#this ended up... way longer than i intended lmao

[immobiliter]

some miscellaneous birthday thoughts for everyone's favourite pretend archon~

i was hoping hoyo would elaborate on this but they did not, so i will: we learned last year from neuvillette's birthday message that furina's birthday is a public holiday in fontaine, and remains so to this day, presumably meaning that things weren't changed after the events of the archon quest.

this implies to me two things, one, that no matter fontaine's collective feelings about their archon after the flood, furina's birthday is actually less about furina herself and reflects more on fontaine as a whole. a public holiday that has been in existence in this nation for anywhere up to 500 years has likely taken on a life of its own, with its own traditions and rituals, and can probably exist without her, in all honesty. it's like how christmas is as much a cultural holiday as it is a religious one, and can be enjoyed even by those who aren't religious. and two, that someone ( probably neuvillette considering he brings it up lmao ) insisted that the tradition continue even after furina's retirement

going back to the theme of christmas, there are a lot of parallels with various elements of christianity within the fontaine archon quest. i don't consider myself enough of an expert to go into them all, but furina, as the human representation of the divine who is sent to her nation to "save" her people from their original sin, and then is subsequently turned on by those people but is still willing to die in order to save them, and is someone who can literally walk on water gameplay wise, has a lot of parallels to jesus. i do think that her birthday in many ways functions in fontainian society similarly to how christmas works in the western world. yes, it's about celebrating the birthday of their archon, but to many it's actually less about that than it is a celebration of fontaine as a whole. i also think it's fitting for furina that even her birthday isn't really about her, although during her time as archon i am sure that she insisted on certain things because it's a way to reinforce the idea that she is their god, after all

pre-AQ, i imagine there is a lot of ceremony involved. for those who know what trooping the colour involves here in the uk, i am thinking along the same lines — chevreuse's voice line about furina talks about her once insisting on some kind of ceremonial musketeer performance and i think there would be some kind of similar officialdom from the various sections of the maison gardiennage to show fealty to their archon, with a lot of pomp and ceremony. i suspect that sort of stuff is inevitably dropped from furina's birthday celebrations after the AQ, but any other traditions that have been adopted by the fontainian people ( and the nature of it being a public holiday where the fontainian people can be at home with their families ) remain.

this also means that this birthday, timeline wise, is not only the first birthday that furina gets to celebrate as an ordinary human being, but also the first birthday she gets to celebrate where she has actually aged. of course, her age always increased every birthday, but she was cursed by focalors to forever remain the way she is, and to never visibly look any older or show any signs of aging. the fact that she can now say that she is a whole year older, both mentally and physically, is a big, big deal to her.

[stevenrogered]

ONE DAY ↳book > screen

Imagine one selected day struck out of your life and think how different its course would have been. Think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on that memorable day. - Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

[camels-pen]

warning: eating disorders/food issues

-

"Something wrong with it?"

Usopp startled and snapped his head to the side. His nose jabbed Sanji's eye and they both hissed. Usopp jerked away to rub the tip of his nose.

"Fuck, I forgot about that," Sanji grumbled. There was a contrasting, fond smile on his face as rubbed his eye. "Anyway, the food?"

"What about it?"

"What's wrong with it?"

Usopp turned his gaze back to his plate. Plenty of pork chops piled high- at Luffy's request for a meat-filled dinner- and mashed potatoes with green beans on the side. His mouth salivated again just staring at it.

"Nothing," he said. "Just taking my time."

He could feel Sanji's unimpressed stare. "You've been 'taking your time' through the whole dinner. Everyone's already finished and left. The moss ball even finished the dishes, and we both know how he likes to dawdle."

Despite himself, Usopp giggled quietly. When it was his turn to do dishes, Zoro always took his time, waiting for Sanji to get frustrated with his speed and leave him to finish it alone. It was the perfect strategy to steal booze when Sanji wasn't looking, but it seemed Usopp had unknowingly thwarted his first sake stealing attempt after their reunion.

As if reading his mind, Sanji said, "I let him steal that alcohol, you know. I'm not that stupid." He huffed, voice sounding like he was pouting as he added, "It's the only damn way I can keep an eye on his shitty drinking habits. He'd constantly drink us dry otherwise, that damn mossheaded bastard."

Usopp giggled again and made the mistake of glancing up at him. Sanji was staring across the room at the kitchen, probably the place he'd put all the good booze. He'd confided in Usopp, once, that he had two hiding places for drinking alcohol: one, more obvious place, by the fridge for the cheap stuff, and another, hidden somewhere he wouldn't say, for all the more expensive and high quality stuff. He'd confidently crowed, on more than one occasion, that despite the cheap stuff always going missing, he'd never lost a drop of anything else. He always looked so smug saying that, and well, Usopp now knew why.

But then his eye- the left one now, and despite looking right at it, the change had still caught him off guard more than once- turned to Usopp and Usopp clammed up. Sanji stared at him, his eyebrow- this one curled on the opposite side, closer to his nose bridge than his ear- raised high on his forehead. "If you're well enough to laugh at Zoro, it can't be that bad."

Usopp gulped. Looked away. "I'm not sick," he said quietly. "The food looks great, Sanji, really. Eating is just..." He trailed off. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, only the sounds of their distant crewmates enjoying the sight of their descent to the ocean's floor filling the galley.

Sanji's arm slowly, hesitantly, laid on the back of his chair- Sanji didn't used to hesitate, but, he supposed, things had changed. He settled himself in the chair next to Usopp, rather than continue to lean over him, and said softly, "Eating is just...?"

Usopp stared at the grain on the table, studying the lines and deviations with an intense and sudden fascination.

"Usopp."

"It's hard," he mumbled.

Another silence, this one less expecting and more confused. Awkward.

"You ate fine at breakfast...?" Sanji said, voice lilting up at the end, almost in question.

Usopp snorted. 'Ate fine' was a kinder way of putting it. Usopp had demolished breakfast, nearly rivaling Luffy with how much and how quickly he ate. The usual sense of desperation had dimmed slightly, now that he was with his crew, but it was still there, dictating his eating habits. He would've felt more ashamed if he hadn't seen Luffy, Franky, and Brook eating in the exact same disgusting manner. Instead, he felt right at home.

He had wondered, privately, if something similar had happened to them. Had tossed around the idea of asking them about it. Then he would think back to how they used to eat, before. How it was exactly the same. How they had all basically cried that they'd so dearly missed Sanji's cooking. He couldn't blame them, he nearly sobbed over Sanji's pancakes- and then did sob over his hashbrowns.

"The island got hungry at dawn," he started. Stopped. Stared at the little vase of daisies at the centre of the table that Robin had gathered from her garden- now shared with Usopp. "It would close up. Then open. After, everything was... safe. For a little while."

He gulped again, cringing at his dry throat. He stared at the glass of water, a little wet stain under it. Luffy had bumped his glass earlier when he stole a few chops off of Usopp's pile.

Usopp didn't reach for it.

"You know, I was expecting grand stories of your heroics when you finally talked about where you were." Usopp shrunk in his seat. "No- no, come on I didn't mean it like that. I was just trying to make a joke."

"You should leave the jokes to the experts." Usopp's lip quirked. "Even Brook's better than you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sanji scowled. "Brook wouldn't know a good joke if it kicked him upside the head."

Usopp giggled again, relaxing. "Admit it, you missed his skull jokes."

Sanji huffed. "...Maybe a little."

In the background, they could hear Zoro talking about taking a swim followed by a familiar thud and Nami yelling at him. They both giggled this time, leaning into each other.

"God, I missed everyone. I missed-" Sanji cut himself off and Usopp turned to look at him. There was a wobble to his lips and his visible eye stared intently at him. Usopp would almost say Sanji looked longing- yearning, even- if he didn't know better.

"I know," he said. "I missed everyone too." Sanji's eyes pinched a little at the corners, but Usopp didn't know why. He didn't linger on it long though, what with Sanji's smile as he pressed his temple to Usopp's for a moment. Usopp's heart would've beat wildly two years ago, but now all he felt was warm and content.

Sanji hummed in agreement and pulled away. Patting his pockets, likely for a cigarette. Usopp pulled the one tucked behind his ear, admiring the feel of soft blond hair a moment too long before handing it to him. Sanji chuckled and accepted it with a quiet thanks.

He lit it and sat back in his chair, relaxing with the first inhale. "Back to the important stuff." Usopp would argue all of that was important stuff. "You only felt safe to eat breakfast?"

Usopp shook his head. Then tilted it side to side. "No- well, sort of. It was never really safe, but..." He rolled the words around his mouth, feeling out the right ones while discarding others. "It was... easier. To eat a lot in the morning. Gather food later in the day. Then sleep when I got hungry closer to sunset."

Sanji blew out a puff of smoke. "You didn't have anyone to watch your back while you were eating?"

"I did." Usopp nodded, a sense of pride filling him as he puffed out his chest. "Heracles'n was a great friend and teacher! We took turns watching out for each other and, well, he's the reason I survived that island in the first place." He flexed one of his biceps. "He also helped me get a whole lot stronger!"

Sanji pursed his lips around his cigarette. "But you didn't eat dinner. Or lunch." Today nor in nearly two years, though Sanji likely meant the latter.

Usopp deflated, arm settling back down in his lap. "We couldn't stop moving until sunset. By then it was better to sleep and eat heap loads in the morning rather than risk dinner and not getting enough rest." He sighed. "Heracles'n was always telling me to eat more berries and fruit throughout the day, but..."

Sanji stared at him. "You had this-island-is-too-scary-so-I-can't-eat-anything-itis?"

Usopp scowled. "I'd like to see you keep up an appetite when you're constantly running and hiding from giant-"

Sanji used his arm to tug Usopp closer, so their sides were pressed together. He pressed his nose to Usopp's hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"What for?" Usopp whispered back.

Sanji didn't answer, his breaths warming Usopp's head. The galley had grown silent when he finally spoke, the others having found quieter activities or retired to their rooms.

"If I was stronger then- or quicker-"

"Sanji," Usopp said. "There's no way you would've been able to beat Kuma, back then."

Sanji shook his head. "I know, but maybe we could've been sent somewhere together."

There was a bittersweet, choking feeling in the back of Usopp's throat. A burning in his eyes. "You wouldn't have liked it there," he said, laying his head on Sanji's shoulder. "You would've hated it, actually."

"But I would've been with you."

Usopp laughed, the sound wet and brittle. "I wouldn't wish that island on anyone, Sanji, but least of all you. I'm not worth-"

A hand cupped his face, cutting him off as he was turned to face Sanji. His nose was bent, pressing against Sanji's cheek. "You worth a lot, Usopp. You're worth it to-" Sanji's cheeks dusted pink all of a sudden and he looked away. "You're worth a lot. And it would've been nice if I could have watched your back. Made sure you were eating well."

At a loss for words, Usopp turned back to the table, staring at his plate. The mashed potatoes were surely cold and hard by now and he was fairly certain a thick pork chop wouldn't stay down.

The green beans, maybe. Those could work.

He picked one up. His stomach rumbled. He lifted it to his mouth.

His hands shook.

He gulped again. Stared at his hand intensely.

Sanji's hand covered his own. A sudden, terrible spike of anxiety overwhelmed him and he held his breath, hoping Sanji wasn't going to just force him to eat it. He hated wasting food after all and it was already in Usopp's hand and Usopp himself just needed to quit cowering and just eat it already-

Sanji pulled his hand away from his mouth. The tension left Usopp in a rush. Shame took up where anxiety had left, but he forced himself to meet Sanji's eye. He knew what came next.

Before Sanji could say anything, Usopp blurted, "There was food. On the island. Not just fruits and berries and whatever game we could hunt. Pre-cooked food, I mean." Sanji's brow furrowed, but Usopp continued on. "There were these plants- and rivers- that had cake and burgers and ramen and- well, you get the idea. And the closer you got to the centre of the island, the more tasty the food got." He gulped. Coughed a little. Sanji reached for his glass, but Usopp grabbed his wrist in a tight hold. If he didn't get it all out now, he never would.

"I didn't meet Heracles'n immediately. I was on my own at first and- and I didn't completely trust him at first either." He laughed, the sound as self-deprecating as it felt. "The centre of the island, that's where its mouth is."

Sanji's eyebrow furrowed further. "So when you said the island 'got hungry'..."

Usopp nodded. "It was a trap to lure in prey." Quietly, he added, "Like me."

Sanji gasped, his eyes darting down, and wow, Usopp really should've re-thought the whole 'show off his new muscles by going shirtless' plan. He pulled away from Sanji, and pulled up the waist of his pants. "Staring at my stretch marks isn't going to change anything, y'know."

Sheepishly, Sanji said, "Sorry- sorry, I should know better." He held out his arms, with a sad little pout. "Come back?"

Usopp held out for a few moments, glaring at him, but he sighed and eventually gave in. "I hate you," he mumbled into Sanji's shoulder. Sanji patted his back in response.

The two of them sat there in silence once more. Usopp savoured the contact between them, like he had always dreamed of on Boin.

"You had to train yourself to avoid delicious looking foods, then," Sanji said quietly. Usopp nodded. "That makes sense. But then, breakfast?"

A new wave of shame, far heavier than the last. He dug his forehead into Sanji's shoulder. "I don't want to talk about it."

He didn't know how to explain how he had become some kind of wild animal during meals and he didn't want to explain. Heracles'n was already one person too many and earlier, the entire crew had seen him. His heart beat hard and fast in his chest at the reminder, a belated rush of fear to make up for his single minded focus at breakfast.

"Then I won't ask," Sanji said. "You should tell Chopper though-"

Usopp grimaced. "Eventually, but..."

Sanji sighed, pressing his cheek to Usopp's hair. "Okay, but can I make you something? Just a snack or tea or...?"

Usopp huffed. "Sanji-"

"I know, I know! But letting you go to bed hungry is..."

"Hard," Usopp finished for him, pulling away. "I know."

He wasn't going anywhere before Sanji fed him, of that he was sure, but it made Usopp's stomach queasy just thinking about all the snacks Sanji used to make before they were separated.

Some of it must have shown on his face too, since Sanji was already holding up his hands and starting to look even more concerned. "It doesn't have to be anything special. I could just peel a tangerine for you or slice up some apples or juice some pears- I mean oranges! Why would anyone juice pears- oh, hm, I should check that sometime; remind me to write it down. Oh and maybe I could steep a really bitter tea, so you don't have to worry about drinking too much because I know you hate bitter things-"

And Usopp couldn't help himself. He laughed.

Sanji deflated, his brow furrowed in confusion, or maybe it was concern. Usopp didn't know, he was too busy laughing at the absurdity of Sanji being so anxious and speaking every rambling thought. It was adorable and Usopp couldn't help but reach up and squish Sanji's cheeks.

"I lo-" Sanji's eye widened and suddenly, Usopp didn't feel brave enough. "Lost my notebook. We'll have to use one of yours."

"O-Oh, yeah, sure." Sanji nodded, voice slightly muffled by his squished cheeks. He stared at Usopp, his eye asking another question.

Usopp looked away, his eyes landing on the fruit bowl on the bar counter. There were apples, bananas, and pears. He pulled his hands away. "...Nami will be mad at you." he said quietly, weakly.

Sanji sighed, a shaky, relieved little thing. He wrapped his arms around Usopp's middle, crushing him to his chest. "I think she'll forgive me," he said.

Boldly, Usopp added, "What if you made coffee?" The only coffee in the pantry was a fancy jar brought along from a Revolutionary base near a village that prided themselves on their harvest.

Sanji chuckled. "Robin would forgive me too."

Usopp hummed. "You seem awfully confident."

"I am," he said, pulling away completely, his chair squeaking against the floorboards as he stood. Sanji held out a hand, a smile on his lips. "If you don't believe me, let me show you."

And right here, Usopp could've chosen to laugh it off. Said something about not wanting to face Nami's wrath, much less Robin's. Fled the galley completely with an excuse or three and sleep in his workshop while ignoring any and all feelings of guilt. It would've been easy.

But he'd already accepted it. Acknowledged the inevitable consequences instead of turning down those anxious suggestions. How could he do anything else, in the face of such genuine care and concern? To leave now would just hurt them both and the last thing Usopp wanted to do was hurt Sanji.

And, well, he trusted Sanji, to do what he couldn't. Planned to trust him with his heart, at some point.

Trusting him with his stomach, in comparison, was as easy as breathing.

So, Usopp placed a steady hand in Sanji's own, a small, teasing smile on his face, and said, "Lead the way."

[roadkillracoon]

I'm fairly new to the jojo fandom, so this might be a generalization, but I've seen one too many people disregard Jotaro's ex-wife. Like those guys are completely missing the angst potential of him still being SO in love with her, but having to leave her AND his beloved daughter behind to keep them safe. He's a very stoic and scary looking guy, and the idea that she's one of the only people who looked past that and just GETS him, only for him to give it up hurrrts man. Idk I just imagine him coming home after being attacked by some loser stand user like way too close to his house, and seeing his little family, and realizing that he has a very difficult decision to make. Both decisions being some form of selfish in their own way, but one destroying him more. Him handing divorce papers to the love of his life tight lipped. Feeding her lies that he no longer has any love for her, each one paining him to say. Her demanding a proper explanation and begging to talk it out, apologizing for something that isn't her fault, and him shrugging it off as if it didn't mean anything to him. As if it wouldn't keep him up at night for YEARS after it happened.

[akai-anna]

Your life is gonna be changed when you learn that Ace of Base are a nazi band lol

I wish I was joking...

Great music though!

Firstly: hello there!

Secondly: thank you for the information! In the grand scheme of things, however, I don't think it changes much for me.

Before I get my head bitten off though, I would like to say, that at this point in my life, I'm quite used to the... I guess, we could call it "culture" in a way, being "this person/creator has bad views/did something problematic/disgusting/etc".

A couple thoughts I have on this:

I have ever only listened to some of their older music. My father used to like Ace of Base, so thanks to his influence I grew up with it to a degree. (I honestly thought they disbanded/don't create anymore, but after a quick search, apparently Wiki says otherwise). Thus, that is the only thing I know about them, and don't feel educated on the matter to judge this fact. Does this apply to all members? Or just some/one? (I don't even know how many people are in Ace of Base.) And to what extent? Also does it mean the people affected still share the same views? Or like every human, they changed over the years to a degree? Who am I to judge someone I haven't seen/heard enough of?

Also does this mean, that any media (be it music, art, movies/shows, books, anything) created by someone with certain views are to be ignored/hated/disregarded/judged/etc? Does that negate what feelings I have attached to that particular media? What if I grew up with something that I loved very much, that even changed and shaped me in some meaningful way, had a lasting affect, to later on learn the very creator is misogynistic/bigoted/transphobic/etc? Will it change the fact that somehow I was shaped by or enjoyed something they created? Does it apply to not only the original creator but also transformative works too?

I admit, I rarely pay for the music I listen to. So it's not like I give them any support financially. *shrugs* Crude that might sound, but alas.

Lastly: I'm tired. I'm tired of finger pointing, tired of the disease that are humans, tired of all the evil and horrible in our world. I try to embrace what I enjoy, in my privacy (and possibly with some friends and family at times). I feel too old to care about certain things, and engage with something that has the potential to make me feel bad, sad, upset angry and so on, when I can choose otherwise. I have so little time as is, to do the things I find joy in, or that are important to me. In conclusion, to return to the first point, this matter is not something I feel I should dig into, look further in. Am I educated on this matter? No. Do I want to be educated on this matter, sacrifice what little time I have on this? No.

Will I still enjoy some of Ace of Base songs? Yes, because I associate some pleasant memories with them, or just simply like the lyrics or the beat of them.

Am I evil/bad for this view? Perhaps some might think so. Some might not. Am I selfish for this? Definitely, as humans are inherently selfish. (Being kind can be selfish: as in you usually feel nice, when you are kind to someone and especially when they appreciate it. We cannot view the world from an outside point of view, nor from a completely objective one. The most we can do is try.) But I ask: who are they, to judge a random stranger and her views?

Again, thank you for your ask; it has been a while since I got something in my inbox, and it definitely made my brain whirr on this Sunday afternoon! I truly appreciate the brain stimulation! Also, apologies for the word vomit, oops... I also hope you have a lovely time, dear!

[sourspider]

{Whoops. I'll try to be more active soon.}

[marwhoa]

request: You write the turtles boys so well! I literally can't stop smiling when I read your fics - they're so sweet and endearing. I was wondering, only if it strikes your interest of course, if you'd consider writing about the boys being jealous of each other when the reader spends time with them one on one? Like, maybe a slot for Leo where he thinks reader finds Donnie funnier? Or one for mikey, where he thinks that reader likes how big raph is? Or for raph, where he thinks reader is more enamored with Leo? Or Donnie, where he worries that Mikey is flirting with reader? Of course they're all misunderstandings, and maybe it could end all fluffy with confessions and comforting their respective boy? If not, don't worry, but if so, thank you! 1 look forward to whatever you put out next.

🝮 “ green with envy ”

rise!boys x y/n

author’s note: screaming profusely !!! eeeee !!! So hey yeah here’s a fic, this took a while because it sat in my notes for days before I finally posted it, my bad. This was kinda hard cause I’m not experienced in the realm of jealousy—hopefully y’all like it? ᗡ: also does envy even fit this scenario? Lmao I just be naming these fics any thing, can y’all tell?

word count: 6.1k

┆ ── ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — Leo 💌

Leo never expected he could ever become… jealous, not him—no, no, NEVER him. He had too much pride, too much confidence. There should have never been any room for doubt in his ability to keep you focused and adoring on him, and him alone.

But, perhaps he had given himself too much credit? Or, maybe he had given his twin too little credit.

It wasn’t as though you were his. Just friends, and technically that meant you belonged to the whole family, not just him. But, no one could blame him for coveting you. From how starry-eyed you looked at him to how genuinely you laughed at his jokes, Leo found out too late that he had been falling for you, and here he was still falling. The way your nose crinkled when you laughed, or how your face lit up during Mikey’s dinner times, even down to the wheezing laugh you would give into if he pushed his jokes on too long, all of it spelled out lovely disaster for his heart.

But, fear not, he thought. He was the face man and the funniest turtle, surely there was no competition? No one could be better than him at getting you to make the faces you did.

Or well, it should’ve been no one. He wasn’t even all that funny, but Donnie managed to get you to keel over to some stuff he said—and he didn’t even intend for them to be jokes! A natural comic, can you believe the nerve of this guy?

So, yeah, Leo never expected himself to be jealous, and especially never towards his own brother, but god the way you were showing that tickled-silly expression to Donnie, wiping tears as he confusedly asked what was so funny? It had him gripping the arm of their couch, digging his nails into them. He wasn’t going to take this any longer! Sure Donnie meant no harm and would never try to swoop in and steal the prize he had his eye on, but Leo couldn’t help but still be… aggravated.

The pent-up annoyance was dispelled by the red-slider leaping over the couch, sassily walking over and snaking his arm across your waist.

“ Yeah, whatever, Donnie is sooo funny, but hey, Y/N, let me show you something better! ”

Never mind the fact that he had nothing planned as he twirled his katana in his other hand, slicing the air until a blue portal shimmered into existence. You glanced back and waved good bye to Donnie, fully intrigued by whatever it was Leo wanted to show you.

“ Oh—okay! What is it? ”

“ Who am I to ruin a surprise? ”

He cocked a brow at your question, tugging you through the portal and stepping out into the courtyard of the Witch’s city. While amazed, you wondered just what this had to do with anything—but, of course that was a comment you would keep to yourself until having fully exhausted the excitement of exploring not just any random town, but rather a town of witches!

“ Oh, Leo, finally! I’ve been begging you to bring me here for weeks! ”

Before he could even say anything, you were quickly rushing up to the nearest shop and sparking up conversation. Such a busy bee, but it was just another aspect of you he was captivated by. However, with such an impromptu visit to a rather overwhelming area, he found chances to spark conversation and get you to laugh to be stretched few and far between.

“ Oh wow, this store really doesn’t leave mushroom for walk-through, huh? ”

He gestured to a potions-ingredients shop, which, you guessed it, specialized in all things fungal-based. His shoulders drooped as you continued ahead, not even hearing him. That joke was gold! Huffing, Leo caught up with you and laced his fingers around your wrist, effortlessly stopping you in your tracks.

“ Mm? Leo? ”

You stared up at him with such a look of focus, all your attention finally fully on him, and he had to fight his legs not to reduce to jelly instantly. Instead, he took a deep breath, cocked his head, and insisted you follow him.

Down weaving alleys, through crowds of people, eventually you reached a park unlike any seen on the surface. The paths were lined with thick, luscious plants cultivated through the town’s magic. Foliage swayed with no wind, as though dancing like silk fabric to whatever music only they heard.

Your attention only left the plants when you heard Leo start clearing his throat and then flashing you a look that you recognized all too well. A grin was already tugging at your lips, and Leo finally felt like he was the only one in your world again. His hands held onto his belt and he kicked out his legs, faking as though he were tipping a hat. It seemed like some western cowboy impersonation?

“ What in carnation? ”

There you went, first with a light and short laugh.

“ Well I do say, I took a leaf of faith bringing you here,”

Which then melded into a series, topped with a “ Wait, Leo, hush—please! ”, all stuttered and peppered through your increasing laughter.

“—but, beleaf it or not—“

He wasn’t even able to finish the entire spiel before you were holding onto him, laughing with such a melodious voice. Which, of course, devolved into your trademark wheeze n’snort after dragging on too long.

“ Pwffhaaha!! Leo, wha-what’s with you today? ”

You wiped away a tear, and suddenly Leo was finally brought back to reality. Your hand on his forearm lingered, and he was just completely beside himself with how the glowing willows beside the garden softened your face ever-so-perfectly.

“ Y/N… ”

His voice was so uncharacteristically soft that it had you a tad bit spooked, hand gripping a teensy tighter. Your head cocked slightly in confusion.

“ I.. Ugh, okay, it’s—it’s dumb! But—“

He dragged his hands down his face, groaning exhaustedly.

“ I thought, maybe, you might’ve… Liked Donnie, more than me. ”

“ Huh? Why would you think that, I love all of you guys? ”

“ Yeah, but I love you, and—“

The shock painted on your face had him holding his breath. Alarms went off in his head, telling him he maybe should have held his tongue, not jumped ahead so quickly. The two of you searched each other’s eyes in silence, you recovering from what he said, and him preparing himself for what you would say. Soon enough, your face twisted into a confusion tinged with a bit of playfulness.

“ Wait a second.. You’re jealous, aren’t you? Of Donnie? What for? ”

“ What? What do you mean what for? You, you’ve been laughing at everything he said all day, don’t you think he’s funnier? Don’t you like him more?! ”

If it weren’t his dumb puns and act earlier, it was this that would do you in.

“ Leo, you dummy! Sure I was laughing, but that doesn’t mean I like him more than you, I just, well… ”

It was your turn to be a bit bashful as your eyes looked everywhere except him.

“ I, well.. You’re my favorite, Leo, not Donnie.. ”

As you batted your eyes at him, hoping he would connect the dots thoroughly, your answer was given in the form of his beaming expression as he swept you into his arms, spinning.

“ Ah-hah! So you do like me—and I’m the funnier turtle!? ”

“ Oh no, I shouldn’t have said anything, now you’re too powerful! ”

Playfully you cried, leaning back with your hand dramatically draped across your forehead. Leo chuckled at your antics leaning in to lay his head against your stomach as he tightened his hold firmly.

This was definitely something he would rub in his brother’s face later on—and said brother would be profusely confused by what brought it on???

┆ ── ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — Mikey 💌

Mikey was the last turtle you ever considered could suffer from the classic ailment of “ jealousy ”, and you couldn’t help but feel both ashamed yet intrigued.

While you weren’t too sure what it was that had got him so riled up, you were observant enough to see the way his eyes lit up with a startling emotion. At first it was impossible to pinpoint, just a glimpse of something indiscernible yet startling that crept into his blue hues at the oddest of times.

The first time you had seen that frightful emotion peek its head was during a date. The two of you had decided to hit a bar late at night, him donning a cloaking brooch, of course.

When you arrived, the loud music was entrancing, luring you both onto the dance floor to get lost in each other’s arms. The music coiled around you both, closing the gap to a suffocatingly tight end, as if either of you couldn’t stand any sort of distance apart. The floor vibrated, from both the booming speakers and the music reverberating the whole building alongside the dancing bodies around you both.

Mikey beamed with the brightest smile, and you just knew he was laughing, albeit drowned out from the ambiance. You were both having the time of your lives. Absorbed into a bubble fit for only the two of you, eyes locked on each other, neither party was ready for the stranger’s hands that snaked around your waist, pulling you in without any mind paid to you already having a devoted dance partner.

Chills set in and you turned to Mikey instantly, locking eyes, but the look in his eyes was enough to have your voice hitch in your throat.

That night ended with you both getting kicked out after Mikey wailed on the guy, but after a while, you both laughed and talked all about the fight on the way home.

The next time you saw that look was when you were hanging out with Leo while waiting for Mikey to return back from patrol. He had invited you over, and you planned to do it after wrapping up a few things, so he figured he could finish a patrol and be ready for you when you got done.

Unfortunately for him, you happened to finish your escapade much too early, and thus were at the lair awaiting his return. Leo happened to pass by, so you roped him into a conversation to bide the time. When Mikey did eventually come home, he stepped in to see you nearly keeled over in laughter.

You had been laughing so hard that when you noticed Mikey, you gave a weak wave and continued dying. He was curious what the joke was, but Leo simply shook his head and left, his own laugh dwindling down the hall. Once you recovered and were on your feet, you caught that same scary emotion swirling in his eyes. He tightened his lips and only softened when he turned to you.

More and more questions arose as you came to experience this look time and time again in all kinds of situations, but the one that finally made all the clicks pop into place was his outburst after you were with Raph.

He had been taking care of some villains on patrol with Mikey when you had ended up in the wrong place, wrong time. Their battle had turned to a violent one, with the villain bashed straight into a wall. Debris crumbled down right as you turned the corner, eyes shooting up to see parts of the building falling towards you. There was no time to move, so you just closed your eyes shut right and braced yourself.

But, no pain ever came, just a bit of dust. You opened your eyes, seeing a huge shadow casted over your body, and when you looked up?

It was Raph, who blocked the falling debris with his mighty shell.

“ Raph! “

You yelped, heart thundering in your chest, and Mikey misunderstood the shimmer in your eyes as Raph rose to full height, throwing the concrete off and away. He misinterpreted why you hugged him so tightly when he scooped you up, taking you away from the damage and ushering you to run the other way.

When you’re focusing on the wrong things, it’s easy to get the signs wrong, and boy had the ache in Mikey’s heart got everything so totally wrong. You liked Raph, didn’t you? Why else would you look at him like that? Did you like it when folks were bigger than you, unlike him who simply had an inch or two on you?

How could he be so stupid?

So, that’s how you ended up where you were now, seconds from entering your apartment when Mikey met you with a sour look on his face. You noticed that same glint in his eyes, still trying to piece together what it meant.

“ Why didn’t you tell me? ”

His voice wavered, and you responded with a hum of confusion. Inviting him in, he closed the door behind you both. His lips tugged down as he searched everywhere for the words to say. Finally, he found them and settled back on you as you were putting things down and unwinding.

“ With Raph! You like him, don’t you?! ”

“ Wha? ”

“ You—You! ”

He seemed frustrated, wracking his brain until finally he threw his hands out and shouted.

“ DO YOU LOVE RAPH MORE BECAUSE HE’S SO BIG?! ”

Silence blanketed you both as you processed his words. Finally, you placed a word on the emotion you always saw in his eyes. Struggling not to laugh at the absurdity, you snorted and shook your head.

“ Jealousy! That’s wh—wait, no, Mikey, no, I don’t ‘Love Raph cause he’s big’ ”

“ Then why do you like him more!? ”

“ Where is this coming from, Mikey, I don’t like Raph like that—I like you. ”

You stepped closer, and Mikey let you in. Your hands reached up, cupping his cheeks, and he leaned into them with such a desperation that you felt bad for finding this whole situation so silly.

“ Just, you always seem so happy when he’s around, and whenever he saves you instead, you always.. ”

His eyes were elsewhere as he spoke, almost as though he were seeing the absurdity in it all now with a clearer mind.

“ Ahh, mhmm, yup, alright so Mikey usually people are very happy when they’re saved from danger—and I mean, I probably look happy cause I’m friends with him too, but I’m dating you, silly. ”

You booped his snoot, smiling as his eyes lit up with the love you were accustomed to seeing them full of.

┆ ── ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — Raph 💌

If there was any one of the brothers full of insecurities, it would come as no surprise as the spotlight shone upon the red turtle, atop the winner’s pedestal. As someone who once led his brothers in the face of battle, who grew up with the elder sibling curse of forced parenthood, it came as no shock that there were a couple of problems sprinkled into his character.

While he had spent much of his life up to this point recovering and healing from what dared chip at his exterior, there was more than a few bits of stubborn grime that lingered on his surface. It ate away at him, leaving behind vulnerabilities.

Then you came along, and throughout the honeymoon period he experienced nothing but delights. Never had the negative Nancy in his brain perked up to talk her shit, misleading him in circles until he was a mess of unbundled, tangled up rope.

You were a light, something that seemed to power wash the grime away, cake over it with your delicate touch and sweet words. Much smaller than he, you were probably one of the kindest humans he met, someone he cherished more than life itself.

And that, in and of itself, was a vulnerability. You were his weakness, and the shrewd dark spots in his brain couldn’t wait for the rose-colored glass to shatter and let them sink their teeth into this beauteous opportunity.

The sensible part of him knew your kindness knew no ends, that it wasn’t limited or excluded to simply him or a select few. In fact, your sweet demeanor shared with his brothers? It was a breath of relief—it was an understatement to say he had been nervous to introduce you to the family. You were okay with him because he saved you, but his brothers and father weren’t present. They hadn’t been the heroes slamming down against concrete, scaring away the silverfish that preyed upon you one fateful night.

Turns out the trash-eaters had a hankering for good food, and you, all alone, on your way back home with a doggy-bag from Cleo’s Beach Shack, served to be the perfect target.

The night had been quiet, albeit suspiciously so, but your full tummy and weary limbs had their guard fully down. You daydreamed of the bed awaiting you at home, arms beckoning you forth with pillowy softness.

That delightful image was disturbed by the sudden rustling and clank you heard from behind. Turning, your eyes shooed away dreamland and were alert. An empty can rolled from a bush, tinking into someone’s trash can at the curb. Not a soul in sight, so surely it must have been one of New York’s infamous rats? Y’know, that creature that is practically extinct in this city, like there’s no way you would ever see them—definitely not at the metro nor the coffee shop, and surely never this residential street with primo rat hot-spots such as unsupervised trash cans full of food waste.

Yeah, of course, must have been a rat. You’re so paranoid, just hurry on home, nothing bad will happen. Nothing bad ever happens to pretty little guys like you, alone on dimly lit streets, lined with houses whose doors are locked to high hell.

Nothing bad, especially not like the cold metal that clamped firmly on your ankle. Never anything as worse as the chilling growl from whatever tripped you up, glaring with red eyes and flicking a long, sharp-looking tail.

“ Oh sh—“

Your voice feebly complained, raising into a scream to the heavens above as it lunged towards you.

Or well, towards your to-go bag, but who’s paying attention to the little things like that when your life is flashing before your eyes?

Thankfully, the end never came. There was the sound of a growling struggle after a tremor shook your shivering frame, and as you opened your eyes to peek at whatever held up your attacker, a silhouette towered over you. He casted a long shadow over you, which should have been intimidating as hell, but instead it left you feeling…

Safer?

In his hand laid two identical buggers, squirming and chomping with animalistic hunger. This had to have been worse than the rats, you’d take the rats any day, at least they weren’t massive.

… well okay, they are, but this is a whole ‘nother level.

The most shocking part was this giant hero taking a step back, assuming the position of a pitcher, and launching the creatures into the distance. There may have been a glint shining, and was that the cheer of an audience you were hearing? No, that was your imagination, obviously.

But you were not imagining this guy in front of you. Much too tall to be human, unless it was some basketball lead who somehow had balls of steel to save a stranger.

Every warning sign imaginable was washed away without a trace as your savior turned around and shot a shaky smile, warm as a summer sun.

“ S-Sorry about that, are ya okay? ”

He spoke with the timidness of someone a fourth his size, and you couldn’t help but be completely charmed to death.

From that day you would see him more and more, to the point that it felt as if maybe he had been appointed your personal body guard. Ah, but, you didn’t really mind, did you? You loved his company and his toothy grins. You adored his warm, gentle hugs, and it was too sweet how you could feel his hands tremble as they held yours ever so delicately.

So yeah, he worried to introduce you to his family, but the way you brightened up the room instantly had him starstruck. You’re perfect, that’s it. That’s the tweet.

The rosey glass shattered after a few lingering months of dating. His insecurities reared their heads, resting sharp grips on his shoulders as they whispered in his ears all kinds of falsities. You liked his brothers, but maybe you liked his brothers? Why else would you be so nice to them?

And, maybe that’s why you were smiling at Leo like that? Raph is right here, so why were you talking to his brother? He couldn’t even focus enough to heard you both holding the most mundane conversation ever about some shop that opened up over on Moore’s. He steeped in the tea of jealousy, filling his senses to the brim with worry.

The worst part about it was that if you liked Leo, he couldn’t even blame you. Leo was like water, while Raph was stone. Raph stood still, he could be bossy at times, while Leo was a spunky little river that would keep you on your toes. Leo was never boring, and he could keep a smile on your face for as long as the day lasted..

But he didn’t want any of that to be true. None of it.

The conversation was stopped by a meek voice asking for your time, attention shifting from Brother Blue to your beloved, clad in what became your favorite color in these past few months.

“ Y/N, can we talk? ”

Ignoring Leo’s nudge and teasing “ ooooooohs ”, you nodded with a smile, following Raph with a pep in your step.

“ Of course, dear. ”

That lead to the silence you currently shared—with him leaning against the wall of his room, gaze fixated on some smudges on the floor. That should be cleaned up, he thought, trying to not think of how you were sat on his bed, awaiting whatever it was he needed off his chest.

“ Raph? ”

You were the first to talk, already well acquainted with your love’s tiptoeing when it came to any sort of conversation that might be unsavory. You watched as he twisted his expression, tightening his lips—whatever it was, it was bothering him profusely, and you couldn’t help the pang gripping your heart..

“ Raph…? ”

Again, your voice seemed weaker this time. That was what gave him the drive to speak, he couldn’t handle leaving you in such a state, he needed to know if these worries of his were dumb!

“ Do you like Leo? ”

“ What. ”

Your response was so fast and curt, the product of being completely taken off guard with a left hook. There were plenty of other ideas you had for the direction of this conversation, such as having beaten his leftovers last week or how you have his favorite hoodie in your laundry basket right now. Maybe even the secret trips to Donnie’s, who was currently helping you get together a gift for Raph’s birthday next month. A particularly low worry even fretted that this might be a conversation about your relationship and how it should end.

But, instead it’s about Leo? What an easy question to answer!

“ Sorry, I didn’t mean that, I mean to say no. ”

Raph’s shoulders loosened and a breath of relief slipped out of him—when had he even started holding his breath?? Never mind that. You snorted at the absurd thought of liking Leo of all people.

“ Why would I like Leo? Raph, c’mere. ”

You held your hands out, and the way his hands fell into yours spelled out a desperation to be close to you. With a gentle tug, he climbed onto his bed, and you melted into his chest. A storm was brewing in his chest, his heart thundering nervously.

“ Ya just, Raph don’t know, something—he, just… Raph was worried, s’all. Afraid ya preferred him over a… ”

While he was searching for whatever word to insult himself with, you captured his attention with a gentle peck on the lips. Your fingers gently held his chin, turning his focus to lay fully on you.

“ Over a charming, handsome hero? ”

There was that adorable smile, peppering his lips as a light laugh erupted from his chest.

“ You think I’d prefer Leo, who is a risky little ticking time bomb, over my knight in shining armor? ”

He whispered a rebuttal, something along the lines of “ he really is, huh? ”

“ Oh Raph-a-doodle, never could I want anyone other than you. ”

Leaning up, you pressed your forehead against his and gazed into his eyes. They searched yours for a hint of deceit, for anything to latch onto and spiral about, but all he found was warmth.

Thus, the jealousy flame died out, and he plummeted backwards against his bed, dragging you down with him. He gave a heavy exhale as you giggled atop his plastron, scolding him for being so silly.

┆ ── ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — Donnie 💌

The green of jealousy was a hue you never expected to be painted across the purple canvas you called your boyfriend, but surely there is a chance for any reality to blossom true, right?

Jealousy had sewn seeds far before either of you could catch on, oblivious to the roots which spiraled and narrowed vision to see only one option as opposed to the myriad of other reasonings. You had poured love into your dearest Donnie, so much so that you couldn’t even fathom any room for jealousy. How could he ever be jealous? Surely he knows full and well just how you look at him? Obviously he knows just how only he can pluck the strings of your heart, strumming love with each touch, in a way unlike any other.

Why, if you were Excalibur, then he was your King Arthur.

So, yeah, may the gods above forgive you for not considering a jealous Donnie as a reality to worry about—though, is it really too worrying? Your boyfriend being jealous? Kind of interesting, doesn’t it just trip up your heart into a flurry of skips?

No? Just me?

Anyways, you had missed entirely the shifting of his gaze when Mikey would enter the room. The low growl, the holding of his breath, none of it had appeared in your mind as you laughed along with whatever silly antics the youngest brother would get up to. Sometimes you would even entertain him! I mean, he is your boyfriend’s little brother, so it’s only right that you laugh at his jokes, get along with him, and all that good stuff.

But, jealousy was the type to hold someone still, to draw their gaze upon one stiff perspective and allow no other reasoning. For a man of science, even he was not above the laws of insecurity in relationships, so when he saw how bouncy his brother was around you, never did he contemplate the obvious. Nary a thought shall he consider that it was simply his brother getting along with his brother’s girlfriend, nor did he consider maybe you were being nice. No, the sour, bitter green dipped his head in the nastiness of jealousy, and all he could consider in this moment was that you must have liked his brother more.

Or maybe, his brother liked you and intended to steal you away? Why else would you laugh so heartily at whatever nonsense his brother spouted? Whatever reason was there for the times he would find you in the kitchen, fixing up dinner alongside Mikey? What else could explain you returning home with topside art supplies and personalized tips to his youngest brother?

Obviously the jealous mind of Donatello Hamato was going to omit one important factor: you did this with all his brothers. If they told a good joke, you would laugh. If Mikey made dinner, you were guaranteed to be in the kitchen helping by fixing you and Donnie’s plates to your liking. If there was something on the surface any of the brothers needed, you would totally put it on your errand run, delivering it during your next visit.

But, jealousy cares not for easy explanations. It craves the most dramatic interpretations, and in this case?

The juiciest interpretation was that Mikey had set his eyes on you, Donnie’s prized lover, and you had fallen for him hook, line, and sinker.

No, no, no, Donnie says, not on his watch would he let you be swept off your feet by anyone else.

“ Y/N. ”

Donnie leaned forward, fingers firmly locking with yours and giving an urgent tug. There was a thickness layered in his eyes that left Mikey shrinking away, confused as to what he could’ve done wrong.

“ Let’s go,”

Straightening up, he couldn’t help the grin widening on his face in a “ I’ve won ” type of manner. You simply waved to his brother.

“ You haven’t forgotten why you’re here, have you? ”

The look in his eyes caused your heart to skip, unprepared for such a heavy gaze that you hadn’t yet experienced. A nervous smile rose on your expression as you looked anywhere but the face giving you a look that would serve to make you fall even harder.

“ Of course not, Dee. ”

Donnie noted your refusal to eye contact, and instead of assuming it was one of your usual bashful moments caused by yours truly, his thoughts were plagued with theories of Mikey somehow worming his way into the heart Donnie swore was his.

“ Right. ”

He muttered in a curt fashion, leading you both to his lab.

The uncomfortable awkwardness blanketing the atmosphere had not gone unnoticed as you followed him, thumb stroking loving little hearts upon the upside of his palm. Usually he would meet this with a firm squeeze, but you could recognize when your genius had his mind up in the clouds. He wasn’t even paying attention to you, was he?! And to think you came all this way to entertain his experiments, hoping to get a kiss or two, only to be met with unnecessary coldness?

What the heck, man?

“ Prepare to behold the wondrous creations of the genius, Donatello. ”

Whatever stink he had been brewing in just seconds prior had evaporated as he unveiled his newest creation: an air-fryer that could quite literally create anything from thin air.

You tried to ignore the distant shout of the youngest brother, something along the lines of “ Hey! Where’s the air-fryer?! ”

Donnie had not ignored it, nor had he dismissed the stifled laughter from you that he surely knew the cause of. His hands clenched, wrapping into crossed arms as he leaned his weight into the table.

“ Annoyed sigh. ”

While rolling his eyes, he muttered an annotation to the peeved groan slipping his lips. There it was again, you noted with a narrowed gaze, that odd discontentment he’d been soaking in this night.

“ Alright, spill it. ”

You mirrored his lean, relying on one of the structural pillars in his lab to hold your weight. Your fingers thumped impatiently against your bicep as your eyes soaked in Donnie’s body language. He seemed to stiffen, either nervously or defensively, you didn’t know.

“ Spill what? ”

He spoke with such an accusatory tone that you were almost ticked off. You held your tongue, hoping to keep this civil and not devolving into mindless argument.

“ Spill wh—?! ”

Sputtering, your hands gestured wildly before quite literally framing him. He knew what you meant, he wasn’t dumb!

“ Whatever is making you so, so—so THIS! ”

His brow raised, and he almost seemed insulted as you threw your hands up with a frustrated growl.

“ Why are you so upset with me right now? What did I do? ”

That seemed to do the charm of dragging out what you’ve been looking for, the explanation, as he straightened his posture and pushed off the table.

“ Oh save me the innocent act, Y/N,”

Confusion painted your face, and for a moment he physically faltered, unsure to continue after such a clear display of hurt across your pretty face. After a second, his mouth tugged into a frown, shaking off the hesitation to continue his claim,

“ I know you like Mikey, so just do us both a favor and go scurry along after him. ”

Donnie waved his hand off, pointing to the door. Whatever look you had on your face at that moment must have embodied just how deeply the pain in your heart crawled, right on down to your very core, because he seemed to balk at his own words. A bit of regret wrapped around him as he muttered something too low for you to hear.

Tightening your lips, you straightened this time and took a few steps to close the gap between you and him.

��� You will not talk to me like that, and what’s this about me liking Mikey? Your little brother? ME? You think I like him?! ”

There was no way, right? He couldn’t be serious? You, liking Mi—he might as well have been your brother too! You could never like him over Donnie?! What an outrageous claim, you thought, standing your ground in front of Donnie. This could have been avoided if he had just not been such, such a…

“ Obviously! Why else would you be bringing him gifts and helping him out in the kitchen? ”

You opened your mouth to speak, only to be interrupted as he continued with an accusatory finger pointing no where specific.

“ And I’ll have you know that I have read about ‘Cooking together’ and I know how much of an intimate bonding experience it is! ”

The childish stomp he gave, throwing his fists against his sides stiffly, served to diminish almost all the frustration bubbling up. You snorted at the sight, causing him to loosen up, confusedly tripping over his words to sputter out a “ Wh-What, what is this, what’s so funny? ”

“ … You’re a riot, Dee. ”

Wiping away the tiny tears pricking from such a hearty laugh, your eyes met his with less of anger and more of the warmth he was far too familiar of.

“ Since apparently I’m the only one of us with some sense, I’ll have YOU know that I do that for all of y’all! ”

Sheepishly, he seemed to curl into himself as you poked your index finger right into his plastron to emphasize the “ you ”.

“ I bring you gifts all the time—April, Raph, Leo, hell, even Splinter, too! ”

Jealousy was starting to burn away, leaving behind the bashful shame as he started to finally contemplate the more reasonable explanations for your behavior. Silently he condemned himself for starting up this whole dumb debacle with such a blatant disregard to the facts.

“ And of COURSE I help Mikey with cooking. You have a specific palette that he doesn’t always remember fully, so it’s up to me to make sure you get a fulfilling meal you’ll actually eat, dummy! ”

Ah, now that was the part that did him in, something he didn’t even know. Just as you were going to continue, he stepped closer.

“ Wait, you do? ”

“ I do—do what? I said a lot of things, Donnie, be specific. ”

Derailed, you stumbled over your claims, lost suddenly at which point he had cling to.

“ I thought Michael was just inconsistent in his preparation of my dishes, but since you say that, I do recall my meals being much better when you were around. ”

His hands had found their way upon your shoulders as he spoke, gaze flitting all across the lab as he collected his thoughts.

“ I had suspected meals were just better when you were around because, well.. ”

You softened as his gaze fell onto you.

“ Because you were there.. ”

Silence fell upon you both, except more comfortably this time. He exhaled deeply, marked with his trademark “ relieved sigh ” then smiled at you.

“ Oh Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into such a ridiculous argument. I was just… ”

“ You were just… Jealous? ”

Your teasing gaze was searing through him, so much so he shut his eyes tightly and groaned annoyedly.

“ As much as I would wish to not admit it, yes. I may have been experiencing,”

He waved his hand in the air, as if collecting his words.

“ Jealousy, towards your interactions with Miguel.. ”

Donnie was relieved as you laughed away all his worries, leaning in to plant a kiss on his lips. The moment lingered for a few, as if desperately needed to mend this situation, stopping only when you pulled away.

“ Alright, you’re forgiven… For now—BUT! Next time just talk to me, dummy, you got me all riled up for no reason. ”

With that, you gave a playful shove that had him gasping as though he were insulted, and quick to rush to his experiment’s side with more questions than he could keep up with.

Not like he hated an attentive and questioning audience, though. Much appreciated.

[sweetbunpura]

Rollo tries to propose to Yuu but everyone tries to sabotage him 😈

LMAO, Rollo has to get through so many people just to propose to Yuu!

Rollo vs NRC

The fourth year had come, gone, and they NRC students had returned to the school to graduate. Rollo had spent his apprentice in Fleur city, learning about all he could with his new found interest in volunteer work and planning for his future... in more ways than one. He had purchased a ring, intending to propose to the love of his life at the graduation. Him and Yuu had only grown closer in the time apart, which was a surprise to Rollo, for he had heard how many couples had struggled with long distance relationships.

Outside of phone calls, Rollo had not see her for a year, so had had no idea how much she had changed. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the portal and into the Mirror Chamber. Other 4th years were in there and chatting among one another, most paid him no mind....but he halted as a call of his name sounded.

"Roll-kun!" Cater waved him over.

Rollo approached him and took in the ginger's new looks. Cater had stayed the same height but his hair was different, he had dyed red locks on top of his longer hair. He wrapped him up in a hug and smiled.

"Look at you! Your hair has really grown out! Yuu-chan's gonna love it."

Rollo gave a soft smile and dragged his fingers through his long gray hair. "Thank you, Cater."

"And a smile too? She really changed you~"

"Indeed." Rollo patted his pocket and felt the box against it. "Now if you'll excuse me-"

"Going to see Child of Man with that ring?"

Rollo jolted and sighed as he turned around to see a smiling Malleus. "Malleus...."

"Hello, Flamme." Malleus gave a small bow. "Am I right in assuming you plan on asking her to marry you?"

"Wait, no kidding!?"

Rollo sighed and nodded. "I am. Now, I'm off to go find her. Farewell."

He left, complete unaware of Malleus and Cater smiling at each other. From there, Rollo could not find Yuu anywhere, and everyone he had asked had pointed him in various opposite directions. Idia and Ortho had straight up lied to him, stating that Yuu wasn't even here to begin with. Silver and Sebek just shook their heads and said that she might be else where, just not on campus. And yet everywhere else had wielding the results of "I don't know"

He was getting frustrated at this point, but before he could even think of where else to go, the announcement for the graduation started. With a sigh, he went to the podium and waiting for eveything to start.

Once the ceremony ended, he departed the stage and was about to start looking for her again, he got tackled.

"Enough of this!" Rollo glared at Deuce, Ace, and Grim. "Why is everyone so hellbent on stopping me!"

"You can't ask her to marry you." Ace grumbled.

"Yeah!" Grim added in. "She's my henchhuman and I don't want you macking on her!"

"By the sevens... We're already dating!" Rollo growled and pried the three off of him. "This is getting absurd!"

"You can't blame us..." Deuce said. "She means the world to us."

"I understand that, but she means the same to me." He sighed. "And I haven't seen her all day. We've only been communicating through calls... And I miss her terribly."

"Aw."

Rollo jolted and turned around to see Yuu standing behind him with Cater and Malleus in a headlock. She smiled warmly at her and her hair had gotten longer, they were worked into brains with hair ornaments in them.

"Love."

"Heard you been looking for me and everyone sent you on a wild goose chase." She shook Cater ad Malleus. "Thanks to these two."

"Guilty as charged~" Cater laughed.

"It was all in good fun." Malleus huffed.

"Now." She dropped them as they landed on the ground face down. "What's up?"

"I wanted to ask you something." He reached into his pocket and before he could get down on one knee to begin, the others started gathering around.

"Aw~ Snapping Turtle's gonna propose~" Floyd.

"How beautiful!" Rook.

"I'll be the one designing the dress no doubt." Vil.

"About time." Leona.

Rollo sighed as the chatter started up around him, Yuu tugged him forward by his robes.

"I know you had this all planned out, but you know how these guys are." She kissed him. "Put the ring on, the answer's gonna be yes no matter what."

Rollo opened the box and slipped the ring on her before placing his forehead on her shoulder.

"I hate them."

"No, you don't.

[thelastofhyde]

the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

read on ao3. series masterlist. next chapter.

Distaste is not new in the life of Joel Miller.

In particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. He is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. The years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

If anything, he’s made himself more empty.

Rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. Discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. Lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

An apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. Joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. The man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that Miller guys passed between cowardly members of FEDRA and the keep away from Mr Miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

This plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. Somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become deadweight.

“So that’s all I am to ya, huh? Dead-fucking-weight?” His brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving Joel to do what Joel does best: endure.

Somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the deadweight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

She was an exception, his Tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. They’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

She never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. Contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging Joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

Which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of Tess’ foot against his shin.

“... And then,” Frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. With a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, Bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “Otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. We were finding paw-prints for days!”

Joel's unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. As if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the German Shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“Which means I was cleaning paw-prints for days.” Bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

Frank is quick to shush him.

“I’m sorry, again, Bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “I’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

There you sit, parallel to him.

The sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. It hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

You catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

The threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which Joel can account for, mouth too keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. The battle ends swiftly as you surrender to Bill’s hardened stare, and Frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and Tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“You, sit. No one should have to clean up the food they made.”

They get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

Silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and smothering you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun behind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

Being alone, with you, is something Joel’s never mastered. The affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

Were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

Something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. The dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

Just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

The ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and Joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. He’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

The pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never-ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“He likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

As if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in Joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. Standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and Joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

To envy a creature that licks its own shit off its ass is a new low for Joel.

“Thinkin’ he might like ya more, Sol.” The nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“Most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

He takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and Tess have made.

“You’ve got a whole load in common, you know? I think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“How the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” There he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. It helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“Well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. He’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “And have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

He’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

Discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘S easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. Doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

With you as its protector.

He doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. He watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. Your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

Survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

But I could keep you safe.

He toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. It’s not the first time he’s thought it. Truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

His memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just Bill, Frank and you. A few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night Joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was Frank who’d prompted the question. “Where were you all when... this started?” Tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’d never meet.

He never imagined her working in a bank.

Bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “Was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” He’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. She was barely out of school. “I knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” Frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

Joel had always been a good listener. Being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. Years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. All this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to Frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of Bill.

But you weren’t smiling.

He watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

The desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for Joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. With each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. He’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“You’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “Those we remember never truly die!”). He’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘Could keep you safe. There, then, the thought did cross his mind.

He’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-Could fix it, you know. I’m good with my hands.”

He almost chokes on his own breath.

I'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. And he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“What?” The question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. In the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

The mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face Joel once more.

He sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“Your watch, it’s broken.”

“Hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “Don’t need ya to fix it.”

You pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. Confusion.

“Don’t you want to know the time?” You ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and Joel Miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“I don’t keep it for the time.”

You smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

The German Shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to Joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

He’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. Nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. It’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“Ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” You’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “I’ve never heard any of the Joel Miller backstory, this should be-”

“I get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

Nature falls silent.

Skies grow dull.

You juggle sadness.

There’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of Tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. The dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

Joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“Sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. Only, the gates have been shut in his face and Joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “But you’re wrong. I don’t like everyone.”

“‘S that so.” His eyes roll. The hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal Joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“Yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “I don’t like you, Joel.”

The hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

We’re staying, for tonight. Tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the QZ for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

The nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading Bill and Frank- mostly Frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. If only Joel could remember which door leads to yours.

The two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

Tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a FEDRA agent’s wife, you whisper that Frank and Bill had been fighting again recently. The memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of Tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly Bill and Frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

At some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. At another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-N’t tell me you’re a virgin.

The words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

A protest rings true in his head and his ears.

Was gonna say. Knew you were young, but not that young.

It’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“God, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. It was alright, I guess. I just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

He’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. A groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping Tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

Neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“Not much to miss?! Sweet Christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” He’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken Tess. Each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. There’s no need to bother opening his eyes, Joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “I’d give up a hand for some head!”

You must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of Tess’ renewed shock fills the room. He wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

Late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“It bores me!”

“It bores you!?”

The couch beneath Joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp Tess gives. The last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

The crueler part of his mind replays your voice, I don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

You like Tess. Love her, even. It’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out Finally someone with a pair of boobs, I’m bored of the sight of my own. Joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

Maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“Must not have been doin’ ya right,” The bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. Joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. You’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. It’s oddly endearing that you think no one has noticed. Because he has, he always notices the little details that surround you. “This fella of yours.”

Joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

He does so, regardless.

“Well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “We were each others firsts.”

“That’s no excuse! Trust I left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time I went down.” Tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights Joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while Tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. No discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

You scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “What, are you offering your services?”

tThis he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which Tess has raised you to heaven on while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘As sure as I am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you I like my women a little older than you.”

He knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the QZ. It should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. But he can’t, and he won’t.

And you’re the one to blame.

You, with the glow of a thousand suns. You, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. You, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

His own self being the first he’d need fight.

Joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. Sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

The next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

He’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. Some small, meaningless little things, that ripple Joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. Others, tsunamis. Big, angry, all imposing. They’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

Amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. But the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. They catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. In the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

The currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

This evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. He reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. The gentle, barely-there croon of a Sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. Across from him is Tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. Snoring comes from below him, where Joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

You take up no space of this room.

Neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. Languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

There are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

He should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. A good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

He could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. Perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure Frank wouldn’t mind. Bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the QZ.

He would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. He imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. Skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

I don’t like you, Joel.

Those words stop him from trying.

He tells himself it’s for the best.

With a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. He swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. The door’s already half-opened, and Joel nearly thanks Christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. The darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

The refrigerator.

It’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. A subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly Joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

Keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

She never lived long enough to get either.

He catches something move beneath the artificial light. Cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“Why aren’t ya sleepin’?” The words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

Beneath the light, you shrug. “Could ask you the same thing, Texas.”

He curses Tess for teaching you such a nickname.

He curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

You’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. Whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, Joel remains unaware.

He grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. The door behind him closes over and gives the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“I asked first.” You laugh, at him. Full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. The corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. He hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you. Bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘S so funny, huh?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. Perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “Just never heard the Joel Miller say something so childish. You’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

You make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. A fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. Uncouth and unbothered, Joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“You know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” You call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. The thirst does not budge. He hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

By the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“iIm making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “Make sure you take some with you when you leave. Tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

Would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? Four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his Tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. He’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

I don’t like you, Joel.

Of course you would do the same. Not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. Nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. Patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. All words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. They violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over Joel’s entire persona.

He straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. The sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. His hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of Tess and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what Joel hears.

I don’t like you, Joel.

I don’t like you, Joel.

I don’t like you, Joel.

I don’t like you, Joel.

Over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. You’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

And, suddenly, Joel’s angry. At you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. The fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

Only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

A hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving Joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. Without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise Joel gifts you.

You may leave your marks emotionally, but Joel’s will always be physical.

“Why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “Don’t ya like me?”

If not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “Why do you care?”

He scoffs, “I don’t.”

“Hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody Tess was playing in the living room. “Sure sounds like you do.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

Joel knows he cares. It’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to Bill and Frank’s.

What Joel doesn’t know is why he cares. There’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. He’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

Maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

Instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

Not one bit.

Joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. His feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. His chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

He inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“For the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘S just like how I sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. No part of him should ever be compared to you. “I don’t like ya either.”

He’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

The knife never ceases its movement. Back and forth, back and forth. Chop, chop, chop. Blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. It’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding Joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. Perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

The hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“That’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point.

It’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“You only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. His wandering touch halts. “A little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what I think.”

This strikes a nerve. Fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. The realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “D’ya know what I think?”

Even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“No, unlike you I don’t care what you think about-” Joel tugs on your hair once more.

“I think you’re a brat. A silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” You could. He’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. Knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

“You’re hurting me,” you whine, Joel growls.

Animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. His gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

Your dress- red, a colour Joel Miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“You like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“No, I don’-” Dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “Joel.”

He retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. Whoever Joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“Heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and Tess. The blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ Talkin’ bout your past.”

He doesn’t specify.

He doesn’t need to.

You give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“Tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. His hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. Near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “I wouldn’t.”

You say nothing. Joel pulls harder.

“Too bad I’m-” You cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. With a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, Joel watches you like a hawk. The twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. The want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “Too bad I’m not offering you the chance.”

Joel Miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. With notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“Who said anything about an offer?”

The descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

A part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

The other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. You’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

Smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs that seem longer than any tree in the Amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the Himalayas. Arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

Your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. Perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, Joel knows how to read people. And, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

Joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

You breathe in, you breathe out.

One knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. He revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

Inhale, exhale.

Your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“Hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the Texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. All he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. With the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “Don’t move.”

Where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

Lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. One flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. A wet patch, your wetness. The stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

Curiosity gets the better of him- one day, Joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers digging themselves into the waistband of your panties and around the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

In and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

The lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. A heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. He makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

Delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. There’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. Joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. He wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. He thinks it must hurt.

His fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“Ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. Though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in Joel’s peripheral vision.

“Shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “People are tryin’ to sleep.”

You scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “Tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘S that an invitation to see how loud I can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. This, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “Or a challenge?”

“It’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. Asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

As coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some Playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. So he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. He awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

It’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“You’re drippin’,” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. The view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘S actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. Is it 'cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

He can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

But first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. Much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. Perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

Cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for Joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. Soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

Rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

It happens so suddenly, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of Tess. He wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. Joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

So he does the same.

Working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. He breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

Two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“So now you shut up. ‘S the matter, huh?” He’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “Am I too borin’ for ya?”

“You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever- Oh!”

A tongue meets skin.

The knife clatters onto the counter.

You lurch forward.

His hand pulls you back.

“Tess was right, ya know?” He can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. He pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. Three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “That boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

The common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better-, if you’d just let him.

‘Could keep ya satisfied.

That’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. He’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“Is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? What ya need is a man, a man like me!” The softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension. God, it’s never sounded sweet, and Joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“Well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. He imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “But if ya insist.”

Diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. The tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

Licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure.

He’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by experience that only comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. You’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

He’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

What a perfect excuse you are, for Joel to remaster the arts of lust.

It’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. It’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. It’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever remaining days he shall possess on his knees before you.

And all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar-sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass.

His only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

Hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

Burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. It does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“N- Ah,” You can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “No, don’t, not there.”

Next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

Sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip out every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. The sound of whatever record Tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

And, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

His eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within Bill and Frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. There’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time Tess tells him they’re due a visit.

Except, the oven door is made of glass.

Glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. You, with a hand gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

And then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

The image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“D’ya touch yourself, Sol?” You don’t answer him, but that’s okay. In a sweet change of pace, Joel Miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “Yeah, bet ya do. Late at night, right? Once you’re all alone in bed. Ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

You back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. Becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

Fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “Let me do the honours this time though.”

You don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. He imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

He’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

You’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. Your expression, he can’t quite read. Not sad, not happy, not mad.

Your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

The discomfort of trekking back to the QZ will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“Joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. Hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. Legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

He swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. Strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. He’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“That,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “Shouldn’t have happened.”

Joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

People once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. As sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. Not today, however, and Joel Miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

It chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. There’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

That dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

He cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “No, not again. My back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, Joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the German Shepherd’s head. It whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. A scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “Not so bad, are ya? Huh?” Never in a million years did Joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and Tess had set out for their routinely visit to the Bill and Frank’s. Never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

He hears you before he sees you.

“You planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, Texas?”

He tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

The world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

So instead, it sends you.

Peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than UV rays could ever be. He’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. A few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. At the very least, he considers, I’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

The smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. When he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. He does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. Upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“Thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. You’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “Won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

A queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. He’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “No problem, thanks... for feeding Tess and I.”

“No worries!” You’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. He can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “Oh, actually, that’s why I came out here, I was looking for Tess-” Of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “Hold on!”

You shoot off back inside so quickly that Otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. With an idle pet to his head as you pass by, Joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. In your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“I wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and Joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. He can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “I know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“Why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

Pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

You show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him. “There should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

It’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and Joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

So he tries again, louder.

“Why don’t ya like me?”

“And I’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for Tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “Winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

He grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "Answer me." Like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"For someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. You don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “You sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"Answer the damn question, girl.”

“Or, what?” You’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “You gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

Had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. Truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. Perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

Instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

Joel says nothing.

“How about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and Bill make.” Inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. Clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “You get me something, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

He grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “What d’ya want? ‘Cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. I ain’t messing with none of Bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“A dress.”

“A dress?” The statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“Yes, and don’t look at me like that!” It’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “I need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

Unaware he’d even began to lean closer, Joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time.

“Joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

Neither of you dare to break eye contact. Again, his name is yelled. This time, he manages to identify Tess as the owner of the voice. Habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of Tess or you.

His feet remain glued to the ground.

Tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “Think you might be needed inside, macho man. Your missus is calling.”

“She ain’t my-”

“You two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” Tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

Only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does Joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. In her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. You approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms.

“I should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. He decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “Go check on the food, before it burns.”

You’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

Tess and him hit the road by noon. Earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. The bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun breaking through the clouds and heating the world with its rays. He walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from Tess and wracking his brain for answers.

Answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. Answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the QZ. Answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven Bill’s created. Answers to why you don’t like him.

I don’t like you, Joel.

It motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. If he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but Tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

Till then, he needs to find a dress.

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: Daddy!Dom!Johnny x sub!fem!Reader x sub!Taeyong

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. Poly ilichil. Fingering. Unprotected vaginal sex. Morning sex. Praise kink. Degradation kink. Getting caught by Taeyong. Cock warming themes. Exhibitionism themes. Creampie. Fem!oral. Hands free male orgasm. MLM behavior.

| wc: 2.9k

aurora's note: prompted by this anon! <3 this ended up being WAY longer than intended lmao

Johnny was the first to wake up, his hands wandering around your body, pulling you closer to him so that your back was flush with his chest. You guys promised that you were going to fall asleep early last night. You’d been out late walking around the city while talking and enjoying each other’s company before he would have to leave for tour within the next few weeks, but he said that it was important to get to bed early and wake up early in order to do some work. He was his own worst enemy in that case. Every time you offered to walk back home, he kept going along the path you guys were on. When you did make it home, you tried to climb into bed almost immediately, but Johnny insisted on talking for another few hours while cuddling with you. So when it got too late to consider the idea of falling asleep early, Johnny promised that you two would get to sleep in at least. He also lied about that.

His wandering hands were enough to gently coo you awake. With a quiet, tired groan, you rolled your hips and opened your eyes, hoping that was enough to get Johnny to release you, but it had the opposite effect. Upon squirming in his grip, you felt Johnny’s morning wood pressing against your ass.

“You can’t be for real,” you grumbled into the pillows.

“Sorry, baby, you just look too cute…” His breath was hot on your ear while he grinded his erection into your body. “Can I?”

“What happened to needing to get to work early today?”

“Work can wait.”

Honestly, you didn’t need much more convincing than that. Ever since Johnny told you about tour, the two of you were fucking like a pair of rabbits, constantly touching each other, begging for each other no matter the situation. Even in public sometimes he would shoot you a look and then you’d end up bent over a bathroom sink with his cock pistoning in and out of you at a rough pace. So you obliged him, slowly hitching up your left leg in order to provide more space for Johnny to push the fabric of your shorts covering your pussy to the side, his index finger massaging your clit gently so that he could first get you as worked up as he was. It worked. You were exhausted, yes, but you could bear the thought of being his pillow princess for the morning, allowing him to use you however he wanted… so long as you didn’t have to roll over or move a single bit. If he wanted to get his dick wet so early in the morning, he needed to do the heavy lifting.

“Good girl,” he whispered in your ear. “Keep quiet for me, okay? Don’t want to wake the boys.”

You nodded vaguely just before he pressed his middle finger into you, all the way down to the bottom knuckle as a test to see if you were wet enough for him yet. You weren’t. But that wasn’t anything Johnny couldn’t remedy. His finger continued to slowly work its way in and out of your hole, his wrist twisting slightly so that he could roll his thumb over your clit.

“Such a good girl for me, baby.”

You mewled when he curled his finger into your sweet spot. “J…”

“I know, I know, just let me have my fun first.”

Johnny knew how to get your riled up. The praise in your ear, his lips drifting over your skin tantalizingly slow, his fingers pleasuring you so well that you had no choice than to hide your face in the pillows so that you could stay quiet like he said. The boys had a terrible habit of walking into rooms unannounced. It didn’t matter if they knew you were playing with one of them, or if they knew that the boys were playing with each other, they would walk in without a second thought, interrupting anything and everything just for fun, or due to their obliviousness. If you showed any signs of being awake, someone would likely come to bother you and Johnny.

“You ready for me, darling?”

“Stop teasing me,” you grumbled, fisting the sheets tightly.

“But it’s so fun.”

Despite the entertainment you were providing him, Johnny was just as eager to fuck you, so he finally gave you some reprive by pulling his finger out of you and using the wetness that came along with it to slicken up his hard cock as he fished it out of his pajama pants. Johnny then held your left leg steady while it was curled up towards your torso, and with a deep breath and a grunt, Johnny’s tip found your slick entrance almost immediately.

“Remember to be quiet, yeah?”

You nodded again— But right when you thought you were prepared, Johnny purposefully shoved his entire length into you with one smooth motion of his hips. You woke up completely. The moan you let out wasn’t into the pillows like it should have been, and you certainly weren’t quiet.

Johnny chuckled in your ear. “Sorry, princess, must’ve gotten ahead of myself.”

“F-fuck… Fuck…”

He thrusted in and out of you slowly about three times before stopping. “You’re too tight, baby, relax.”

It wasn’t for the lack of trying or anything! He was being a dick on purpose in order to wake up the whole house to the sound of you two fucking, and it only occurred to you after he started fucking you so deeply.

After Johnny released your leg so that you could loosen up, he continued fucking you. His hands moved to your hips to keep you steady. The pace was just fast enough to squeak the bed frame, but not so fast that either of you would get close to the edge just yet. It felt good to be filled by him, despite how sudden it had been and how tired you were, and you felt satisfied knowing that you’d get off and stay in bed all day while Johnny and the other boys had to go to work.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he complimented with a smug chuckle. “So fucking pretty. And my perfect girl who spreads her legs for me whenever I ask nicely.” He swiveled his hips to hit another sensitive spot. “Just like that—” He bit down on your shoulder. “Such a good girl for me.”

The sound of footsteps echoing throughout the second floor hallway caught your attention suddenly. It wasn’t your fault. Johnny was being loud with all his dirty talk in your ear, of course someone was curious about the creaking bed and the whispering coming from his bedroom. You hoped that he would’ve heard it too and stopped for just a moment in order to trick whoever it was wandering around that nothing was going on, that you two were still sleeping so they shouldn’t have tried opening the door. But no. Johnny continued to fuck you at a brutal pace, completely distracted by the tight grip of your walls around his length to think twice about the approaching footsteps.

“J, someone’s coming,” you warned him frantically.

“Pretend you’re asleep.”

“What!”

“Close your eyes.”

And right then, the door flew open and you squeezed your eyes shut. You prayed the reality of what was going on in the bed would go unnoticed by the intruder. You hoped that Johnny’s stupid act would actually work and you’d successfully not get teased for the rest of the day by the other boys.

“Johnny-hyung, do you want to get coffee before we—” Taeyong stopped in his tracks. “Oh,” he whispered nervously, realizing that he’d been too loud. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Johnny reassured him with a whisper. He was trying to keep up the appearance that you were asleep, but it was just downright corny to you. “You wanna get coffee before work?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.” He slowly thrusted into you again, catching you off guard, nearly making you moan again. “Just give me a few minutes to finish fucking her.”

And then there was silence. What did he say? Did he actually… What was the point in making you stay quiet and pretend to be sleeping if he was just going to announce it like that? You kicked his ankles under the sheets. In retaliation, Johnny grabbed your hips and began fucking into you with short yet rough thrusts which took your breath away, forcing your eyes open while you grabbed onto his arm in a desperate attempt to escape him, but he was far too strong, and he was having a blast fucking you in front of Taeyong who was still standing in the doorway, speechless. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it before. Hell, he’d participated before. The shock of knowing that Johnny had been lodged inside of you throughout their entire conversation meanwhile you were pretending to be asleep was so different from anything else Taeyong had accidentally walked in on before.

When he tried to back out to give you some privacy, Johnny told him, “Don’t stop watching.” Taeyong stayed. He bit his lip and trembled slightly while he watched Johnny rail you in bed, moans dripping from your tongue consistently, pleas for Johnny to slow down going ignored.

“Gonna cum inside of you,” he whispered only loud enough for you to hear, “then I’m gonna make him clean up my mess before we leave.”

You shivered at the thought. Your core tightened, a sudden urge to approach your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. Johnny hissed in response to your walls tightening around him.

“He’s hard for you, baby, look at him.”

Your gaze readjusted onto Taeyong once more to find him palming himself over his pants “inconspicuously” in the hopes that Johnny wouldn’t tell him to stop, which thankfully he didn’t, but he wasn’t allowed to fully touch himself either.

“Gonna fill you up… Fuck…” He kissed the sensitive spot just behind your ear while he picked up his pace.

His hand reached around your body to squeeze between your thighs so that his index and middle fingers could return to flicking your clit quickly. You threw your head back against his shoulder. There really wasn’t any point in trying to be quiet anymore. You’d been caught, the boys were likely to find out on their own even if Johnny didn’t immediately go to brag to them about it. So you let it all go. You moaned Johnny’s name loudly, clinging to him in the hopes that he’d fuck his cock deeper into you while he chased your orgasm and sent you spiraling into one of your own.

“Please, daddy, may I cum?”

“Dirty girl, princess. Cumming on my cock while our Taeyongie watches. You want him to eat you out that badly, baby? Overstimulating your swollen clit, fucking my cum back into you with his tongue…”

“Please, please, please—”

“Hold it.”

You gasped and hunched forward in his grasp, trying to get his fingers away from your clit because they were the main contributing factor to the orgasm in your stomach that you really, truly couldn’t hold back despite Johnny’s demands.

When Johnny’s thrusts became more sporadic and his fingers struggled to find a rhythm, you realized that he was close, too. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, fuck, fuck, fuck—” And with another few deep thrusts, Johnny came inside of you. “Cum, baby.”

You immediately let go with a satisfied moan while your legs tensed up and your whole body spasmed through a strong orgasm.

Johnny panted as he caught his breath. “Good girl…” And while he was still twitching inside of you, he grabbed a handful of your ass a bit possessively. When he was done, Johnny slowly pulled out of you, then he flipped the covers off your bodies, revealing how lazy the two of you really were by not even going through the trouble of removing your clothes before fucking so early in the morning. “Taeyongie,” he called out endearingly.

You rolled onto your back, also trying to catch your breath.

“Come here.”

Taeyong’s eyes flicked between you and Johnny, wondering if it was safe to approach or if he should have made a run for it. If he tried that, one of the Doms in the house would’ve gotten their hands on him regardless. So Taeyong stopped touching himself before warily approaching the bed. You spotted Johnny combing his long hair out of his face while sitting up, grinning at Taeyong who kneeled on the mattress.

“Clean her up for me while I get ready for work.”

Taeyong eyed you. “Can I—”

“No,” Johnny replied quickly. He wanted you clean, he didn’t want Taeyong to get off. If he was going to interrupt your morning, then he would get to suffer without an orgasm. “I'll be back.” Then oh-so-casually Johnny slid out of bed and strolled into the adjourning bathroom.

Taeyong got to work before you could brace yourself. What was it with the boys and wanting to surprise you all morning? He put his hands on both sides of your waist before pulling you towards him so that your head was no longer resting on the pillows and you couldn't escape to cover yourself with the sheets. Taeyong licked his fingers. The shower in the bathroom started running.

He regained your attention by collecting Johnny’s cum on the inside of your thighs on the tips of his fingers, then he pushed three of his fingers into you. Your back arched off the bed, hands immediately finding Taeyong’s long dyed hair, tugging on the strands to urge him forward so that his tongue could start lapping up the mixture of juices between your legs. He moaned at the taste. Your wetness, Johnny’s cum, your cum… It was all being cleaned up by Taeyong’s tongue laying flat against your skin, drifting inwards towards your entrance where his fingers were still forcing Johnny’s cum back into you. When everything was cleaned from your thighs, Taeyong began kitten licking your clit.

“Yongie—”

He groaned happily in response to the nickname and the tug in his hair.

“Too… Too sensitive… Fuck…”

But he was given a task that he couldn’t disobey, and he wanted to do such a good job, not just for Johnny but for you too. He loved the way you shook against him. Your legs closing in around his head, your fingers desperately playing with his hair, hips bucking around in a very desperate attempt to escape his overstimulating actions. That only encouraged him further. The light licks against your clit and the soft pushing of his fingers into your pussy alternated into his lips wrapping around the sensitive bud and sucking harshly on it while curling his fingers deep inside of you.

“Please,” you begged helplessly.

The shower shut off.

Taeyong’s efforts doubled in speed, hurtling you towards another orgasm. No, no, no, Johnny didn’t say anything about that— He wouldn’t be happy if he found you cumming on Taeyong’s tongue and fingers. But nothing deterred Taeyong. You watched him with pleading eyes as he focused on you while grinding his hips into the mattress, probably trying to get some kind of friction to alleviate his unbearable erection.

“Taeyong—”

“You better not be cumming.”

The tone of voice coming from the bathroom doorway halted his actions immediately and pulled away with a devastated moan that had you second guessing if Johnny was speaking to you or…

Taeyong’s face was so red.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to better gauge the situation. In front of you, Taeyong was adjusting his pants uncomfortably, his eyes crossed, and gentle moans falling from his lips. As your gaze dropped, you saw a wet spot forming in Taeyong’s pants. No… It wasn’t possible? Was it?

Johnny walked forward, a towel hanging low on his hips while his wet hair dripped water down his back and onto the wood floors. He tsked his tongue, disappointed. “Did I ruin your orgasm?”

Taeyong nodded silently.

You’d never seen Taeyong cum hands free before— Hell, no one had even mentioned it before, you didn’t know it was something he was capable of. Telling by the look on his face, he didn’t know either.

Johnny cupped his hand under Taeyong’s chin, forcing him to look up with shame and embarrassment radiating off of him. “Give me a taste.” He said it like it was an offer rather than a demand before he began kissing Taeyong passionately, swallowing all of Taeyong’s desperate moans and reveling in the way Taeyong kissed him harder and more passionately in the hopes of getting more relief following his ruined orgasm; However, Johnny pulled away with a grin, leaving Taeyong untouched. “You should go change. I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

You and Taeyong shared a quick glance, both of you disappointed in the fact that Johnny was purposefully ending your playful morning with Taeyong’s ruined orgasm and your edge, Johnny’s cum still seeping out of you. Reluctantly, Taeyong stood. His erection was still prominent in his pants, poor thing. You wanted to take pity on him and help him out, but Johnny was keeping a close eye on the two of you, making sure Taeyong left without stealing another taste of you or getting himself off. John smiled at you. You slumped back down on the bed, limbs sprawled out of exhaustion.

“Meanie,” you croaked.

Johnny chuckled while walking back into the bathroom. He was clearly enjoying the idea of having something new to tease Taeyong with.

[lokh]

laishuroweek day 7 - roleswap

in this AU laios is still the main character. so which roles did they swap exactly? here they switch the backstories heir that ran from home -> heir that stayed back (and possibly unhappy about it)

extraordinarily long notes under the cut

shuro

overwhelmed by the pressure on him to succeed his father, shuro ran away when he was younger. he intended to come back, but various things happened (stowed away on a ship, ended up far away……) and he has to tough it out for a while. maybe he gets discovered on the ship and he's put to work. but maybe after a while he begins to appreciate this freedom that hes never had before, and like that he grows up outside his family's influence doing odd jobs and physical labor. he thinks 'just a little longer, just a little longer…' and before he knows it, years have passed. ends up at the dungeon working with various parties until laios shows up.

laios

laios ended up staying back, maybe at the last moment feeling guilt for leaving falin behind. a little more withdrawn than in canon, particularly when falin leaves to go to school. is trying to put off marrying his fiance and succeeding - finally convinces his father that before he becomes responsible for the village that he should try travelling and becoming more worldly, perhaps promising that he will bring back something that will be 'worth it'. rekindling his interest in monsters, he sails to kahka brud and then to the dungeon with falin (who he still visited and she either insisted on coming or simply stowed away lmao).

differences

this is fun because i think laios will still be interested in shuro, but in this setting would be more restrained and come off colder. he would come off as more 'leader-like', more like his father (though he would not like to be told this At All). in some ways this is good (keeping boundaries from eg party members trying to marry him), but in others maybe not so (less personable, less straightforward). but in an environment where he's finally away from his father, maybe his weirder side breaks through……. this is ultimately what catches shuro's attention, because who would have guessed that one of those uppity political types (first impression of laios) would have such a fervent and sincere interest in monsters……. (that's probably the other problem. in passing laios' interest in monsters may come off more sinister, a la kabru's thoughts on his alignment with monsters)

comparatively shuro would have had to adopt more of the north's mannerisms and culture (eg clothing). hes always going to be more reserved, that's his natural personality, but he might be more open and curious, but also more straightforward, as growing up around people outside the archipelago might have him adapt to their style of communication. shrewd and plays it close to the chest. would still get along with kabru, but i wonder if there might be some friction (position as odd one out growing up, now they're a bit too similar and his status isn't as clear cut). one valuable skill he brings to parties (besides his strength) is his ability to tell apart treasure insects from real treasure. i think also while hes still pretty powerful, his technique would be less polished as a result of leaving home so early, and his style would be more of a hodgepodge of things he picked up while travelling.

from the start of the narrative

after the total party wipe that gets falin eaten, they end up on the surface and to their surprise find shuro's retainers waiting for him. because of course they were able to track him down, that's their whole deal. shuro is totally shaken despite his inward assurances that he would go back eventually. they insist that he return with them and ultimately he goes. meanwhile, laios decides to head back into the dungeon for falin. things proceed more or less as in canon.

the fight

shuro eventually agreed to return to wa, on the condition that the retainers help him find falin. so when he shows up and finds laios' party, he's still hungry and tired. i don't think he blows up initially when laios tells him what they did to falin - his countenance is more grim, and he doesn't enthusiastically go on about the monsters they ate (though he wishes to). shuro is still unhappy about it (here, his focus is less on the trouble they could get with the authorities and more that the dungeon itself is mysterious and dangerous, and who knows what meddling with it with ancient magic would do) but he doesn't threaten laios with a sword lol. they discover chimera falin and they DO get in a fight, but the reasons change

in canon, shuro berates laios for his apparent thoughtlessness after he announces his plan of going after the mad sorcerer, and laios hits him first. in this scenario, laios brings up the possibility of going after the mad sorcerer, but ultimately capitulates to the idea of returning to the surface and informing the authorities instead of pursuing falin. shuro hits him first. he berates laios for his callousness, and then his indecisiveness and cowardice - how could he make the decision to use ancient magic, and then when faced with the consequences give up so easily and try to conform to his half-hearted belief in what they 'should' do? laios fights back, pissed that he thinks it was an easy decision to make. everything they've done down to eating and sleeping was decided because it was in their best interest to do, unlike shuro who apparently made his way back on impulse and without planning.

shuro then airs his true grievances about laios' character: he's sick of laios' mixed signals. laios is just as interested in shuro as in canon, but instead of pestering him constantly with questions, he just. stares. and it's really hard to tell whether he's angry with him or not when he's just glaring silently, but then he'll do something thoughtful like offer the spot closest to the fire when he notices shuro is cold, or takes over his watch for him because he knows he has trouble staying up and going back to sleep after second watch, etc. or once in a while he'll actually ask something, and then only reply with a terse nod. what the hell? and he's like that all the time, and shuro better observes it when he acts that way with other people. why won't he just make himself clear? laios gets mad because he'd been doing that out of consideration - he knows if he'd been too much that it would have put him off, and that he maintains a distance because that's what he's supposed to do. he was just excited to make his first friend and didn't want to screw it up.

they tire themselves out and shuro comes clean about liking falin and his feelings about what's happened. laios says that shuro was right about his indecisiveness, abandoning the idea of what he's supposed to do and deciding that they would go after the mad sorcerer after all, because above all else he has a responsibility to his sister. he says that falin deserves to hear shuro's feelings straight from him - but then adds, awkwardly, that he'll put in a good word for him. shuro says, 'that's what i envy about you' (his commitment to doing what he thinks is right even when it's tough or he doesn't want to). shuro decides that he'll return to wa, if only to clear the air and come to a decision on whether he'll pursue his father's position (if that's even a possibility still), and he gives laios the bell. his return is hindered when the elves show up, and you know the rest =p

the ship

i think laios would sometimes blurt out information he thinks shuro would find interesting, or randomly hand him things, and because of the way he acts normally shuro wouldn't know why he was doing it. falin or marcille would have to tell him later because falin had done the same thing. even in this universe shuro would be unbelievably frustrated and endeared by him.

in this position, shuro liking falin is actually more dangerous because there are less obstacles between them getting together LMAO, but i think because he's less sheltered in this setting, he's not as deeply enamoured. with laios, he sees a bit of how he could have ended up, but is charmed by those weird parts that break through despite it all

laios would also see shuro and think of how he could have ended up himself, if he'd really left all those years ago - sailing for distant lands and becoming something other than what he is, a mixture of cultures. in the end, those differences are still what initially draws laios to him................

i'm not sure where they go from here to be honest. does shuro decide to stay in wa? does he choose to keep travelling? does he stay with laios???!!! maybe he makes the decision to stay in melini, and he and laios dance around each other for eternity. but well that's what i got hope you liked it <3

[justwinginglife]

Just For A Summer

Yall this was not supposed to be NSFW but kinda got that way on accident. I’m horny, what of it? LMAO. It is also significantly longer than I had planned and that's because I got lost in Soshiro La-La-Land and couldn't stop writing.

At first, you thought maybe Japan was just a small country. It was an island nation after all. But then you'd started to wonder if maybe something as dramatic as destiny could've brought you constantly colliding with a certain Soshiro Hoshina.

You were on your first vacation in years -a little treat to yourself before you had to return to your real life, your real job, your real responsibilities- and you noticed that the most delicious distraction you could ever have hoped for just happened to keep crossing paths with you on this now-delightful vacation of yours.

"And so we meet again, mysterious lady." He starts walking up to you with a smirk on his face and you return his smirk.

"It appears we do. Did you end up going with the chocolate croissant or the almond croissant?"

He throws his head back and laughs at your astute memory. "A couple days ago, at the bakery? Chocolate. Love me some chocolate."

"So tell me- are you stalking me?" You joke, though honestly unbothered by if he is or not, your sense of logic skewed by your attraction to him.

"Oh baby, if I was pursuing you, I'd do a whole lot better than this."

"Alright, I'm gonna need your name now if I'm going to just keep seeing you everywhere." You tease.

He bows dramatically. "Soshiro Hoshina, at your service."

You give him your best overexaggerated curtsy and introduce yourself as well, earning a grin from him.

"M'lady, what a pleasure it is to finally make your acquaintance." He takes one of your hands and makes a show of pressing a firm kiss to it, his eyes never leaving yours.

It was his idea to have brunch together but you had been just about to propose the idea yourself if he hadn't. You had chalked up the last several meetings with him as coincidence, but you weren't about to let him slip through your fingers again, not this time. Not when he smiled the way he did, not when he laughed the way he did.

It had to mean something, had to be some sign from the universe, that you'd run into him at the aquarium, reached for the same book at the bookstore, almost crashed bikes together in the park, and finally had breakfast right across from him at his favorite cafe the other day. So now you planned on running with this chance that fate had given you.

So there you were, having brunch with a handsome man for the first time in your life. Teasing him about his choice in food. Laughing at his jokes. Soaking in the sound of him laughing at your jokes. Splitting dessert.

In just a few hours, you knew enough about him to know you never wanted to stop knowing him. He wouldn't tell you what he did for work but he told you everything else. You- a complete stranger. He must've thought that you probably wouldn't see him again after this and that there was no harm in spilling every little detail about him. Or maybe he just liked you that much. You intended to find out if he did. You certainly liked him.

You exchange numbers with him as brunch ends, telling him to text you when he needs you, and then you start to walk away. You don't even make it a few steps when your phone beeps in your hand. You look down at it, puzzled.

I need you now.

You turn around and see that the goofiest grin is spread wide across his face.

"Hey. I've got the craziest idea. Spend 24 hours with me."

He's bold, you'll give him that. You literally just officially met a couple hours ago. He could be a serial killer for all you know, you could be a serial killer for all he knows. But something about the gleam in his eyes and the curve of his lips is so tempting. You want to spend more than 24 hours with him. You want to get lost in him. You agree to his preposterous idea in no time at all, thinking to yourself if he is a serial killer you might have to rethink your stance on them.

"Ahh, so you're crazy too, I see. I like that." He says after realizing you're actually serious about his proposal.

He holds a hand out to you. "Shall we go then, m'lady?" His eyebrows wiggle at you playfully.

That elicits a bubbly laugh from you. "After you, m'lord."

He takes your hand and walks you down the street, pointing to places that you need to try during your stay here, and places to avoid, claiming that you're too classy a lady to be seen near them. He barely knows you, he doesn't know if you're classy or not. But you love that he sees you that way. In fact, you're starting to love anything he says.

You listen to him talk to locals, as they offer to buy him dinner and thank him for his service. You're starting to wonder what it is he actually does for work, but you know he's been avoiding it so you don't ask. You just like that everyone around here seems to know him and seems to love him, it further solidifies his good character in your mind.

You wonder if three months will be enough to satisfy your need to know him. You wonder if he'll even let you spend the whole summer with him or if you're just some random interest he picked up today and will drop tomorrow. He did only ask for 24 hours after all.

After spending a whole, wonderful day together, you finally part ways with him at your hotel. You're just walking up to the door when your phone beeps.

I need you again.

You laugh as you turn around to face him not even 60 seconds from when you'd said goodbye to him. "Just can't get enough of me, huh?"

He grins devilishly. "Never. And I seem to remember requesting 24 hours from you... I don't think it's been a full 24 yet."

You blush. "Do you... want to come in?"

His teasing eyes and playful grin suddenly disappear, replaced by a darker, hungrier look. "Oh absolutely."

Your heart hammers in your chest but you attempt to ignore it as you lead him to your hotel room. You never touch the mini bar whenever you go to hotels because they're so expensive, but this time you feel like you're in need of a drink, so you grab one for you and one for him. You're already throwing all sense of logic and ration out the window anyway, spending a full 24 hours with a complete stranger, you think you can allow yourself a drink or two.

After three drinks and lots of heavy flirting, he finally makes a move.

"Took you long enough," You murmur against the heat of his lips.

"Apologies, I'll do better next time." He laughs and then pulls you onto his lap, kissing you deeper.

His tongue snakes its way into your mouth, hungrily claiming everything in its path. You moan into him and the sound involuntarily makes him clench his hands around your hips tighter.

Then you start to feel the roughness of his erection against your mound, his desire made evident even through layers of clothing. You roll your hips forward and engage it with friction. The sensation makes him hiss as he anchors himself on the crook of your neck, breathing heavily.

He pulses underneath you and the delicious movement in between your legs is enough to get you desperate to rip down your dripping panties. It's like he knows what you're thinking because he lifts you up with one arm and with the other he yanks down your pants, hooking your underwear as well, in one smooth motion. Then he settles you on top of him again.

"I'm a gentleman, I don't make my women undress themselves." He growls against your neck, sucking at it before tearing off your shirt and unclipping your bra.

"I'm going to make you forget you ever had other women." You shove him down on the bed and though he's surprised, he's clearly pleased.

Then you sink between his knees and start to lick a trail up and down his length, teasing his tip with a nip here and there. You start gently sucking an inch at a time until finally you're choking back his full erection. You pull away suddenly and he has to bite back a whine at the absence of your mouth.

He watches you intensely, trying to figure out your next move, then he groans against his fist when he sees you dragging your hand roughly along your moist folds, coating it in your own slick. Then you pump his cock up and down in your wet hand, rubbing your thumb aggressively across his swollen end. His precum oozes down your palm and you lick it off when you pull away yet again.

He thinks he might just yank you onto his dick at this point if you keep teasing him. But you're desperate for him too. You start to straddle him and he bites his lip in anticipation. Then you begin grinding your cunt against the length of his cock, not allowing him inside you just yet, but not letting him forget how wet you are.

"Are ya gonna do everything to my dick except fuck it? Goddamn." He grumbles, though flushed and breathing heavy.

"Saved the best for last, baby."

Then you give him what he wants. You plunge his cock into your depths and a moan rumbles low in his throat as your walls clench around him. He grabs hold of your hips and jerks you up and down, almost choking at the sight of your bouncing breasts as you continue to ride him. A hand leaves your hip and cups one of them, giving it a good squeeze. His thumb drags back and forth across your peaked nipple, causing you to soak his cock further.

"You're so fucking perfect, I can't take it anymore." He yanks you closer to him and starts slamming his hips upwards, thrusting into you with a speed and intensity that gets you screaming his name.

You're not one to hook up casually. You're not one to throw yourself away for one person. You have a good job, a good life- a life that's waiting for you to come back to it, just across the sea. But you're starting to forget all sense of who you were before this man came and ruined your life- ruined you. You need him to ruin you. You need him to bury himself deep inside you and cream every inch of your quivering cunt. You want to milk him dry and leave him shuddering beneath you.

And you do. Over and over again.

It's the best high of your life, orgasming against his muscled chest as he floods you with his seed. And then again in the shower when you try to clean yourself up. And then again on the couch when you try to watch TV together. And then eventually it's 5 in the morning and you're still fucking on the floor like you're both touch starved.

He pants on top of your back, kissing at your shoulder as he finishes fucking you from behind this time. Your knees dig into the floor as his cum spurts out in erratic bursts, sloshing against the cum that's still inside you from the last several times. "Fuuuck. How many times does that make now? You're going to drive me crazy."

"Oh I'm going to, huh? I'd say you're already there considering half of the times we went at it were your idea."

He pulls out and collapses on the ground beside you, his breaths heaving in his chest. "Don't say that like you aren't just as horny as I am, who was the one fucking my face with their pussy when I thought I'd try and take a nap?"

You roll over to him, giggling as you snuggle against his side.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as he kisses the top of your head. "I say we just pass out here on the floor. Get some Z's finally."

You poke his nose disapprovingly. "That's gonna break your back and I wanted to be the one to break it. Get on the bed with me and cuddle me to sleep."

He mumbles his agreement and the two of you pull your aching bodies off the floor, not even bothering to wash up this time. You know you'll just get horny if you shower together. Again.

You lazily wipe a towel in between your legs and then sink into bed next to him. It takes you a moment to fall asleep because he knocks out almost immediately and you've never seen him sleep before so you're intrigued. You watch as his lips part to let out slow, rhythmic breaths. You're tempted to kiss him again but the sound of his gentle breathing lulls you to sleep. And it's the best sleep you've ever had.

The next morning you find he's not in bed with you and you're significantly more hurt than you expected but the stinging subsides quickly when you see him sneaking back into the room with a platter full of food.

"Trying not to wake me?" You ask, stretching as you yawn.

"Trying to surprise you but you kind of ruined that." He shoots back with a teasing grin.

The two of you bond some more over breakfast, as you spoon feed him and he cleans leftover food off your face with his tongue.

He eventually has to leave for work but he promises he'll visit you again, saying he had too much fun not to come back.

The rest of the summer is the same- the two of you steal whatever time you can from each other, lost in your own world, forgetting that anyone else even exists.

You told him about your job, about your family, about your whole life, and he listened to every second with increasing interest, even getting annoyed on your behalf when you'd run through your list of ex's with him and what happened with each one. He'd eventually given in and told you what he did for work too, and you kept mock saluting him the rest of the day. After the fifth time calling him Vice Captain, he'd pinned you to the bed, growling "It's Soshiro" to which you giggled.

You'd also shown him your gigantic list of every tourist spot you'd ever wanted to visit in Japan, reassuring him that it was fine if he didn't have time to take you to all of them but he took you everywhere you wanted and more- showing you a few secret spots he'd found himself.

Once, he took you for a boat ride and when you'd almost drowned, he dove in fully clothed to save you. He teased you afterwards about your inability to swim, but you noticed he always had a careful eye on you and one hand around your waist after that and it made you smile.

You even met his brother, completely on accident. You're sure he didn't intend on introducing a summer fling to his family but it happened all the same. And when he bit his lip as you eyed his brother, you were tempted to tease him about the jealousy. But you didn't. You savored the feeling of him not wanting to share you with anyone else. Even for just a moment, even if it was delusional, you were his alone and you enjoyed it.

But then everything you'd been avoiding for three months came crashing down on you suddenly when you realized you only had a couple days left in Japan. If he remembered that your time was coming to an end, he didn't let on because he acted the same as he always did. You thought maybe he'd plead for you to stay, or even just joke around and try to convince you that the food here was better anyway. But he didn't and the longer this went on, the more you realized you must've misjudged how he felt about you. You were just a summer fling after all and you couldn't make yourself mean more to him than you actually did.

Eventually the dreaded day comes and he's nowhere to be found. He won't answer your calls or your texts. It's like he never even existed in the first place. Like he was some figment of your imagination, a little slice of heaven you'd made up in your mind.

Your lungs are thick with shock, every breath coming out panicked and heavy. Part of you demanded to know where he was. You needed to see him. To tell him how you felt. To say thank you for a wonderful summer. To just say goodbye at the very least. But part of you had accepted this fate. What right did you have to his heart? It'd only been three months after all. You'd promised him nothing and he'd promised you nothing. The sum of your three months was just that- nothing.

And now that you were in the cab, riding away from the hotel where you'd spent many wonderful nights in his wonderful arms, the weight of that nothing was hitting you hard.

You arrive at the airport, stumbling as you drag your lifeless body out of the car. The airport doors open for you and you step through in a daze. You don't even remember getting on the plane but suddenly you look down and your seatbelt is fastened, ready for the flight home. Home. You don't even remember what home feels like anymore.

A flight attendant comes up to you to tell you to turn your phone off. You slide your thumb up to the power button and then your phone beeps. Tears burst from your eyes as you see the messages that are flooding the screen.

You said to text when I need you.

I need you.

Come back to me.

And then suddenly you're yanking your seatbelt off, your bag flying behind you as you bolt out of the plane. Everyone stares at you as you sprint through the airport like a madwoman. You ignore them and you ignore the burning in your lungs as they try to catch up with the beating of your heart.

And then suddenly there he is, standing in the doorway of the airport, arms spread wide for you, smiling through his tears.

You run into his arms and finally, you remember what home feels like.

[crowntism]

Sometimes things that are cliche are good, actually.

Leshy/reader and Kallamar/reader (I figured these two would be the most likely to fight lmao)

(THIS GOT LONGER THAN I INTENDED FOR IT TO I'M SO SORRY.)

You were a healer, or as close to one as you could be. You had some knowledge of diseases and injuries and the Lamb was more than happy to put you to work so they weren't the only one healing others.

You healed anybody in the cult regardless of who they were in the past, and though you were terrified of the minibosses and witnesses you were dutiful in your work.

You were never expecting to heal a former bishop though.

Leshy was the first one you met, as he constantly injured himself by running into things or tripping. He was an absolute terror in the medical tent, refusing to stay still and actively hissing at you when you tried to put salve on his injuries.

He only started respecting you when you had managed to pin the worm down and snarl at him that if he acted out one more time you would rip his leafy coverage out one by one.

Leshy still very much acts out when its the Lamb treating him, but he sits so nicely for you.

Leshy also often brings you lil knickknacks and cool stuff he finds, visiting the medical tent even if he isn't injured or ill and shirking his duties. He makes no indication he actually likes you in any way aside from the fact he doesn't immediately start knocking shit off the shelf like when its the Lamb in the tent.

Kallamar is the next bishop you meet, and he required a vast majority of your attention. The blue crown had made him immune to illnesses and now that he was without it his immune system was extremely weak.

It took days before you could relax and he wasn't on the brink of death, with even the Lamb being exhausted from fetching camellia endlessly.

You weren't entirely sure what to make of Kallamar at first, as when the Lamb was there he was quiet and subdued, but as soon as the Lamb left he'd become demanding and bratty.

He constantly demanded better bedding, complaining it was too hot or too cold, whined about how drab and dreary the medical tent was and it could've used more decoration. All sorts of asinine comments.

It wasn't until you snapped the wooden bowl you were eating from in half did he get the memo to behave.

Once he realized he wasn't a god anymore and couldn't really command anybody around he finally calmed down entirely. He wasn't polite or "nice" by any means, but it was leagues better than how he behaved at first.

Unlike with Leshy, who pretty much crushes on you right after you snap at him, Kallamar takes far longer to gain any affection for you. It takes months of Kallamar getting ill and you caring for him before he even considers you a non threat.

Its during one of his worse illnesses does that affection start to fully bloom. Where he has an extreme fever and can barely keep his eyes open. Every time he returns to consciousness, you're there fretting over him. Ensuring he doesn't dry out or become dehydrated, double checking that he's tucked in cozy, chasing out his siblings that visit if they get too loud. He's never felt so cared for in his life and it flusters him.

He avoids you for a few weeks after that but soon returns like nothing happened.

Leshy and Kallamar aren't aware of the others feelings until they both end up in the medical tent at the same time. Leshy is the one who picks up on it first, as without his eyesight he has become sensitive to other factors. He can sense the changes in his cowardly brother as you treat his wounds, and Kallamar can see the way his chaotic brother avoids twitching or moving as you disinfect his injuries.

They try to avoid petty fights within the medical tent, as they both know you wouldn't hesitate to kick them out. Instead they try their best to be the best damned helpers in the god damn world.

Leshy accompanies you to Darkwood to find camellias, stating he knows the best places to find them (he does). Kallamar on the other hand helps out in the tent itself, as he was the Bishop of Pestilence and therefor- has intensive knowledge on the diseases he wrought.

Gifts aren't really something either consider as you practically live in the medical tent and hate having clutter in there, so any gifts they'd get you are practical in nature.

Kallamar begs and pleads the Lamb to get you a specific book from Shamura's old temple, a book he knows you'd love as its about rare illnesses.

And Leshy finds you rare herbs and ingredients for medicine as gifts.

Their rivalry isn't that violent or extreme, as it is just brotherly fighting, but they still get on your nerves sometimes.

Neither brother even notice when you start spending more time with Shamura.

[skania]

OnK Chapter 150

Honestly, the naive part of me wants to believe Aka is doing this in purpose, because this chapter alone highlighted like half the reasons why I find romantic!Aqua and Kana so poorly written lmao

Compare that to this:

The writing in Aqua's and Akane's is so much better it's unreal 😂

I'm so glad to have confirmation that Goro's regrets were appeased by knowing that Sarina is living her best life as Ruby. Goro acting like an over-protective dad and Aqua reaffirming that Ruby is his precious little sister were the highlights of the chapter for me. Figures that once Aka finally gives us some Aqua insight, he immediately makes it clear where Aqua stands in regards to Ruby lmao

Goro is often personified as the guilt and regrets Aqua carried into this new life, but he is much more than that.

He is an entire framework of thoughts, complexes and experiences right there at the center of the individual we have come to know as Aqua. He is the entire base Aqua is built on, because when he reincarnated, he was just Goro - albeit a Goro thrown into a completely different situation, and a completely different life.

Of course, the longer Goro lives as Aqua, the more Aqua he becomes. He has been developing a new framework of thoughts, complexes and experiences that are more befitting of his situation and based on his current life. This all results in the Aqua we've come to known.

Up to now, Aqua has been simultaneously existing as the man he once was and the young boy he has become. But the man he once was is now feeling at peace knowing that Sarina-chan has gotten a new chance at life, which leaves the young boy he has become with one less reason to cling to a painful past.

But things aren't that easy, as evidenced by the fact that even after being "freed" by his past guilt, Aqua still has his black stars. As Aqua, he has regrets, guilt and issues of his own to overcome.

But it isn't just the revenge and the guilt, really. This, for example, is a confusion that has followed Aqua into his new life:

Which takes me to...

It's so incredibly ironic that it's "Goro" of all people who brings up Kana 😭 I've mentioned before that Kana has a lot of parallels with Ai and Sarina, and I theorized this may be one of the reasons why Aqua seemed so drawn to her from the get-go. And now we have Goro himself, the one who originally admired all of those traits, saying that Aqua likes Kana. It's like clockwork, except the clock may be broken.

The reasons Goro cites are so shallow and superficial, too. Perfectly fitting for an Oshi or a teenage crush, but hard to think of as anything deeper than that (for me, at least).

Which is even more ironic, because we end the chapter with Kana declaring herself as "seriously in love" with Aqua, when she herself does nothing but describe him superficially 😭

Kana has been basically living a shoujo manga in her head and Aqua is her chosen Male Lead 😂 It's like that time she thought Aqua was "straight and sincere", or when she thought Akane was a "goody-two-shoes".

Meanwhile, Aqua and Akane:

Poor Kana is out of her depth in this manga, but maybe that's the point. Kana is perfectly normal and that's just what Aqua needs am I right?

Seriously though, that's why I've always said that to me it doesn't really matter if Aqua and Kana end up together, because their writing is just... not it 😭 It's always just one giant trope without any depth of substance. It's no coincidence that these last three chapters are filled with tropes and forced writing. That's the way this ship has always been written in my eyes, and that's why it does nothing for me regardless of whether it's intended to be canon or not 😭

Even this, for example:

Aqua confirming (yet again) that he has been aware of Kana's romantic feelings all along could back-up what I said here and here. But at the same time, this could just be part of something as simple and unsubtle as this:

It's like there are two wolves within Aka. One is great at subtlety and organic development, and the other completely sucks at it 😂

But enough about that, I'm sure Aka will give me plenty to complain about next chapter so I'll save it until then lmao

Hmmm where have I seen this before?

Oh, right!

Funny how Akane is magically not brought up this chapter. If we assume Aka is just writing obvious stuff without deeper meaning, then Akane isn't brought up because Aka considers Chapters 97 & 98 as their romantic closure. Or maybe all the theories about Aqua being a scumbag that only dated Akane because Kana wasn't available were right. But considering that would make Aqua trash not worth discussing, I can only hope Aka won't stoop that low lmao

If we give Aka the benefit of the doubt (does he even deserve it at this point tho), then Goro not bringing up Akane can be pretty fitting. Because if Aqua likes Akane, it wouldn't be because she fits the ideals and tastes of the man he once was. It would be because of everything they have been through together as Aqua and Akane.

Case in point, when Aqua thought of Kana and Akane back when he first thought he was free, he did so as fully himself. But I digress! 🤡

Another thing that caught my eye is that Aka deliberately changed the number of chapters in the previous volume just so these Aqua-Kana focused chapters can be in the same volume as the Aqua-Ruby focused ones. Ruby, who mainly loves Aqua because he once was Goro and Kana, who just loves Aqua. Maybe he's doing it to contrast them (in favor of Kana, duh), or maybe he wants to show they're two sides of the same infatuation coin. One can dream, at least!

Speaking about not nice though, what the fuck is this 😭 I know Akane is trying to push Kana's buttons, but baby girl is switching from I-only-see-him-as-a-son!! I swear!!! to Haha actually! so swiftly that she's going to give herself whiplash. Plus, can't Aka let Akane push Kana's buttons while saying less OOC stuff? Granted, it's not like Kana knows Akane well, so of course she doesn't think it's weird for Akane to say that she wants to be with a boy on Christmas lmao

Poor Akane has gotten her eyes shut so tightly close that it's a wonder she doesn't walk into walls. She's really acting like a robot on auto-pilot 😂 When in the world will you be allowed to have a chapter of your own, Akane? When will we be able to look into your heart?

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

HEAR ME OUT— levi finally confessing his feelings for Y/N on new years

OMGGGGGGG THIS IS SO CUTE (this also ended up longer than i intended because i decided to add dialogue LMAO sorry)

i can imagine him doing it as a new year's resolution type of deal

like you'll be walking along the docks, with fireworks planned to go off across the bay. as you're watching the fireworks, he's intently watching you, his lips slightly parting as he appreciated the wonder in your eyes from watching the pretty colors, which were getting reflected off your face, painting your eyes with colors that made them seem to pop out even more to him than they already did

it's levi, so of course he'd be struggling even then over whether he should confess or not. i can see him maybe admitting it to himself a few weeks ago, but being unsure of when or how to tell you, or if he even should tell you. will it ruin your friendship? what if you didn't feel the same? what if he wasn't good enough for you?

but seeing you in those colorful lights, with nothing but innocent curiosity and awe in your eyes, gave him the resolve and desire to finally confess.

he'd be lost in you, and wouldn't even notice when you start trying to chat with him again after the fireworks show had ended and the new year had officially begun.

"what's your new years resolution?" you asked. "i'd probably say mine is trying to be cleaner at home, but i already know that's not gonna happen. you're probably going to have to come over to keep my shit together."

"you'd still be a shitshow even if you suddenly become a master at cleaning," he mentioned with a scoff.

"well?" you pressed with a head tilt, still prompting him to answer your question about his new year's resolution.

it took him a moment to respond.

"...probably be better at voicing how i feel without ignoring it."

"well, you never were good at words, were you?" you smirked as you casually teased him. "you just end up scowling at everyone, so people just think you're feeling grouchy all the time."

"and what about you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"what?"

"do you also think i'm nothing but grouchy?"

"hmm," you mumbled, thinking about what to say. "maybe 80% of the time. the other 20% seems to involve you being worried about something, usually if something wasn't clean enough or if you were going to run out of tea."

he snorted at your comment. you couldn't read the expression on his face, but it did seem like he was deep in thought, as if he was trying to formulate something to say. as you said, he was never good with words.

"well, let's start simple. what are you feeling right now?"

"...a little annoyed at how loud those damn fireworks were. a bit disappointed in how many drinks four-eyes had."

"well hange had been working their butt off trying to get their lab together after the holidays. they deserve to let a load off, even if that is being 5 shots in and playing dumb party games."

he averted his gaze as he tried to formulate his next words.

"...and probably confused," he whispered quietly.

"about?"

"there's this brat that's been pissing me off," he eventually said. "has been for a few years actually. and it pisses me off even more that part of me looks forward to it."

you raised an eyebrow at him. "you look forward to being pissed off?"

you saw him begin to shuffle around awkwardly.

"...only when it comes to them, i guess," he mumbled, still looking down towards the ground. "...kinda realized that i've grown quite fond of them, in a way as more than just friends, but that i've been too caught up in my head to really acknowledge it."

now you were the one frowning.

"levi ackerman actually having feelings for someone?"

there was a hint of astonishment and animosity in your voice as you turned to better face him, holding your hand against your waist in an almost accusatory fashion.

"who the hell is this mysterious person and why haven't i heard of them?"

he remained quiet for a moment before finally looking up, his intense, grey eyes looking directly into yours.

"you."

[crispyanonartnsfw]

sorry, still no new art, work has me tired af and I can't keep posting rushed sketches that I'm gonna end up hating (I'm SSSO tempted to delete some stuff lmao) but I have lots of wips and I'll be patient with myself and concentrate on those !! anyway-

Today I'm here to blabber about one thing that I've basically already storyboarded but Idk if it will ever see the light of day: a Sambastian coming of age(?) comic. I'm just going to put this idea into the world..

Mind you, it's really nothing crazy, but it's long enough to require a lot of commitment - that would mean not drawing anything else for a while, and idk if I'm able to do that while having the attention span of a goldfish when it comes to drawing only one thing at a time.

I could post page by page as I finish them, but my original (maybe too ambitious) idea was to make a Sambastian-centric fanzine to publish all at once, with the various chapters interspersed by some miscellaneous content. I looove the idea of creating an old-style printable zine, I'm just a big nerd for these things and I like printed paper. Realistically thought, the single-page posts are more accessible.

Technically it's an AU because it diverges slightly from the canon SDV universe, mostly in the timeline of the various families moving to Pelican Town. Also it adds to the relationships that all characters have with each other, to what school/uni they attended and stuff like that - which aren't as in-depth within the game.

The story per se is very simple: it follows Sebastian and Sam going from teenagers to adults, their struggles, the ups and downs in their friendship and eventually their romantic relationship. Basically it's the lead-up to Older!Sambastian. It also features other SDV characters such as Alex and Abigail (I would love to have them all if I ever expand on it). It's obviously SFW until they are adults, even if their experiences get mentioned and questioned...just know there is some Seb/Alex and Sam/Penny action lol. It's also quite different from what I've done up until now because this story it's angsty, like, very much so. TW worthy. Uncharted territory fr.

By the way I know I said it's long but it's not actually THAT long for now (15 pages?). The story is made up of snippets from different moments, like little windows in their life (for example there are a couple of scenes set in their first year of high school, but the following one it's set in their third year - some jumps are longer than others). At the same time this type of narration allows me to go back and add missing moments very easily if I ever actually finish this comic and wish to further expand on it.

I don't even know if anyone would be interested in this - except for me and like three darling mutuals who tolerate my ideas - but it would be such a cool thing to dooo ughh 😩😩😩 anyone who volunteers to be my benefactor so I can focus on fictional characters like god intended?? Maybe on a beach with a Campari?? I don't ask of much tbh