, because you hadn't heard anything until the door was being noiselessly pulled open. 

Your head whips to your sides frantically as you panic, unable to decide a course of action that feels right. 

It is when the footsteps become louder and louder that you drop to your knees with your ears flaming hot and you crawl to the kitchen island and grab the first thing that you can reach; which is a rolling pin for whatever reason. 

Clutching your weapon close to your chest, you bite your lip to try and champion your panting as you move to your feet but remain ducking behind the island, vigilant eyes scanning your surroundings. Whoever it is has most probably figured out that they aren't alone due to how the refrigerator light had been illuminating the otherwise mostly dark room, the thumping close of the magnetized doors only further damning you. 

You tightly chew on your bottom lip as you slowly move around the counter, eyeing the kitchen door while the footsteps circle the workspace in the same fashion.

Your eyebrows furrow when they abruptly come to a halt and everything goes dead silent again. You take a few moments before raising your head and peeking over the marble top to check the intruder's position. 

But no one is there. 

Self doubt suddenly grips at you and you wonder if you hallucinated or misperceived something else for a creep but then–

"Boo~" a deep whisper sounds right beside your ear and your eyes widen as you spin so fast you can barely comprehend anything. The way in which the stranger suspends your rushed attack by wrapping his rough fingers around your weapon bearing band and depriving it of any and all liberty while his other hand flies to your throat to walk you back into a wall is all too quick for you to register until after it's happened. 

"Woah, now. What do we think we are doing?"

Okay, he is a professional. 

Your eyes that can rival saucers instantly fill with tears as the man gathers your other hand along with the one that had meant him offense above your head. He easily snatches the rolling pin from you before looking around and then tossing it in a basket that holds various kitchen cloths in it. 

The harsh blue of his eyes is so bright that you can make it out even in the liminal lighting. "Now, where were we?" As his amused gaze now trails over your barely clad body, you realize that burglary is no longer the center of his focus, for a deep pink tongue reveals itself from his bearded mouth and licks a long stripe of his chapped bottom lip. Since one of his arms is half raised to keep you locked in place, the heavy scent of what can only be described as raw manliness wafts to your nostrils and lingers in the air all around you. His pale face is dirty and stern, cheeks scarred in some places under the thick mat of his dark beard.  

The stranger does not muffle your mouth but you're far too petrified to attempt anything unwise. He does not need to press a weapon to your skin to ensure meekness either, for his bruised and naked lethal fists are threatening enough. 

So you let out the only thing anyone in your situation would in their helplessness. "P- Please." 

"Hm" his eyes lower to scan your erect nipples that push against the sheer fabric of your tank top, his pearly whites -that are in a stark contrast to the rest of the darkness- flash as he smirks when he locates the spot that your natural moisture has caused in your fluffy cotton panties. "Gotta make sure you don't have any more surprises for me first" and then you're whipped around before his free hand is all over you, the coarse pads of his fingers roaming over every bump and crevice of your form. 

You let out an audible gasp when his palm brushes against your breasts -that he had neglected along with your intimates during the initial frisk- and he lets it circle the shape before taking a proper squeeze. You wince and your body responds to the pain by making your muscles twitch. Your back arches as a result and your ass bounces up to collide with his own privates and then the man has no choice but to look down with a grunt at the assaulter. 

The sight that his cruel blue eyes meet with pulls his lips wider and his expression deepens into a grin. "Jeez" a small patch of fuzzy little threads resembling a bunny tail stands erect an inch or two above your covered pucker. 

What? 

You like cute things and so you reward yourself with them every once in a while. 

The realization that you are wearing that underwear claws at your throat and cheeks alike and you can't help but flush even in this depraved situation. 

"Didn't know I had myself a bunny here" your thumping heart begins to thunder when you feel his hand toy with the 'tail' for a few moments before he flicks it. You are on the verge of letting out a peep but he suddenly snatches your throat back into his grasp and sandwiches your body between his hard one and the wall you're facing. 

"Tell me" his beard scratches against the shell of your ear from behind and you tremble in fear. Your legs try to press together to try and cover yourself in any way you can but the stranger ruthlessly worms one of his feet between yours and roughly pushes them apart. The action causes you to lose your balance and your legs go to split but the knee he props up in the middle catches you just in time. "Do you like to breed like one too?" He doesn't care for the frantic shaking of your head and instead caresses your nether regions with the intruder he has pushed between them. 

"Plea–"

"I think you do" he decides for the two of you and marches you into the pantry closet before pushing you over a big carton that stands in the center. The stranger easily manhandles you and before you can try your luck even in vain, he grabs an apple from one of many baskets lined along the edge of a table before pushing it in your mouth. Your teeth dig into it and your jaw locks in place due to its size, your head having no choice but to lay against the box sideways as your eyes release stinging tears all the while. 

The man seems to be in a rut as he does not bother with ridding you of what little covers you have on, instead only roughly pulling down your panties before grunting at the sight of your sex that glistens even in the small light that shines in the dark closet from the kitchen. A calloused palm lands on your ass and makes you jump up with a whimper, your bloodshot eyes unable to see much even though they frantically dart about futilely in every direction they can. 

The man does not waste another second and aligns his rock hard cock along your entrance and pushes in within the next moment, groaning at the balmy tightness of your soft walls. "Fuck, bunny" while one of his coarse hands keep your wrists arrested above your ass, the other squeezes at your hip before steeling you in place. "Trying to shake your head no but makin' a mess inside those cute little bunny panties like it's your job" he jerks the rest of his seemingly never ending length deep up your cavern. 

Your pussy has had to expand so much to accompany him that you can feel a very obvious and painful strain in the band of your opening, the ache causing you to fear that you might rip. Your mouth is full of apple juice as you blink away your tears, face scrunched in discomfort as you stare at the wine rack in front of you. 

The man pulls back almost all the way out only to plunge his cock deeper and harder up your hot channel now. Your head spins and can tell that his unforgiving size has already located your sensitive bundle of nerves within the first few thrusts. 

His stiff and thick tip is unrelenting after that as he just keeps on increasing his speed, his heavy balls slapping your sore ass as they try to push their own way in with each push of his hips. The man grunts, curses, gropes, squeezes, spanks and somewhere along the way even leans down to bite at your tear stained cheeks, licking them in long stripes and twitching at the taste while the box below you violently shakes and threatens to come undone by how roughly it is being rocked back and forth. 

"You like that, huh, bunny?" He has realized that each time he spanks you or pulsates inside you, you clench sensitively with a moan. And so he has been doing that for the past couple pounds. "Like getting fucked like the little breeding bunny that you are?" His face is next to yours as you sob into the apple, forcing yourself to keep your eyes trained on the wine bottles as he glowers down on you while pistoning himself in and out of you like you're nothing but a toy meant for relief of the depraved sorts.

"What is with the crying, huh?" His hips snap against yours so hard that your aching ass and even pucker shake with each thrust. "You finally have what you always wanted; a man to breed you full and swell like the dirty little bunny that you are" his deep voice is now even more hoarse due to his irregular breathing. "Isn't that why you saunter around other people's houses in nothing but slutty little underwear? So someone can come along and take you for the breeding bunny that you are?" Your eyes move from their position for the first time in a while.

How does he know that it's not your house? 

"You don't have to worry about anything now" he wraps your hair around his hand before roughly pulling at it to withstand the force of his orgasm that shoots up your cavity. "Except. For. Bearing. Me. A. Healthy. Fuckin'. Fluffle." Your body naturally reacts to the overwhelming stimulation as he gives you a jab with each word, fucking his hot seed deeper and deeper up your womb, causing your hips to tighten and pussy to milk him as your eyes roll to the back of your head and you fall. 

Your owner takes his sweet time fucking his orgasm out and into you as you spasm against the carton helplessly, drowning in a numbing combination of myopia and vertigo of your forced ecstacy, thighs quivering violently. 

"Now," the stranger lets up only when he is fully satisfied… for now. Pulling himself out of your abused channel with a wince, he fixes himself up after letting your arms fall limp at your sides. "Oh– there, there" he abruptly halts whatever it is that he's doing behind you to pull up your panties when his seed threatens to spill out of your stuffed slit. "Can't let it go to waste now, can we?" He snickers to himself before appropriating the rest of his condition.

"Now, let's get you to your burrow" you are manhandled up to your malfunctioning feet by your nape and a wet cloth presses to your nose before your eyes can even adjust to the sudden burst of light that shines in from behind his towering form. His face is the last thing you can make out before your knees finally give out and you go to fall on your back but he catches you in one of his hard arms. 

"There, there, bunny" his voice echoes in your head as the world around you starts to melt. "I've got you" you feel him remove the apple from your now slack jaw before he lumps you on one of his shoulders. 

And then your consciousness fades into an unfathomable abyss. 

MASTERLIST

[itadores]

there's a physical weight to your gaze. heavy, but not necessarily oppressing. uncomfortable, most definitely. a deep valley has formed between your brows, set in rigid concentration. your eyes have glossed over, gaining a glass-like sheen. sakura shifts in his seat as you continue staring holes into him. there feels like there's no end in sight.

"what are you looking at?" sakura finally says, buckling under the pressure. you blink, snapped out of your reverie. sakura exhales a sigh of relief, thankful to no longer be on the receiving end of your unending gaze.

"your lips are chapped."

sakura immediately goes on the defensive. his hand comes up to cover his mouth, the pads of his fingers running over his lips. "no, they're not," he denies.

(they most definitely are.)

he lowers his hand and crosses his arms over his chest, looking off to the side. "and so what if they are?" he grumbles. he can't believe that's the reason why you were staring at him. wait, does that mean this whole time you've been staring at his lips? the realization makes the tips of his ears warm.

"relax, it's not a bad thing." you roll your eyes, but your tone is still gentle. soothing in a way that has sakura unfolding his arms. the tension loosening from his shoulders. "i was just going to ask if you wanted some chapstick. i have some on me."

"what?" sakura blusters. heat unfurls from below his collar, sprawling up his neck. won't that basically be like an indirect kiss?

sakura opens his mouth, ready to shut you down, but the words die on the tip of his tongue. you look so sincere that sakura finds it difficult to reject your offer.

"fine," he ends up saying, unable to say no.

your eyes light up, and a beaming smile stretches across your cheeks. sakura looks away for a moment, your brightness blinding him. he's unsure how his agreement could bring you such joy, but he doesn't comment on it. there are some things that he knows he simply won't understand.

"come closer, so i can give it to you."

sakura moves his chair forward until his chest hits the side of the table. something flashes in your eyes, but it's gone as fast as it comes. sakura holds his palm up over the table, ready to receive the tube of chapstick you have.

he doesn't expect you to place your hand in his and lean across the table to press your lips to his. the kiss is fast and fleeting, but it makes sakura's head spin. his brain is having a hard time comprehending what just happened but the sound of your giggles brings him back.

"why'd you do that?" he sputters before pressing his lips tight together, smearing balm across them.

"you said you wanted some chapstick," you innocently say. the grin on your lips say otherwise.

"i thought you meant that you had a tube of chapstick with you," he says exasperatedly.

you prop your elbows onto the table, dropping your face into your open palms. "yeah, i do, but where's the fun in that?"

sakura just groans, unable to come up with a real response. he was so busy trying to prepare himself for an indirect kiss that he was blindsided by you actually kissing him. he subconsciously wets his lips with his tongue.

you taste like strawberries.

[thelostmagicians]

Unlucky | Lip Gallagher

Summary: Lip Gallagher has a shitty life, but he still has a chance of a happy future with you. [2.4k]

Fluff, comfort, slight angst, insecure Lip

♡

Lip Gallagher has always considered himself unlucky for as long as he could remember. If you asked him to describe his life in five words he’d use shitty, really shitty, and extremely shitty.  

He was dealt a crappy hand since the beginning not standing a fighting chance even as a kid. 

There was always so much crap to deal with, whether it was bills that needed to be paid, kids that need to be taken care of, or anything dealing with Frank and Monica, sometimes he felt as if the weight of the world was resting on his chest and the only breath he’d be able to take peacefully would be his final one. He’s grateful for all the help he has because everyone pulls their weight as much as they can, but sometimes he just wishes life was just a little bit kinder to him. He wishes that he was able to do something with his high IQ, make something of himself and finally get out of this hell hole, but that didn’t roll over so well. But just as he was slowly losing hope the universe finally took pity on him and gave him you, so now he’s hanging onto you with everything he’s got. 

_

It’s quiet in the Gallagher household when Lip shuffles out of bed. He can’t remember the last time he was able to sleep past 7am, so when he wakes up to birds chirping at 9am instead of the usual yelling and chaos, he’s surprised and even a little scared. He makes his way towards the bathroom getting ready to fight whoever is next in line, but finds it empty and even clean. He’s shuffling around, looking through doors to find a sense of life in his otherwise loud home when he hears a squeal from the backyard. He doesn’t think twice before grabbing a nearby bat and hurtling through the backdoor towards the pool, but he stops once he sees the atmosphere is anything, but fearful. Frannie is being tossed back and forth between Carl and Mickey in the pool, Fiona and Ian are chasing Liam with the garden hose and Debbie is bringing in watered down lemonade from the kitchen. 

He has no idea what caused this change of pace, but he isn’t mad about it. Just as he’s about to make himself known, he feels a soft touch caressing his back. 

“Hey baby,” you whisper, brushing your lips against his neck. 

He turns his head at your sweet voice finally fully awakening his sleepy trance. Lip tugs you towards him by the belt loops of your, too short, cut off shorts and breathes into your neck. Hands slowly creeping down towards your ass to grab and pet, not socially acceptable in front of family, but he couldn’t care less. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he rasps into the valley of your chest, slightly picking you up to hug you closer. “What’s going on out here?”

“Thought everyone could use a day off especially in this heat, so Debs and I planned a pool party. Wanna join me?”

He pulls back on slightly to finally get a look at your face, your eyes are kind and happy followed by a mischievous smile. 

“Sure, let me get my trunks on and I’ll be down soon.” You reward him with a soft peck on his chapped lips and an arm squeeze before moving out of his hold and grabbing some leftover toast. 

The day goes by without a hitch. Everyone enjoys the much deserved break filled with laughter, junk food, and only a few fights. You’re nearly on top of Lip as you cuddle as close as you can basking in the happiness before you get ready to go out. There are only a handful of days that you and Lip both get off at the same time, so any day given is taken as a golden opportunity to spend some time together, leaving your worries at home. You plant a small peck to Lip’s cheek before untangling yourself from his hold as he answers the ringing phone. 

You don’t hear much of the conversation, just faint hmms of acknowledgement as you're flying past rooms trying to get ready as fast as you can. You’re struggling with your heels as Lip comes over and steadies you, your smile meeting with his frown.

“Sweetheart, they called me in to cover someone else’s shift and you know I hate to do this, but they’re offering me time and half..” he trails off.

A quick look of disappointment flashes on your face, before you cover it up with a reassuring look. You’re disappointed, sure, but not at Lip. Never at Lip. Just the shitty circumstances that forces the both of you to work as much as you can just to make ends meet.  

“It’s okay, I get it. We can always reschedule, don’t worry about it.” You pull him in and hold on to his waist hoping to ease his guilt, but your efforts go to waste as his eyebrows stay furrowed and his frown deepens. 

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear it,” Lip murmurs against your lips before squeezing your arm and letting you go. 

You watch him leave, slowly pulling off your heels and plopping yourself on the old couch, sighing already missing Lip. Your eyes shift trying to think of things to do now that your night opened up, but your mind keeps drifting back to Lip. You had eaten dinner earlier with everyone, skipping out on dessert and opting to get your fill when you go out, but now that plans have changed you were now missing both your boyfriend and something sweet to nibble on.

You quickly change out of your clothes and put on a pair of old shorts before deciding to make a batch of brownies. Lip works hard and if you guys couldn’t go out for dessert tonight, then you were going to bring dessert to him. 

He’s halfway through his shift when he spots you coming in, hands holding a tupperware to your chest. 

“Honey, what are you doing down here,” he shouts from across the room.

“Wanted to spend some time with you before I leave for my shift. I made some brownies since we missed dessert, care to join me?” you plead hopefully.

Lip’s heart aches with love and a lot of guilt. He can’t believe you would go through all that trouble just to see him. He calls out to say he’s taking his break before leading you to a secluded corner. 

“I’m really sorry about today,” he hugs you from behind swaying back and forth, mouth opening occasionally as you feed him a chunk of the sweet treat. 

You squeeze his wrist in response, “s’lright you can’t help it. I just like spending time with you.”

He smiles softly for the first time that night, stress immediately leaving his body. “Though, I love that you did all this for me, I don’t love the idea that you were walking alone this late at night.”

“Guess I’ll have to keep you company until you can walk me home then,” you compromise. 

Lip’s shift goes by somewhat fast now that you’re here to keep him company. He’ll leave his station sporadically to check up on you and to keep you from falling asleep. He’s in the final stretch now, only 30 more minutes before you get to go home and fall asleep holding each other, after a long day. He looks over hoping to catch your eye and send you a smile when he feels his face slowly morphing into a glare. A glare aimed at the guy standing way too close to you, a guy whose intentions go beyond a friendly conversation, and a guy who on paper was everything you deserved, but Lip couldn’t be. 

You finally glance at Lip sending a small wave and smile as you keep nodding along to the fucker next to you. He had fluffy brown hair and honestly looked quite plain if it wasn’t for the gleaming rolex on his wrist and the shiny Gucci emblem on his belt. He was a rich kid, probably from the nearby university, wasting away mommy and daddy’s money, chatting up pretty girls and sweeping them off their feet with his money. Lip’s never felt insecure about your relationship, you never gave him a reason too, but once he compares his ratty jeans and stained shirt to the pristine polo of Richie Rich he can’t help but wonder if he’s good enough for you when you can do so much better.

_

Lip was struggling. He never learned how to tie a tie before and now that the time has come, he’s racking his brain trying to get the knot perfect. He knew you couldn’t care less about a stupid tie, you were anything but superficial, but since that dreaded night when he witnessed you being chatted up by Richie Rich, Lip’s come to the conclusion that he was going to try his hardest to give you the perfect life. 

When Lip proposed going up to the north side for dinner, you were shocked. You’ve been there a few times mostly on walks or running errands, but you’ve never been there to spend actual money considering neither of you could afford it. The most you and Lip would do is windowshop and daydream about the things you would buy if you had the money, before being chased off by the glaring sales people.

He picks you up at your door, pecking your cheek softly and telling you how beautiful you look. He takes your hand and leads you to the borrowed car before pulling out an expensive bouquet from the backseat. Your hands flatter as you mutter a quiet thanks. You’re a little confused at the grand gesture since Lip’s never gotten you flowers before, at least not without reason. He’s gotten you flowers exactly four times since he’s known you: the first on your first date, the second for your graduation, and the last two times for your anniversary. And all those times the flowers were below 5 bucks, something he picked up from the corner store. But the bouquet he gave you now had to be worth at least a day’s salary, you and Lip had a mutual understanding since the start that since money was scarce you wouldn’t spend it on materialistic things for each other, but lately it seems like he forgot that promise. He’s been taking you out to eat nearly everyday, always putting money down and never letting you pay, surprising you with little gifts, but worst of all he’s been running himself haggard, taking up as many shifts as he possibly could. 

He notices your quiet demeanor as he starts driving, “You okay, baby?”

“Yeah, I just…” you hesitate, not wanting to offend him. “I’m grateful for all of this Lip, really I am, I love everything you’ve gotten me, but I’m confused about where you’re getting all the money from and why you’re doing all this in the first place.”

Lip tightens his grip on the wheel, “Isn’t this what you want? Isn’t this what all girls want?” Lip scoffs the memory of Richie Rich slowly coming into picture. 

“I don’t understand what changed, everything was fine before, why are you spending money you don’t have? You don’t think I know that you’re working yourself to death trying to afford this shit?” Your voice raises in annoyance. 

“Yeah, well that’s my problem, it’s none of your concern how I get all this as long as you get it.”

“It is when you’re burning money on materials that won’t even last the year instead of investing in our future.”

Lip pulls to stop as the words leave your mouth. “Our future?” He asks. 

You lick your lips, trying to think of a way to backtrack but his eyes plead with you to tell the truth. “Yeah, our future. You know when we eventually move out, get a place of our own and have a kid or two?”

Lip smiles at the thought, “You want all that with me?”

You nod incredulously, “What did you think this was you idiot? That we were just playing boyfriend/girlfriend? Look I appreciate all these gestures, but the way I see it you’re burning 50 bucks on flowers that are gonna wither in a week instead of spending that money on something like our future house.”

Lip cups your chin in endearment before pulling you in for a quick kiss. “I’m sorry, I let everything get away from me.” He huffs in frustration before letting your chin go and clenching his fists. “It’s just when you visited me at work a few weeks back you were talking to this guy. This very rich guy who… I don’t know… I know you aren’t like that, but I couldn’t help but think this is all I’ll be able to offer you, at least right now. I will never be able to whisk you away on a private jet or buy diamonds just cause.”

You giggle as you hold his face in your soft hands, his head tilting to lean into your palm. “Lip Gallager, for someone with an insanely high IQ, you are so incredibly stupid, ” He huffs out a laugh in embarrassment as you continue, “That guy, that fool was annoying as fuck. I was just trying to get him off my back. And not to mention incredibly fucking stupid. Everything that was coming out of his mouth made me cringe and thank the stars that you’re nothing like him.”

He kisses your palm before pulling you into another kiss. “Can we skip the fancy restaurant now?” you ask as he presses kisses to your pouty lips. 

“Where do you wanna go instead?”

“Family dinner, and then out for ice cream?” you suggest. He nods before putting the car back in drive. 

_

Lip Gallagher was all sorts of fucked up. But somehow in his fucked up life, he managed to find you, his light at the end of a dark, narrow, and gloomy tunnel and he thinks, maybe, he isn’t so unlucky after all.

[the-californicationist]

I don't know if you're taking requests (You can ignore this if you're not)

I remember reading something (it was either on facebook or a twitter thread) about a guy who made a tinder account of his girlfriend to see how many likes/swipes she'd get

And boy he didn't realise how many men swiped right on her. I think within an hour she got like over 1000 (he was ready to buy his girlfriend a cow, a camel, diamond ring. Basically anything she wanted because he realised how lucky he actually was that she wanted him)

ANYWAY

I can't stop thinking about the cod men doing it. Like what would their reaction be??

I feel like Kyle would just shower you with gifts. Oh you glanced at that designer handbag, he's in that shop with his card out. He don't care about the price

lol this is such a funny premise! i wish i had seen the video!! here's my take, otherwise known as how to tease Gaz within an inch of his life.

Get Ratio'd

“What do you mean switch? I don’t wanna be on that bloody app in the first place, babe,” Kyle scrunched up his nose at your proposal, but you pressed him.

“C’mon! It’ll be a laugh. Just for fun, Gaz. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

You had seen a viral video, and now you had an idea. There was a couple who had switched phones for the night to swipe through each other’s dating apps, just to see how many hits they’d get. The woman in the video seemed defeated after trying her best to dress up her man’s profile and not finding any matches, but the man looked like he was shell-shocked, and he told her they were deleting these apps right away. Experiment over. So, you were curious. You knew Gaz was a handsome man, so you were eager to see how you’d do. 

He peered down at you over his nose and sighed, handing you his phone. You sat on the couch together, downloading the apps, picking out pictures, making sure to set the settings to casual dates only. No need to trick people into thinking you were actually on the market. 

“I just don’t want you to get jealous, love,” he smiled, genuinely concerned, "I've been told I'm a handsome chap." You smiled back,

“No worries, babe.  I can take it.”

Finally, after everything was set up, you switched phones. The boys would be over in just a few minutes, and you were eager for all of the likes to start rolling in. 

“We should make ourselves a little wager, yeah?” You suggested, knowing Kyle wasn’t one to shy away from competition.

“Aye, alright. Most likes wins?”

“Nah, most messages. ‘Cause that takes guts. And we’ll stop after the football game.”

“You’re on,” he smiled, giving your butt a playful slap as you went to buzz the boys in from your front door. 

The match was on for a good twenty minutes before you even got your first notification. Your heart sank a little when it looked like a bot, some garbage about “You look lonely. I can fix that. Click here!” It wasn’t a real girl. You showed Kyle and he shrugged, 

“It counts. It’s a DM, innit?”

“Alright,” you said, trying to get a peek at his app.

He swiped the phone away from you,

“Ah-ah! No peekin’.”

“Oh, c’mon, babe. No one wants to do me?” You whined, pouting at him.

He snaked his arm around you, palming your arse in his wide hand, 

“I wanna do you, babe.”

“I know,” you giggled, raising your hips to give him more access, earning yourself a hard squeeze, “I just thought I still had it.”

“You definitely do, babe. This is just a toxic app. Don’t think about it.”

So, you put it out of your mind. You got exactly three more messages for the rest of the night. One girl sent a friendly “Hey!” with a smiley emoji, another sent a photo of herself doing a sort of duck lips thing in a low-cut top. Finally, you got one that said, “Is that your real name? Just want to make sure I’ll be screaming the right one later.”

You cackled, showing the boys. Soap laughed with you, his eyes wide at her sexy message, and Price gave you a good-natured eyeroll. The only thing Ghost said was,

“Has he showed you yours yet?”

You looked over at Gaz who was burning a hole through Ghost with his glare, and he shut off your phone screen and put it in his pocket. 

“No… why?” You asked.

“No reason,” Ghost retreated, drinking his beer and fixing his eyes back on the match. 

A few minutes later, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, and then you lingered in the hallway, listening to the conversation happening between Gaz and his friends in your den. 

“Oh, mate,” Soap whispered none too quietly, “You are in fuckin’ trouble, ain’tcha?” 

“Shove off, Johnny. Help me figure out how to fuckin’ delete this,” Gaz hissed.

“Well, son,” Price didn’t even bother to lower his tone, sipping on his whiskey with a smile on his face, “You bloody well won your bet.”

“I knew it would be bad, but I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Gaz handed your phone over to Ghost who was gesturing for him to give it. 

Ghost read the message aloud,

“I could call you beautiful, but since beauty comes from within, I’ll just have to check for myself… Fuckin’ hell. That’s rank.”

Soap was looking over his shoulder, scrolling furiously, reading as he did,

“Your eyes are stunnin’. You’ve got beautiful eyes. Wow, your eyes are beautiful… like, c’mon mate, a little creativity?”

“You don’t want to read the creative ones,” Price warned, taking the phone from Ghost, reading his favorite, “Jus’ wonderin’ if I should respect the fuck outta you or fuck the respect out of you.” 

Gaz leaned back on the couch, exasperated,

“What am I gonna do? I gotta buy her one of those fuckin’ bags that cost as much as a goddamn Aston. She said she wanted to do Bora Bora, or was it Fiji? Maybe I can take her for her birthday? How much are tickets?”

“Mate, you’re cooked,” Soap muttered, then gasped, “Oh, Christ. Look at the size of this one's fuckin’ knob!”

“Help me book her a bloody spa day. Do you think she wants jewelry? Holy shite, this bloke just sent a screenshot of his bank account. What the fuck?”

“She’s already with you, mate,” Ghost shrugged, “What’s the bother?”

“He’s bothered ‘cause now he knows that,” Price grumbled, checking his watch, “...in under an hour, she could have a quarter of the population of London bangin’ down her door just to smell the inside of her bloody shoe. And he’d have…”

“A bot and two birds,” Gaz frowned, crossing his arms.

“A bot and two birds,” Price nodded, sipping his drink and turning back to the game. 

You wandered back into the room, plopping down beside Gaz, pretending you hadn’t heard the discussion that had just transpired. Gaz put an arm around you almost protectively, kissing your forehead,

“Hey, babes. What was the name of that spa you wanted to book? Thought we could go together this weekend.”

“Kyle,” you turned to him decisively, “Show me the texts.”

“No,” he shook his head, turning back to the game.

“Kyle,” you squeezed his thigh.

“No! You don’t need to see all that.”

“All what?”

“The one hundred eighty-seven messages that he —” Soap interrupted, but Gaz cut him off.

“Oy! Mate! Shut up.”

“Just show her,” Ghost rolled his eyes. 

“One hundred…” You were in shock, and as Gaz handed you your phone back, you scrolled through the mess that he had been hiding from you, “Oh, God…”

“Yeah…” Gaz sighed, “So, if you want that purse that the Kardashian whats-her-name had, just add it to the cart, alright? Jesus.”

You were shocked by the level of attention you had received, but when you saw the content, you had to stop yourself from dying with laughter,

“Not sure if I’m just hungry or if you truly are a snack. Either way I’ll eat you. Oh, no. Look at this one: My cock’s a rescue, wanna give it a good home? Wow… these are rough! How many dick pics did you get?”

“Too many,” Gaz shook his head. 

“Aww, baby,” you hugged his neck, teasing him, “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. None of these blokes is half as fit as you.” 

“Dinnae you see the fuckin’ knob on Fabio over here? He's askin' for your Venmo. I say you should send it.” Soap chuckled, shocked, flipping back to one of the profiles.

Gaz fought him back, snatching the phone, and you laughed with the others, shaking your head, 

“So… what was that you were saying about a handbag?”

After the laughter eventually died down and the boys had gone home, you helped Gaz clean up the kitchen. Then, you both deleted the app and returned your phones, glad to be done with your little experiment. You decided to tease your man just a little further, 

“Well, you won the wager. What’s your prize, love?”

You expected him to take the bait, to bend you over the counter and claim you possessively, using you to let out his frustration. But, he turned serious, his expression almost somber, and he kissed you softly, disarming you.

“You are my prize,” he purred, “And I’ll do anything to show you how lucky I am to have you.”

“Hmm… anything?” You smirked, tucking your hand into the waistband of his jeans and pulling him closer. 

Finally, that rakish grin you loved so dearly was back, spreading across his face, 

“Name your price, love.”

You pretended to think for a moment, letting your hands wander down into the warmth of his pants, palming his growing cock, playing with it and feeling it throb for you, then you winked at him, 

“I hear Tahiti is nice this time of year.”

He raked his hand down his face, but he was hiding a smile, groaning,

"Tahiti..." Then, after a breath, he snatched you, holding you in his arms, carrying you kicking and giggling to your bedroom, "C'mere, you. Tahiti can wait."

AO3 Link

[luveline]

Hi friend! I just have a small request for zombie au Steve if you’re feeling up for it. I miss him lol. It’s snowing where I live currently and it got me thinking. I would love to see just about anything with zombie au steve and some snow. I’m a little partial to pre-college times but it definitely doesn’t have to be. Fluff or angst bc tbh it could so go either way. Just if it strikes your fancy. And thank you as always for your lovely and warm writing you share!

thank you for reading and requesting, you angel!! some pre-college zombie!au for you <3 —steve acts like a boyfriend even when he isn’t one (officially) on a cold day alone together. fem, 1.1k

It can feel weird waking up next to you. Steve’s so used to taking shifts and sleeping half on top of one another that waking up face to face scares him at first —he flinches and his body fills with inertia as he throws his leg back to stop from falling out of bed. 

You doze peacefully through his panic. Your face is soft with sleep. You have deeply etched lines under your eyes that show how badly you need it, but beside them, Steve can’t find a thing wrong with you. You’re really pretty this close. He finds you beautiful. 

He lifts his hand to your neck in apology though you weren’t awake to notice his fear. “Morning,” he mouths, rubbing the side of your neck gently. 

Your skin is chapped, but his hands are calloused, so it’s not like he minds. He steals another minute watching you sleep, and then he leans forward to kiss your jaw just by his hand. You make a sound he chooses to believe is a knowing pleasure, a happy sigh at being with him. He’d kiss your lips if he thought he could, but he’s been asking first each time for the last few weeks, cautious of overstepping a boundary you haven’t laid. 

The thing is that Steve knew you liked him before he liked you back. Well. He guessed you were attracted to him, then argued with himself that he was being delusional. But one day you were asking if he’d hold your hand, and you wouldn’t admit it but you were scared, and he realised you depended on him for more than just your survival. He realised you were his friend, and now more than that, and it wasn’t that he wasn’t falling for you, but that he just didn’t know how to do that. You were already there waiting for him when he kissed you the first time. 

You’d been so nervous. It was enough to finish him off, compel him forward into whatever this is. (Whatever, but not whatever. He loves it. He’s not sure how to handle it.) 

When he peels away from you, his arms immediately prickle with goosebumps. The room is cold and it has to have been your proximity that was keeping him warm, his breath rising like fog as he stands. “Shit,” he mumbles, mouth glued together with fatigue. “Fucking hell.” 

He stretches until the sore spot at the low of his back clicks and turns to look at you again, checking you’re alright while he scratches the last eight hours out of his hair. You’ve curled a touch into his warm spot but otherwise remain asleep. 

Why is it suddenly cold? 

A white light is emanating from behind the curtains. Steve hopes to god it’s just a bright day today, that the sun is high and reflecting off of a lake nearby, but he pulls the drapes open and startles into silence. 

Powdery snow stretches thick and fast from either side of the landscape. Wind carries it around in drifting sheets, but it seems to have stopped for now. 

He grabs another blanket from the linen closet, a third, and stands with his head cocked by the door listening for sounds. Steve’s more often than not thinking about who or what might be near. 

He closes you both in again, shuts the curtains, and climbs into bed with you, draping the blankets heavily over your body where it makes half a heart. You pull a knee higher and disrupt the image, eyes squeezing tightly closed at his return, and opening sluggishly. 

“Hey,” he says, resting his head on the pillow. Eye to eye like this, he can see the sleep in your lashes. He probably has his own. “You feeling okay?” 

“Are you trying to cook me?” you ask. Now you’ve seen him, you’re relaxing, closing your eyes again. 

“Don’t go back to sleep.” 

“Why not?” 

“‘Cause I’m bored and you’re my only friend,” he says. 

“Ooh, wouldn’t say that. Not sure we’re there yet.” 

Steve cups your cheek. You smile into the pillow. 

He draws a line back and forth. It’s nice to give you something nice, a soft sensation. He thinks maybe that’s what falling in love is; wanting to make someone else happy, wanting them to make you happy. You’re a sweetheart when he’s not antagonising you; you’re nice, and gentle, and you hold his hand like you’ve loved him for years. He’s not stupid enough to miss how awesome that is. Nor can he ignore the way his heart has started to patter when you’re changing, or the contented, near bliss of your face pressed under his chin. This isn’t just about you wanting him or vice versa, it’s love. 

“Maybe you should sleep more. You still look tired.” 

You wrinkle your nose and he leans in, thinking about kissing you again, but you’re not on the same page yet. “I can’t sleep anymore. It’s midday, right?” You squint at the bright square of the window before hiding your face, your forehead slipping against his chin to his shoulder. “We should get going soon.” 

“That’s not happening.” 

He wraps his arm around you. You practically preen, happiness sewn into your words as you ask, “Why not?” 

“It snowed last night. All night, I’d say.” 

You look up at him sceptically. “Really?” 

“You think I’m lying?” 

“I thought it was too cold to snow.” 

“Tell that to the penguins in Antarctica.” 

You laugh into his shoulder. Slowly, your hand is climbing his stomach. After a half second of deliberation, you curl it behind his back and settle in. “You’re not nice.” 

“I’m nice,” he says into your forehead, pulling you closer in turn. “Not making you walk in the blizzard.” 

“Generous.” 

He hugs you tighter and decides fuck it, pressing a generous smattering of kisses into the skin between your brows. “You love that about me. I’m oh so forgiving.” He encourages your head back carefully to kiss the tip of your nose. “Are you warm enough?” 

You’d think he’s told you you’re beautiful, or that he wants your babies, the way you melt. “I’m fine. Thank you,” you mumble shyly. 

He presses his forehead to yours. The snow might stay for days, and eventually you’ll have to brave it, but for now he wants to stay here kissing you and exacerbating the ache that brews in his stomach every time your breath catches. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. “There’s more linens if you need them.” 

“I won’t need them. You’re going to keep me warm.” 

“I am.” Steve presses a gentle kiss to your lips, endorphins like a rush of heat through every inch of skin as you kiss back.