#you know what I want to give them ALL HUGS

[thecoochiefairy]

binky. toji.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 4.5K words. blackfempregnant!character, drabble, toji fushiguro, husband!toji, grumpy!toji, sweet!toji, dominant!toji, nasty sex, public sex, sweet sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, oral [f], praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condomless sex, fingering, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ i just missed my man. this is very juno by sabrina carpenter coded. nothing serious, just wanted to put something out before i get caught in the chaos of moving. i love y’all. bye.

YOUR PALMS DID A FINAL SWAP OF COCOA BUTTER AGAINST YOUR STRETCH MARKS AS YOU COULD HEAR HIS DRIVERS SIDE DOOR SLAM SHUT, a breath exhaling out of your lips as you planned to open your door before he could do so.

Your french tips rest upon your swollen belly as your eyes flick up to the sun peeking beneath the clouds, cool air distracting the dewy warmth of spring. You loved and hated this time of the year. 

You already knew he was about to chastise you for not waiting until he got to your side. But you were impatient. He could be—slow.  

“I got it, Fushiguro.” 

Your golden sandals step onto the concrete, lowering yourself from the Ford F-150 that murmured to silence as he cut the engine off. You could see his scowl the moment your face met his.

“Cut out that stubborn shit, Amai. You’ gotta be careful.” 

His voice is a grunt. Amai. He didn’t often use that nickname, only when he needed to scold you.

You roll your eyes, “How are you gonna’ hold me and carry all the stuff? I’m not bedridden, Fushiguro.”

“That’s how you feel? You gonna’ keep calling me by my last name?”

“You gonna’ call me Amai like I’m a child?” You raise an eyebrow, going to reach in his pocket for the cigarettes you know are in there, wanting to put them back in the truck. 

“We just got out of the car, woman,” he narrows his eyes, “Why are you already being difficult?” 

Your eyes flick over him. Midnight black hair, even darker eyebrows, scar twitching against his lip as he continues to scowl. His frame is being hugged by a long sleeve white tee, leather jacket along his upper half, boots thumping the ground as he was heavy footed. 

You pout a bit, “Can you not be grumpy? I just wanted to make it easier for you. We have a bit of a walk,” you reach up for his hair, “You love me?”

“That’s not a question that needs to be asked. You know the answer.” 

To your comment on his grumpiness, his eyes narrowed even more. His eyebrows creased. It was almost cute. 

He never had something that was his, and you were that. His soul was connected to yours, something that a woman made with a man like him was unheard of.

“You’re still frowning,” your slender eyes became a bit round, doe-like as they stared up at him, “Wanna feel my belly? You always like that.” 

You place his large palm against your stomach, “Baby girl doesn’t like your energy.”

That made the scowl on his face change. You could see a flicker of softness in his dark eyes.

He sighs, “I’m sorry, baby.”

You smile a bit, “It’s okay, she forgives you. And so do I. Now, c’mon,” you yank on the shoulder of his jacket, “You’re gonna be hot in this. It’s already warm outside.”

“What happened to you forgiving me, huh?” he brings his face closer, brushing his nose against your cheek, “Where's your mouth at?”

“You don’t get a kiss until you take your jacket off.” 

With one more glance over you, he began tugging off his jacket with no more complaints.

You watch as he tosses the item of clothing back into the truck, glancing over the way his biceps flex with each movement. It starts a ripple along his shoulders, igniting the muscles all the way through his back. You dig your teeth into the plump of your lips at the sight.

He can always feel your eyes.

 “You checkin’ me out now?” 

He steps towards you, his large palms cupping your face. Leaning down, he presses his lips against yours, giving you a couple of pecks in addition to his apology.

You pucker your lips out, head shaking as you disagree, “No. Don’t need your ego any bigger than it is,” you stand on your toes, “You still didn’t say you loved me.”

“I tell you that shit all the time. You want me to say it again?” 

His thumb trails over your cheek, “You think I’m lying?” 

The way his other hand cups around your jaw, his long fingers now pressing against the back of your neck makes it hard for you to focus. When he’s close to you like this, you get a bit dazed.

You sigh a bit, twisting your sandal into the ground. It’s not that you weren’t intimate within your pregnancy, but with you being so close to your due date, sex was the last thing on your mind. But the masculine energy your husband wafted was almost intoxicating at times. You wanted to breathe him in. 

You say softly, “C’mon, Toji. I wanna find a nice spot to sit in.”

Your husband tuts in annoyance. However, when you call him by his name, it ignites a spark within his dark gaze. His hand slowly unwraps itself from cupping your face with a gentle motion. 

“Are you alright to walk?”

Pressing a hand against his chest, your fingers trail over his pecs. Hard. His scent mixed with the aroma of his clothes made you drowsy at times— The way his warm fingers traveled to the small of your back, it always felt like home. 

“You gonna’ carry me if I’m not?”

“Shit, you know I will.”

You giggle a bit as he pulls away from you, going over to the trunk to tug down the door of it, throwing the bag of essentials over his shoulder to bring on the hill. You reach for your journal as you begin to lead the way into the forest—You never noticed the natural waddle your body had, swaying a bit with each step as you searched for the perfect spot. 

“It’s so pretty here, baby,” you smile from behind, “We should’ve had our baby shower here!”

“You really wanna get into that argument again?”

Toji’s eyes glanced over the way your mini dress swayed, the soft pink pretty against your skin, off the shoulder material hugging the swell of your heavy breasts. The way your ass bounced with it—He wasn’t usually a fan of shorter dresses on you, but he had to admit you looked good. Your body was full and feminine. He craved you.

You slow down in your steps, turning towards him with a scrunched nose. You raise your hand for his own as you reply, “Why you’ always think I’m trying to argue? You’re making my feet hurt.”

“I told you not to wear those damn sandals. You know they make your feet ache.” 

His hand grasps onto yours like second nature, your fingertips intertwining—Intentional.

“But they go nicely with my dress,” you frown, “Don’t I look pretty?”

You’re still waddling, despite putting your weight along his—You hate how tired you feel yourself becoming, huffing a bit with each step.

“You are pretty. You’re always pretty,” He mutters, leaning into you. 

His grey eyes glance over the way your face had a flush to it. You were panting a bit, chest heaving with each breath. His hand reaches up, his palm brushing your dark curls behind your ear.

“You good, baby? Wanna go back down the trail?”

You shake your head from side to side, huffing, “Mm—Mm—we’re almost there, I wanna sit at the top of the hill.” 

“Kirei josei.”

You're familiar with the name, as he’d taught you a couple of phrases—Pretty girl. 

“I don’t need you going into labor before you make it up the hill—you’re tired. Just say you want me to carry you.”

Another thing with your pregnancy—how all over the place your emotions could be. You had the talent to cry on cue.

Like now.

Toji’s constant questioning has your throat a little heavy, your watering eyes glancing to the side of you as you sharply remind, “I’m not helpless,” using your other hand to hold your belly, your legs aching as you begin following the incline towards the top. 

When you begin to sniffle, he knows. He can't be as much of an ass as he normally is—that's the effect you have on him—He has to be patient, his hand tightening around yours.

"Baby, I'm just trying to be considerate. I know you’ve got it, alright? Just a couple more steps.”

You nod your head, blinking away your tears as you follow him upward. When you finally make it to the top, you’re breathless, watching as he quickly places the blanket atop of the grass. 

You’re holding onto your belly as you exhale, “She has to be over five pounds already.”

His deep tone releases a chuckle, hand gripping the curve of your back as he gently guides you towards the blanket, your body lowering itself with your hands clutching his bicep.

Toji’s already tugging your journal out of your hand, setting it on the blanket, free palm giving a smack to your ass, “Probably more. You’ve been a fuckin’ soldier carrying her, baby.” 

Your hips shudder a bit at his palm, finally able to catch your breath as you stare over the horizon. It’s more beautiful than the last time you’d come—vibrant green grass, a field of miniature pink flowers spread across the top, running all the way back down to the bottom. The air feels cooler, your breathing going back to normal as you softly smile at the scenery. 

“You remember when you proposed to me? Here?”

"You didn't even let me,” A gruff chuckle releases from his lips, "Your little ass said yes as soon as I mentioned I had something important to give you. You knew exactly what was in that box."

You giggle, pulling him down next to you as you say, “Maybe I was a little overzealous—But I was so happy.”

You reach towards your picnic basket, opening the top as you pull out the wrapped up food, “I made those pepper jack sandwiches you like. With the sourdough bread?”

"With romaine lettuce?”

“Mhmm.”

His palm rests on your jaw, turning your face up towards him, lips pecking against yours,"You didn't have to do all this, Kirei josei. You're already givin’ me my baby girl."

“There’s two of me now. More love to give, hm?” You kiss him back, “I know you’re hungry,” you hand him the sandwich, digging back towards the basket as you want your favorite fruit—strawberries. As usual, your husband scarfed it down in seconds, munching like a predator that hadn't eaten in days. He would never change.

You always enjoyed each other's company, talkative or not. You laid along the soft fuzz of the blanket as you wrote within your journal, rolling your eyes as your husband stood a couple feet away to take a business call, unable to stop his habit of smoking. But you couldn’t lie—watching his eyes narrow, full lips holding the bud within his mouth, deep voice harshly pushing out his native language—it was attractive. Something in your body throbbed, not in a way you were supposed to in public. 

Another reminder of your stubbornness—you knew that spring time was the worst, the pollen within the area attacking your body like a swarm. You held your journal within your hand as you kept writing, every so often pressing the booklet to your face as you sneezed.

Toji makes his way back towards you, one of his hands resting along your thigh. He’s close, his breath tickling along your neck as he questions, "You cold, baby?"

His voice is in your ear. You’re not cold, but a chill comes through your spine at that. You then give him a sneeze in response, the sound soft as you lightly shriek through it. 

You shake your head, nose becoming red as you huff, “Just allergies.”

"That's why you're supposed to take your pills," he mutters, his eyes glancing over the way your nose is scrunched. He thinks you're cute. 

“Want me to go grab them from the truck?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure, leaning your head on his shoulder as you press your journal up towards his face, “Look, I wrote some more names. Wanna hear 'em’?”

"Show me.” 

You could feel his chest vibrating, lips pressing a kiss on top of your head. Even sitting, he's large against your frame, and it doesn't seem to help your libido. 

“Okay, I found—Umeko, which means apricot, or plum. And you call me Amai, which means sweet, so she could our my lil’ Umeko!—yeah?” You lean your head up, pointing at the doodles around the name you’d drawn.

“She’s gonna be sweet like her momma,” he gruffly chuckles, his thumb traveling over the curve of your thigh, “You don’t want any western names?”

You squint, “And have my black ass family give basic names? Yeah, no,” you ignore his grin, feeling his nose brush along your throat as he adjusts himself into your shoulder, “Every time I tell them my name ideas, they say that they’re weird. I’m okay with more cultural names.”

"I like that one. Umeko,” He repeats, "You wanna use it?"

The way his breath is warm against your neck makes your throat go dry. The way his fingers trail over your thigh—It was difficult to even focus on the topic at hand. Your eyes flutter each time his palm cups your hip.

You adjust yourself a bit, keeping your eyes against the journal as you reply, “I’ll put it at the top.”

As said before, he notices everything about you. His voice drops lower, his palm gripping your hip a little tighter as he feels the energy you emit. 

“You alright, momma? You’ getting sleepy?”

You’re drowsy again. You watch his palm slide down your leg, reaching for your bare foot, squeezing the tense muscle beneath his fingers. It feels good. 

You shift yourself even more as you quietly admit, “No—my feet still are hurting a bit, though.”

“Should’ve told me earlier.” 

From the way he’s leaning down, his lips are pressing against your shoulder. One hand massages your foot, the other kneading the soft flesh of your thighs. That thick thumb, it continuously brushes over the inner sides. You sigh as he massages both feet, kneading to release the tension within your muscles. He moves to where you lean your back against his chest, lifting the point of your foot towards the sky. It makes you giggle a bit, rubbing at the swell of your belly.

“You good?” 

His tone is huskier now. Toji’s hot breath makes you flutter your lashes, head slightly falling to the side to expose the skin of your throat—And he latches onto it, sucking the flesh between his lips.

Your curls are soft against his shoulder as you lean your head back, eyes fluttering shut the moment his mouth attaches to your skin. You snake your hand upwards, reaching for his hair as you find a lock of it to tug on.

 You breathily sigh, “Y—Yeah…”

The way he’s kissing your throat, his tongue glides before he sucks the flesh back between his teeth, it’s sultry, his fingers wrapping around your ankle, gently taking your leg to raise over his own.

He does it with the other in a matter of seconds, your legs spread open against the blanket, only hidden by the material of your dress. You tug a little more on his hair, your hand nervously clutching your belly, eyes rolling a bit as he continuously sucks on your throat. 

“T—Toji,” your voice is soft, “We’re outside, baby…”

“I know.”

His voice is deep, the heat of his breath makes you shudder. His hand travels up your thigh, slowly inching past your dress. 

“Just give me ten minutes, baby. Let me have you.”

Your hand slides lower from his hair, holding the nape of his neck the moment your legs are being pulled wider. Your chest expands as you feel his fingers swiping in between your inner thighs, his middle and ring finger rubbing against the fabric of your panties, grinding at your clit. Your eyes blink shut against his throat, hiding your face within his shoulder as you whimper. 

“Shit—you’re wet, baby. That fast?”

Toji’s voice makes you hide your face more into the skin of his throat, a small gasp emitting from your lips as he dips his hand beneath your thong. Your pussy keens beneath his touch. Your hips tense as you raise them a bit, eyes closing as you whimper again, “Just rub it a little…” 

He hears you, placing the pad of his fingers against your clit, massaging in the softest way. He can feel how warm you are, how much you want this.

The pressure makes your eyes screw shut—you moan into his neck. You're quiet, but he can still hear you, feeling the way your breath hitches against his flesh.

He's not in a rush despite the need he has for you. He takes his time, watching your body react to his touch. The way your hips move, the way your chest slowly rises and falls, the way your nails dig into his skin. You’re sensitive.

His free hand reaches up, cupping your cheek as he turns your face towards him. He glares at you. He wants to see your eyes, needing to see the pleasure written all over your face. Leaning in, Toji pressing his lips against yours in a slow, passionate kiss.

You’re panting against his mouth, lightly pulling back as you press your forehead against his. Your lips tremble into a pout, unable to stop the gasp your mouth pulls, your thighs spreading even wider—your mind is spinning. 

“Put them in me, baby.”

“That’s how you ask me?”

“Put them i—in me,” you attempt at a softer tone, “Please.”

He’s already nudging his fingers in, curling them all while pushing them in between your folds, spreading your opening around his knuckles. Your mouth parts open against his, eyes rolling back, thighs trembling as you hide your whine in between his lips. Toji groans.

It’s as if you forget where you’re at—the moment he takes you to a place of wanting him, you can’t repeat the things you do without blushing. You reach for his wrist, your fingers digging into his skin as you try to push him in deeper. You're breathless, your entire body trembling as you begin tugging his wrist up and down, your arousal sloshing each time his fingers go deeper. 

You pout against his mouth, “Ughn,” brushing your nose against his cheek.

“Baby, you gotta keep quiet,” he reminds at first, his breath hot against your ear— But he can’t help himself, look at you.

 He then grunts to you, “You sound so fuckin’ good. Say it again.” 

“Ughn,” you breathe out in a filthy repetition, your voice a whisper, your head tilting backwards, eyes half-lidded as you stare up at the sky. Your cheeks are a light shade of pink, your mouth parted open.

“Look at that shit just going in.”

He refers to his fingers, curling into you each time they scathe at the flush of your walls, squeezing the intrusion of his palm. 

You’re grinding yourself against his lap, “Take it out, baby. I’ll be quiet.” 

He doesn’t stop, and it feels as if he doesn’t believe your words. You were loud, always had been. 

But you were also stubborn. 

You pull your legs from over his, managing to turn yourself around to straddle him this time around, pulling him by the back of his neck into a kiss. Your tongue swirls within his mouth as you push him back, Toji flat against the blanket as you pull your mouth from his, “Wanna ride your face.”

You’re already climbing forward, gently pressing your knees to the sides of his head, keeping your hips elevated to not suffocate him. His eyes are focused on the way your folds glisten under the sunlight. You giggle at the way he kisses the bottom of your stomach, the bump of your belly making him grunt.

You tug at your bottom lip again, shivering as you feel Toji’s breath against your folds. You let out a soft whine when you feel his tongue, rotating in circles, swirling it against your clit, dragging it all around your folds. 

You shudder, “A—Ah, b—baby…” twisting your fingers in his hair, using your other hand to place his palms against your hips. 

His hands latch onto your hips, helping guide you in the pace you want. He keeps his tongue moving, flicking against your clit, dragging it across your entrance, swirling it around your labia. He groans, loving the taste of you, your scent filling his nostrils like a perfume. 

He can’t stop himself—he’s sucking at your clit, feeling as you move your hips to his rhythm—He’s making your arousal worse. 

“‘Need you, Daddy.”

There it is. That fucking name. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, “Put that shit in. C’mon.” 

You slide yourself down until you’re straddling his lap, reaching beneath yourself to pull his tip from beneath his jeans. His voice is husky as he questions, “You comfortable, baby? I’m hittin’ your stomach?”

You shake your head, pecking his lips, “I’m okay, baby. Can’t wait anymore,” your voice is high, too drunk of a lustful intoxication. 

Nudging your nose against his, you’re slapping his tip against your pussy—he makes a face at you, which makes you lightly giggle in return. Placing your hands along his chest, your curls hang above his face as you sway your hips, sinking yourself down, splitting your folds open, engulfing your walls around the length of him. You can only hear the nature around the two of you. It’s silent—both of your mouths parting open as you look at each other. You try not to react to the pleasurable pinch you feel, but you can’t help it—your curls fly up a bit as you press your nose into his, breathlessly panting another giggle, quickly turning to a deep whimper. 

You’re trembling, your voice tiny as you quiver, “O—oh shit…” 

He feels the heat between your legs, it’s warmer than anything. It feels good against his skin, his shoulders flexing as he tries not to move. He can feel your breath panting into his mouth, the way your body shakes from the feeling of you sinking down onto him. 

His palm is wrapped along the nape of your curls. You keep his mouth close as you raise your hips a bit, lowering them back down. Your voice is so soft as you quiver, “Oh my god…”

You begin to find a bit of a pace, still going slow, but moving as your fingers dig into his shoulder, whining. 

His voice is husky, “Keep goin’,” he urges.

You feel his forearm adding pressure to your lower back, helping you drop yourself down a little faster. The strength he has adds on by the second, and you’re lightly bouncing—it makes you frown, a pout coming to your lips as you whimper again, “U—ughn…” 

He watches your face twist, eyes closing as you move against him, those pretty lips pouting out as a whimper goes from the back of your throat. He watches you bite the bottom of your lip, the way your breath is heavy.

“That little pout,” he chuckles, “It feels that good?”

He has you right where he needs you—your brown cheeks flush as you lean onto his shoulder, pressing your toes into the ground for more leverage—your eyes roll back heavily and you bounce on top of him, material of your dress swaying with each clap of your ass.

“You love me?” He questions, watching your body, up and down, low eyes taking notice of the arousal that coats his tip—you’re creaming. 

You nod in response, teeth dug into your lip to mask the petulant babbles you want to release. But that’s when Toji grunts, “Say you fuckin’ love me,” the word being met with his palm spanking you, gripping the flesh of your ass, plopping you down onto his dick even harder than before.

You whine, “I love you,” pressing your face within his jaw, “Can’t wait to have your baby…”

A low groan escapes him, “You’re gonna be a pretty ass momma, baby,” his hands gripping onto your ass as he thrusts upwards, meeting your movements. You can feel the way his muscles flex, the way his breathing becomes heavier, the way his heart races. Those grey eyes bore into your brown ones. 

“Fuckin’ nasty—You love it when I spank you, huh?” His voice is rough, eyes burning into your sockets. He smacks your ass again, watching the way your cheeks jiggle.

“Fuck.”

You’re moaning, throwing your head back, breasts bouncing as you continue to ride him. You're soaking him at this point, your arousal dripping down his shaft, trailing his balls.

“…T—Toji!” you nearly startle yourself at your own voice, cupping your hands against his face, tears returning within your feline eyes as you warn, “Gonna c—cum…” you’re covering your mouth, skin flushed, a sob faltering in between your fingers.

“Don’t cover that shit.”

He intertwined his fingers with yours, leaning your weight onto him, gaze locked within your eyes— he’s thrusting upwards, hitting directly at your g-spot. You’re cumming.

“It’s okay, momma,” he promises, “Relax. Just cum.” 

And you do—You throw your head back, gentle voice rippling a sob into the trees, his name, anything, tears streaming down your face—Your walls are milking him, and he loves every second of it.

His large palm drags along the top of your mouth, still angling his hips into you while muffling your squeals, leaning up to press your forehead against his. It was rare for him to moan, but when he did, you whimpered in return, feeling the warmth of his cum filling your walls. 

You repeat in a softer tone, “I love you, Fushiguro.”

“I love you.” 

His voice was a groan. 

His jaw falls slack, teeth digging into the bottom flesh of his plush lips. That scarred mouth releases another grunt of pleasure, keeping you close as you catch your breath. 

His hand then wraps around your own, his fingers trailing along your wedding band, placing both of your palms against your belly.

“You okay?”

You nod your head, face flushed as you softly giggle, “Perfect.”

His hand leaves yours, tracing a pattern along the top of your skin. The feeling of him running his long fingers along your tummy made your skin buzz. As if on cue, the baby decides to kick.

You gasp, “Baby, she’s kicking! Oh no. You interrupted her nap!”

He chuckles, leaning down to press his lips against the bump before speaking into your belly.

"Umeko, Daddy’s sorry.” 

There’s a couple of kicks in response—She didn’t forgive him.

“Awe, you said the name I picked out.” 

Why were your eyes watering? You weren’t sure. You giggle as you’re teary eyed, pulling him up as you press multiple kisses to his face, ignoring his grunt in response. 

You give him a sigh, “I’m hungry. And I have to pee!” 

“You’re making me wanna smoke again,” Toji pinched the bridge of his nose, “Do you wanna pee, or eat first?”

“I’ll go pee, I guess.”

“C’mere. Let me help you up.”

“Wanna roll me down the hill?”

“No, woman.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re no fun. Let's go!” 

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

Just 2 years ago I visited a Pet Smart with my mother. The cashier was a cool dude with these gauges in his ears, and tattoos all over, a real rugged punk type like myself!

But as we approached, my mother outright asked him if it was hard to get a job with all of that. She asked if it's impractical to have gauges and tattoos because what if people think poorly of him?

Completely unprompted. She just suddenly began drilling him.

The cashier, gods be with him, brushed it off and took it like a fucking champ, expressing his love for how he appeared and I can't blame him!! He looked badass as hell!! Yet my mother kept pressing and causing obvious discomfort to not just him and myself but others in line as well, as if somehow her berating questions would get him to change. But that man defended himself relentlessly but kindly and with an upbeat attitude!

My mother literally didn't stop trying to push her point until I ushered her out of the store.

Once, as a little kid, I saw a cashier at the art store with blue hair, and seeing that blue is my favorite color, I wanted to compliment her!!

Before we even got in line, my mother pulled me aside and told me, word for word, "Do not say anything about her hair."

I ignored her, of course, and a few seconds after we arrived at the register, I told the woman I liked her hair a lot!

And my mother just exhaustedly sighed and held her head in utter dismay, IMMEDIATELY reprimanding me verbally for having said anything!!! That cashier told my mother it was fine and she was so happy to hear somebody say something nice about her hair!!

While I was walking with my mother through our neighborhood as a kid, we'd passed by a boy shooting hoops or something, but he was making every shot and well, so I said aloud as we passed, "Wow, that boy is REALLY good!"

And my mother SCOLDED me!! She harshly said, word for word, "Magnus, you DON'T do that!" And she was VERY relentless and angry in how she said it.

I was so confused. I still am.

My grandparents were the exact same. I encountered many situations like this when with them growing up. My aunts did the same, reprimenading me for giving a compliment. But all of them found it completely ok to berate a stranger for any reason at all, prompted or unprompted.

I tried asking my mother why I couldn't say something nice, and she couldn't give a valid explanation no matter how much I asked. All my mother did was continuously insist I don't do that (complimenting a stranger), and that it's rude to say anything of the sort.

Why is it so abhorrent to say someone is good at something? Why is it horrible if I tell someone their appearance is cool? If their talents are great? Why is it acceptable to berate somebody and call them out for any minor reason completely unprompted, but it's not acceptable to voice unprompted kindness and support with genuine desire to share love???

Why is rudeness acceptable but kindness isn't????

Now, I'm autistic, and I don't even pretend to understand social norms. But I do know how kindness can literally save lives, and how it genuinely just makes shit better for everyone no matter if they're having a good day or bad, when they are given a genuine compliment. So I was never sure if this is just some double standard or if it's something deeper, either or obviously being ingrained over many generations, but I say fuck it.

I compliment strangers constantly these days. I tell folks their tattoos are awesome, that I love their earrings, their outfits are so cool and well put together, their hair looks perfect! I compliment folks on their talents, and I'm genuine and heartfelt about it, meaning every word I say with sincerity!!

Strangers have given me hugs! People have broken down crying and hugged me for my I kindness!!! So many people have told me word for word, "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me!" And I'm not kidding.

I find every possible reason to compliment somebody, to voice kindness, especially for things such as piercings and hair dye and talents and the sort, especially those that many would disapprove of.

The way I see it is that if nobody ever hears support, then how will they know they're being supported at all? And if all anyone voices is disdain and berating, then how does anyone feel loved and supported??

So yeah. I don't get the whole belief of compliments = rude, and berating = fine. I don't think I'll ever know why this is normalized here.

But I'm damn tired of this because it's the precursor to allowing folks to walk all over you. If you can't voice a kind compliment to another without being shut down, then you're never going to be able to vocalize support of someone in need when they're being berated harshly and given shit left and right.

weird as fuck living in a culture where it's considered more impolite to speak up and defend yourself against someone treating you unfairly than it is for someone to be rude to you in the first place

[4nicolas]

satoru thinks he likes the moments after sex with you more than the actual sex itself.

I mean, don’t get him wrong he absolutely loved when the two of you fucked but there just something about the intimacy of the afterglow.

whether satoru was collapsed on top of you or you were collapsed on top of him it felt great. the warmth of your bodies combined made you feel even better.

the two of you coming down from your highs and simply enjoying one another’s presence was another kind of bliss.

he couldn’t get enough of you, he wanted nothing more than to keep you in bed all day; cuddling or being intimate he didn’t care. as long as it contained both your bodies pressed together.

although you were both sticky and sweaty you still felt incredibly comfortable. laying in your own fluids is gross, yeah, but with satoru none of that mattered.

even when the two of you were intertwined satoru still needed more, he needed his arms around you and his legs tangled with yours. he just needed you as close as possible.

your presence alone made him tremendously happy, having your physical touch was just an added bonus, he feels like the happiest man alive when you give him something as simple as a hug. so obviously cuddling was his favorite pastime.

the two of you breathing heavily, not speaking but all the words you wanted to get out being said. your love and adoration was already communicated through the past moments and laying in a comfortable silence was just the cherry on top.

satoru liked to trace little shapes on your skin, his fingers lulling you into a trance, he tried not to let you fall asleep though, he needed his precious lover to keep him company.

if you did find yourself falling asleep satoru would mumble your name or gently scratch your scalp, though if you were genuinely exhausted he would let you sleep.

when you did end up falling asleep he would try and maneuver the both of you under the covers, the added layer keeping you cozy, and being in satorus arms even more so.

other times satoru would try and coax you into taking a quick shower or bath, especially if you both went a bit rougher. all he wanted was the make you feel safe and comfortable and he would always try his hardest to do so.

sometimes the showers consist of satoru lazily holding you against his or vice versa, simply basking in the warm water and each others bodies. did satoru ever mention he loved being close to you?

he does tell you that, a lot actually. but if he didn’t he most definitely would make up by showing it. sometimes when you two take a bath together he’ll let you lay against him, gently massing your shoulders or arms after a long day.

he’ll give you space treatment if you really wanted, anything for you, just say it and he’ll get it.

one part he didn’t like was having to bother or move you so he could wash the sheets, which leads to him not cleaning them just to keep you comfy.

sometimes he would have you sit in the warm tub while he washed the blankets and took care of everything. he wanted to make sure you came back to a clean and fresh pair of covers.

he gave you royal treatment and he knows what that means because he was treated like a king his whole life. though he definitely did much better than that, he gave you all the love and attention you could need tenfold.

when all was said and done the two of you normally got cuddled up under the freshly washed blankets of your shared (king sized) bed, after having taken a nice hot shower or bath of course.

the two of you would hold each other close the entirety of the night, not letting go for a second, and you better hope you don’t have to pee in the middle of the night because you’re not getting out his grasp.

all in all during intimacy and the aftermath and he would take care of you the best he could. after all your the only person whose ever made him feel this way before. it was weird to care so much about one person, he didn’t know how to feel.

he tries his best and will continue to for as long as you two live (yes live, because you’re not breaking up ever.) satoru will do anything and everything for you because he loves you.

he loves you more than anything in the world and couldn’t imagine life without you, so for the rest of his life he will do everything in his power to appeal to you.

of course you tell him he doesn’t need to do all of that but he insists and who are you to say to the satoru gojo?

—

not proof read, im tired and it’s 3am! :P

[howi99]

The "King" of Teachers 1

(a crack fic)

Yang: I heard we are getting a new Prof for Grimm studies.

Ruby: *curious* What happened to professor Port?

Yang: *shrug* Maybe he took his retreat?

_ meanwhile _

Port: *beating up a bunch of grimm with his fist, reaping and tearing until it's done* AHAHAHAH!! I FEEL ALIVE!!!

_ _ _

Weiss: *pensive* He was kinda old...

Jaune: *sweating profusely* Please be my dad, please be my dad-

Pyrrha: *worried* Jaune? What's wrong?

Jaune: *panicking* The new professor is one of my parents and i don't know which- *feeling a sense of dread overwhelming him* ... *Gulp* H-hi mom...

Everyone: *look at the woman who "appeared" next to Jaune* !?!

Mama Arc: *sigh* I see, this is how low this school has fallen. *Looking down at her son* Not even noticing my presence until you pointed it out. *Shake her head, a look of contempt adorning her face* Truly, how deplorable.

Weiss: *frown* Now lis- *register who is in front of her* -ten... *Blink, look at Jaune then at the woman then back at Jaune* D-did you say mom?

Jaune: *slowly nodding his head, trying to make himself as small as possible* Y-yes?

Weiss: *blink again* But that's-

Mama Arc: *glaring at Weiss* Have i given you the permission to talk?

Weiss: *sitting back down, looking straight towards the blackboard* S-sorry!

Mama Arc: ... Good.

*pick up Jaune in her arm*

*walk towards the blackboard, Jaune still in her arms*

*sit on her chair, Jaune now sitting on her lap*

Artoria: *in a booming voice* I AM THE KING OF STORMS, LEADER OF THE KNIGHT OF THE ROUND TABLE. MY NAME IS ARTORIA PENDRAGON AND HE *hug Jaune with a gentle smile* Is my pride and joy~!

Jaune: *Hiding his face in pure embarrassment* This is the end, my punishment...!

Yang: ... *Whispering to Weiss* She's kinda intense.... *Frown, looking at Blake* Blak-

Blake: *Blushing madly* Sh-she's so h-hot~

Ruby: Knight of the round table? Who's that?

Weiss: *nervously* They are Vale's best huntsmen and huntresses.

Artoria: *glaring towards team RWBY's group* I don't remember giving you the permission to talk, did i?

Team RWBY: *stop talking, all scared for their-*

Jaune: *stammering his words* M-mom, S-stop being mean to m-my friends!

Artoria: ... *Beaming hugging her son even more* Of course darling~! But i still need them to listen if they don't want to end up *censored for brutal depictions of death* or *censored for even worse depiction of death* during missions!

Everyone: *completely horrified*

Cardin: *vomiting in the trash can*

Weiss: *consoling a crying Ruby* There there...

Nora: *confused by everyone's reaction* ... I mean, that's pretty standard stuff on the field, right Ren?

Ren: *also not understanding everyone's shock* That's not even as bad as what we lived through.

Nora: Right? *Turning to Pyrrha* What about- *sees the invincible girl on the ground, having lost consciousness* ... oh.

[everythingne]

little miss wingwoman (4) - ln4

Christmas Day starts without a hitch, but when you have some wine with Max, and Lando with his family--you find that maybe Penelope isn't as crazy as you think she's been these past few weeks. Also, Max Fewtrell finally makes his appearance.

warnings/notes: holy fucking shit y'all iM SO SORRY?? its been... too long!! hopefully this quarter will be a lot lighter for me, and I wont be as depressed (tmi but yay meds!) so i can get this baby FINISHED.

(prev | next)

It's early when the Norris' come back to the apartment, whisking into the home with an absurd amount of energy. You pause in the doorway, looking over at the family squishing through the front hall as they discard shoes and jackets, happily chatting with Lando.

You stood in the kitchen, making by far the most simple breakfast you could muster while the family was exchanging. Humming softly along to the radio. Despite knowing they'd welcome you, theres something that makes you feel a bit awkward joining in on the morning festivities. And so, you use the excuse of cooking to hide away from them all. It feels like you're encroaching, so you just keep your head down.

It's Mrs. Norris who intercepts you in the kitchen, a soft smile on her lips as she sets a little bag down on the counter, "Merry Christmas."

"You didn't have to." You immediately say, and Cisca shakes her head, pressing the gift a bit closer to you.

"I know my son, and in the course of a few days with him you've managed to make this flat look like a home, teach him to cook, got us gifts, made sure he didn't screw up Christmas... I think you deserve a little something, yeah?"

Inside is a bottle of wine, some brand Lando had probably seen you buy during a trip to the store, and a little wad of cash and some gift cards. Nothing big, but still more than you were expecting.

"Oh, Mrs. Norris, thank you." you say softly, stepping over to give her a tight hug. She only smiles, giving you a little squeeze on the arm, before ushering you to tell her what to do to help you with breakfast. Fifteen minutes later, plates are being piled up with food while you entertain Savannah's girls with their gifts. The whole apartment feels cozy, and when you lift your head--almost every time you catch Lando watching you with a tiny smile.

It's noon when Max calls.

"I know I said you'd be off for the holidays..." he starts, tentatively, "but Kelly's not feeling the best and doesn't want to cook, and I can try but we know how that goes--"

"It's alright, Max." You quickly reassure him, handing little Mila over to her father as Oliver nestles the half asleep toddler to his chest. You run a hand along the top of your head and sigh, "What time do you need me over?"

"When can you get here?" Max says and you look around. Lando's entertained with his family, and Savannah and Oliver give you a little nudge to go.

"Let me grab my bag." You say into the phone, followed by a bye as Max thanks you, and you turn on your heel to rush into your bedroom. You're midway through packing when a soft knock gets your attention and you look back to the door--Lando giving you a soft smile.

"Going to see the little princess?" He asks softly and you toss your bag over your shoulder as you stand, sighing and rubbing the side of your neck as if it aches the way your chest does when you see the sadness in Lando's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Kelly's sick again and--" "--Don't apologize," Lando holds up a hand, "It's your job."

You run your hand along your neck, moving closer, "I still feel bad--"

"--I'm not going anywhere, you know? Our place will still be here when you're done."

"Our place?" You tease softly, stepping over as you tug your bag over your shoulder, stepping up to stand nearly chest to chest with Lando. He smiles, gently leaning on the side of the doorframe.

"Yes, our apartment. Forget... staying here while you look for a new place." He murmurs, gently taking one of your hands. Every ounce of his confident bravado fades, and he offers you a sheepish smile, "I didn't realize how much I missed having a roommate until Max ended up moving out, now he lives with P--which is awesome for them but... having you around is quite wonderful too."

"Wonderful? You're using big boy words today!" You smile and Lando flushed, playfully punching your arm in response with a little scowl as he huffs,

"Can you stop ruining the moment?"

You laugh, pushing his shoulder and grinning when he stumbles back, smiling at you as you tug your purse tighter around your shoulder, "I'll see you later, yeah? When I get back to our apartment."

Lando just nods, grinning as you wave goodbye to his family. He escorts you to the door like you're a guest, holding your bag and phone as you throw on a pair of nice sneakers, and when you take your bag back you have to resist the urge to kiss his cheek.

As you're walking to the elevator, you catch the blush on your cheeks in a mirror, and have to swallow it down as you jam the 'up' button for the elevator because standing in the hall longer will make you want to run back to Lando.

Upstairs, Penelope is waiting for you in the hallway, her arms crossed. When you inquiry on why she's so upset, she huffs, "you haven't kissed him yet!"

"Kissed who?" You ask, looking up to Max in the doorway who struggles to cover Penelope's mouth as the girl goes to shout. He ends up smushing her face into his palms, using his heel to keep the door open as he speaks at half Penelope's volume in the early morning.

"She thinks you and Lando are dating or something." Max supplies, making you pause half step as you nearly stumble over your feet in shock. Dating? Did people think you were dating? Did Lando's family think you were dating?

You sputter, "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"He's really nice to you, and he smiles when you talk, and you get all blushy when he's around!" She demands, stomping her little foot, and you laugh--running your fingers through her hair before walking into the home as Max holds the door.

"He's just a friend." You say softly, though it's not your feelings you're protecting. You know he's a sweetheart. It's Lando for crying out loud, he'd rather cry than hurt someone's feelings with something said outside of the heat of the moment. And even then, you'd been there for times Max had Lando over for chats after stressful weekends, or listened to Max when he ranted about how much pressure was put on the guy.

Penelope continues to protest for a while, and you worked on grabbing the ingredients for the dinner Max tells you Kelly wanted to make while she blabbed. But when someone knocks on the door, you wipe your hands off on your apron as you go to grab it.

Lando's on the other side, your phone in hand, sheepishly murmuring, "I realized I never handed it back to you."

If you could hear Penelope's mischievous giggle from the other room, you would've looked back at her, unfortunately Kelly's laughter along with Victoria overpowers the sound of Penelope running across the kitchen to the living room with Nino at her heels.

"Oh!" You laugh softly, taking the device from his hands with a tiny smile, "Thank you, I hadn't even noticed! Penelope's been keeping me busy and--"

Something bonks your forehead.

"Oh." Lando's face turns red, and you blink up to see a tiny little buschel on a string. It swings, bonking you again, and you follow the string to where Penelope proudly holds her makeshift fishing rod of misletoe right between you and Lando.

"Penelope Piquet-Kyvat." You snip, looking at the girl who grins with all her all teeth, practically ear to ear.

"You have to kiss, thats the rule!" she chimes, and Kelly gasps, slowly getting up to do her little pregnant waddle across the room--attempting to take the rod from her daughter's hand. It was clearly some type of gag gift, based on how hard Victoria was trying not to laugh while Max looked mortified.

"Penelope! Come on, leave them alone!"

Lando coughs, trying to cover up a laugh, and without thinking you whack his shoulder to keep him quiet. But when your eyes meet, its impossible to not laugh. Being quiet to make Penelope know what she was doing was rude would be best, but with the tears in Lando's eyes from him trying not to laugh, it's impossible. You let a giggle out, covering your mouth, before you both crack and start cackling.

"Penelope, come on," Lando waves a hand, "I'm not kissing her, we aren't dating."

"But you could be," Penelope reasons, crossing her arms as the toy is finally yanked from her hands by Kelly--who playfully whacks a giggling Max with it when she crosses the room again--sending Victoria and Sophie in fits of laughter.

"Penny, come on." You sigh softly, but the girl is set in her mind that you two will end up together. She crosses her arms, pouts, and all but throws a tantrum before she shouts,

"You have to kiss!"

Lando looks at you, eyes flickering down to your lips and back up to your eyes a few times. Kelly and Max are now trying to get Penelope to leave you both alone, and for five minutes, you try to get her to give it up. Then Lando laments, and gently presses a kiss to your cheek instead. Which, if her giggles are any sign, satisfies Penelope for now as she runs into her Mom's awaiting hands.

Max mouths a sorry, trying not to laugh as Kelly fails to scold the toddler, and your attention is drawn by Lando gently squeezing your wrist.

When you glance over, he sheepishly murmurs, "sorry for just... doing that without asking."

"It's fine, Lan." You give him a soft smile, "Penelope might stop bothering us now."

Lando laughs at that, and you do to, but the underlying tension of the moment stays and lingers like a phantom pain long after Lando goes back downstairs. You feel the tingle of the kiss through cooking, serving, and eating dinner. Max cornering you while you're cleaning up isn't surprising, especially not when he hands you a bottle of wine and tells you to finish it.

"Max." You deadpan, "I'm here to work."

"Penelope went to bed, works over." Max shrugs, then nudges the bottle to you, "Drink it or I will and then Kelly will be mad because she still can't drink for a few months."

You blink, and laugh, pouring the rest of the bottle into your glass. You're already a bit dazed from drinking some wine earlier with dinner, so you know this'll end with you tipsy and trying to hide it.

When Max cheers when you take a sip, you roll your eyes, "Drink something too, Kel has that pregnancy mocktail mix she found online that I still think tastes like tequila."

"Oh, true." Max breezes past you to the get the little mix. It was some holistic medicine thing a friend of hers had told her helped with crazy pregnancy hormones, and Kelly agreed. He poured half of it in a glass and then topped it with ginger soda, and Kelly happily came to sit in the kitchen with you both while you finished cleaning.

They talked numbly behind you as you dried dishes and put them away, humming to yourself between intermittent sips of wine until Max decides to push it a little when he sees you're halfway down the glass.

"A kiss on the cheek is pretty close." Max says. You pause, peeking over your shoulder at him, seeing him narrow his eyes at you, "To a real kiss."

"No," Kelly nudges Max with her arm, "Pen thinks they actually kissed."

"Oh lord," you whisper, rubbing the dish a little harder and Kelly snickers. Finishing off her drink and announcing she's going off to get ready for bed. You put away the last of the dishes, downing your wine in one solid gulp in silence, before Max chimes.

"Would you date Lando?"

"Max." You turn around, looking at Max with a confused face.

He continues sharply, waving his hand, cheeks rosy from the strength of the wine, "I wouldn't mind it, if you dated him."

"Seriously?" You huff, putting the towel down a little harsher, "why are you asking this right now?"

"Because I have eyes? Everyone sees the way you two look at each other, I honestly think it's only a matter of time before one of you just says 'fuck it' and kisses the other."

You stare at Max, and he takes that as a sign to continue, "And Lando's like... the only driver I'd trust."

"Max, I'm not dating Lando." You deadpan to him, now fully turning around to face him, "Just because Penelope, and apparently everyone else thinks we have some sort of chemistry, doesn't mean I'm going to date him."

Max hums, crossing his arms before he stands, handing you his glass to pop in the dishwasher, "Why not? He's not the worst, honestly."

"Max, I just met him!" You huff in frustration, "I barely know him, I barely have spent time with him, can you just cool it?!"

Max blinks, and you groan, scrubbing your hands across your face in frustration, "And even if I wanted to, my track record for dating isn't good. I doubt it would go well, and I doubt he even likes me."

"I wouldn't second guess that last one," Max chimes, "He was the first person to jump at having you stay with him when I sent a text to all the drivers in the group chat asking if anyone had an extra room. And he wanted it so bad."

And after that, he bids you goodnight, and leaves the room. You stand in the kitchen for a long while, just staring at the spot where Max left. In the corner of the room, Penelope's mistletoe haunts you, and you feel the ghost touch of Lando's lips to your cheek again before it's gone.

Lando's in a similar predicament.

"I don't know, Ma." Lando hums, taking dishes from her arms and helping her put them away while his father helps his siblings corral the little ones and their gifts in the living room. The Norris family's bundles of energy are fussy now with exhaustion, Christmas day having been quite the adventure.

"What don't you know?" Cisca pauses, looking at her son as she hangs the towel to dry.

"I just met her, Ma. Sure, I've seen her around for two or so years, but her living with me is so new and... I wouldn't want to come off too strong."

Cisca tsks, gently squeezing Lando's arm as she passes him to dry off her hands on another towel, "You just have to ask, Lando. Which... may be easier said than done, but I'm sure knows you're a nice boy. Honestly, I still think one of the most romantic things your father did was ask me, very softly, if he could kiss me in the car on the way home."

Lando leans on the counter, shaking a hand through his curls as Cisca smiles at her son, "He was nervous, he didn't wanna seem too forthcoming--much like you. Just ask her if its okay."

"But what if it messes everything up?" Lando sighs, shaking his head as if trying to shake away the thought of giving you a kiss--because if he thinks about it any longer he might turn Ferrari red, "I wouldn't wanna make her uncomfortable."

"It won't, trust me." Cisca says, looking over her shoulder as the door lock clicks open and you step in, a bundle of gifts thrown over one arm and your purse dangling from your fingers. Se can tell the both of you are tipsy, and she smirks to herself before pushing off the counter--pausing to play music off the Google Home, before going to help her kids get packed up.

Lando snorts at you, stepping over to steady you as you try to pry your heels off. You look up at him and huff, "Does Max also shove drinks down your throat when you're with him?"

"Only now that Kelly's pregnant and the smell of liquor makes her sick," Lando hums, his hands holding onto your arm as you wiggle out of your shoes. He takes your purse and hangs it up where you always do while you go to drop the gifts from the Verstappen-Piquet's in your bedroom.

That's when Cisca appears with Adam, smiling at you, "Well, it's back to the hotel for us before the toddlers throw a tantrum and the adults get too drunk."

"Do you need me to drive you, Ma?" Lando calls from down the hall as Cisca gives you a parting hug.

"No no, I got a rideshare." She waves a hand, "It's not a huge deal, spend time cleaning up, there's quite a bit."

"I'll make sure he does," You give Cisca a soft smile, "thank you again for the gifts."

The little clump of Norris' in the hallway slowly diminished through the front door after goodbye hugs and leftover distribution. Once they're all gone, with a promise to text when they arrive safely in their hotel, you and Lando begin to tackle the cleaning process. He's working on the living room reorganization while you tackle the kitchen, and when he comes to help you after resetting the couch, the two of you are humming along to some Bill Crosby song when Lando dramatically begins to sway.

"Feel the vibes," he explains when you laugh and ask what he's doing, and through the 'vibes' you end up holding hands and jokingly swaying around the kitchen. It's clean...ish, for now, and Lando gives you a little spin for flourish.

The spin knocks you off kilter, and his hands reach out to grab your waist, steadying you and keeping you from fully slamming against the counter where he sets your back to rest. You catch yourself, one hand on the counter, one hand on Lando's shoulder. Your elbow is bent, sort of digging into his bicep as he leans forward to balance himself on the counter.

His hip bumps yours where he stands, accidentally partially between your legs, and you lift your head to nearly bump your noses. A giggle leaves your throat, and Lando's all smiles. There's a pause, as the music slows to its final swell where you think: Oh, here we go. This is it.

And then the moment is shattered as NuevaYoL blasts at full volume.

"Google!" You and Lando whip around to shout, your voices blending into laughter as you tipsily stumble over to turn off the song. As you laugh, Lando leans on your shoulder, and even if it didn't end with a kiss, his smile in that moment tells you all you need to know.

Maybe, somehow, Penelope had been right.

Lando wakes up the next morning to a headache he can only attribute to the alcohol, and the sound of Max laughing in the kitchen. He pauses, and distinguishes.

Max Fewtrell.

Groaning, he kicks the blanket off of him. Why Max and Pietra decided to come over the day after Christmas was beyond Lando's understanding. He couldn't think of anything they'd planned, so why were they here?

Then, he hears Max lament, "Lando's a pussy, you gotta push him." followed by your pretty laugh and, yep. Okay. Thats enough out of Max.

"Max!" He shouts, cringing at the pain it flairs behind his eyes as he snags a t-shirt out of his dresser and throws it on haphazardly. Shuffling on his feet, he ends up hitting the wall before managing to open the door. You're perched on the couch corner next to Pietra, who's scrolling idly through her phone, a cup of warm coffee or tea in your hands. Lando can't tell from here, but the kitchen smells like both. Pietra and Max's mugs settled on the table, along with an empty plate of food, telling him the two have been here for a while.

"Ah! Sleeping beauty!" Max cheers and you snort into your coffee, "Thought you died from alcohol poisoning."

"Shut up, you--" a yawn cuts Lando off and he scrubs his hands across his face, "I'm fine."

"You look exhausted, Lan." You say, worry tinging your tone, and Lando can't help the flutter that attacks his chest. Part of him wants to slap his chest to make it go away, but that would be more obvious.

"I'm just waking up, thats all." Lando waves a hand, but he can feel the burn in his cheeks that Max raises an eyebrow at. At that, Max stands, making his way over to drag Lando into the kitchen with some boring lament about Quadrant work. You huff a tiny laugh into your drink, again, and Lando thinks his heart skips before Max punches his shoulder blade.

"Ow?!" Lando turns around to whack Max back, and the two shove and shuffle deeper into the kitchen until Max grabs both of Lando's wrists, and whisper shouts.

"So, new roommate, and you didn't say anything?"

"I was busy."

"What were you busy with? Fucking her?"

Lando gawks, pauses, then shouts, "Max!"

"Sorry." Max pauses, hand up and the conversation drops back down to whispers, "you're the out of pocket one and I needed a turn because apparently I'm now that last to know things. I had Penelope Piquet tell me this in the line at the store."

Lando sighs, leaning against his counter and rubbing his face, "Of course it was Penelope. And I'm sorry for not telling you, I just... kind of forgot that I was hosting Christmas and luckily Yn's like the best nanny ever and fixed my whole damn apartment and saved the holidays and..."

He pauses, looking through the hall to the windows that mirror the living room where you and Pietra are curled up on the couch gossiping. She leans in to whisper something, and your head throws back in a laugh that echoes right into his heart and speeds it up.

"Oh." Max hums, "you're whipped."

"It gets worse, though," Lando sighs, "My mom did a list of Christmas activities in Monaco. We get to do the Christmas Village today. And, guess what ballet the company is putting on this year?"

"Swan Lake? The Nutcracker?" Max hums and Lando shakes his head.

"Well, one group is doing Swan Lake, but Penelope begged her mom to get me and Yn tickets to Giselle as a gift for Christmas." Lando cracks his neck, "Which, according to Oliver, is romantic. And now I have a five year old telling me I have to go or else."

"Oh, you poor thing." Max cackles, whacking Lando's chest, "it's a ballet, what could go wrong?"

Lando blinks at Max. Just about everything, he wants to say, especially when a very enthusiastic Penelope Piquet has clearly been secretly being his wingwoman.

And she will stop at nothing to see this through.

TAG LIST (FULL):

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(more in comments... comments based tag list is still open!)

[invincibledc]

PLAYDATE

☆Summary: being babysat by invincible when you were young, it turns out his half brother needs a friend from the neighbor.

☆Note: reader is black, all shades of African Americans are loved! 😜😮‍💨 (coming from a black writer lol)

☆Genre: fluff

‧₊˚ ⛲️ ‧₊𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍 & 𝐍𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐁𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐃!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑‧₊˚ ⛲️ ‧₊

Mark Grayson had babysat you since you were little and when he was in highschool. Mark always made sure you were okay, mark even put you on seance dog. But now, mark can’t babysit you no more. You’re 12 and you can take care of yourself, but the reason mostly was because he went to college and is doing superhero stuff.

You sat on your couch, reading seance dog as a church lecture plays in the background. You can’t lie that these past days have been boring. You’ve been known mark was invincible since you caught him flying towards his house. Hell, your mom isn’t even surprised.

“The graysons always doin' some shit.” She says, smacking her lips and walking away from the blinds to listen to pastor Mike on the tv. “What they doin' ma?” You questioned her as you sat up.

“The usual. Flying around, but it seems that there’s a boy your age flying around.”

“Huh?”

Just in que, your mom opened the door for you to see your old babysitter and a kid with purple skin. He’s short. Raising a brow, mark walked in with a nervous stare.

“Hey Ms. L/N.” He turns to you and smiled more at ease. “Hey y/n.” Mark walked over to you. Giving you a small hug, you hugged him back before looking at Oliver who stared at you. He was picking at his fingers. Even after mark had let you go, Oliver just stood by the door awkwardly.

Whilst mark talked to your mom, you knew it was mostly about a “play date” and you haven’t had one of those in a while. You put your comic book down, walking over to the purple boy.

“What’s your name? I’m y/n.” You said with a soft smile. You reached a hand out, showing your lighten skin of your palm of your skin color. Oliver reached out, it’s like his shyness immediately faded as he held your hand.

“I’m Oliver, nice to meet you!” Mark and your mother looked over to see you both talk. You grabbed his hand and took him to see your room.

“Well that was quick.” Your mother said impressed at how you were easily to be social with the Grayson kid.

“Yeah..I’m glad you let Oliver come by. Me and my mom been trying to get him to have normal childhood. So, I thought why not let him see y/n.” Mark smiled while talking, your mother couldn’t help but smile as well.

“Well I’m glad they’re getting along this quick, y/n hasn’t been much able to have any friends rather than read comic books you put them on.” Your mother looks at mark with a slight frown.

“No offense mark, but you’re not quite what I want my child to be in school.”

“No offense at all Ms. L/n, i understand.” Despite the shade, mark just agreed to the brown skinned woman who nodded.

“Good to know.”

You and Oliver started to play uno, and unfortunately, you had to describe a lot of rules. And he understood it well.

[vyainide]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤcoax me out, my loveㅤㅤ＼ㅤcomforting op menㅤㅤ𖥟

ワンピース၇⃪⃖ꪆ୧ㅤluffy, zoro & lawㅤ 𓊉 ㅤ~𝟣.𝟤𝗄—𝟣.𝟦𝗄𝗐𝖼ㅤ───gn! reader, canon compliant, angst/comfort, character study, can be romantic or platonic, marineford spoilers (luffy, zoro), thriller bark spoilers (zoro), dressrosa spoilers (law)᭮ ━─⠀ ❤︎ ㅤ2025©vyainide ㅤㅤ︶ིྀᩧㅤ1864lib

vyon's mouthpiece. sanji is not here because i haven't seen his backstory yet, i could write it bc it's impossible to avoid op spoilers for any arc and i essentially know the backbone of his lore, but i'm afraid i wouldn't do it enough justice so i'm just gonna not

sometimes, he gets distant— it's not then that you need to worry about luffy. you know to give him more credit now since you've become something to him; it's the times that he brands himself into you— stubborn and tense, even when it starts to hurt that you have enough basis to be worried.

the papers had ravished into every detail they could when it came to marineford, eager, eager, so disgustingly eager to find a physicality in ace's blood; they'd exaggerated every gory detail with a numbness that only those in their field are privy to. dug out open wounds where there were scars, tore wider cuts that were already stitched, ripped away the scab that had just formed— merciless.

you saw the news, everyone else in the crew did no doubt. and you'd have to give the paparazzi credit, they were there. you were not.

how the mighty whitebeard died standing, not bowing to any marine even in his death, stood as a shield for the sons he'd carelessly picked up over the years; how jinbei, shanks, all these big name pirates had shown up if only to cause enough chaos to make them regret; how ace— poor, sweet, loveable ace— died. you knew all the details, but you did not know the luffy that had lost his brother.

it was something that you did not quite know how to address when you'd come back from those gruesome years spent so out of reach from your captain, your crew, your family with only the trust you had in them that knew not one of them would go down. the return to saobaody archipelago was an undoing, the same way that it was when you'd been separated.

you worried a lot, and you're ashamed to admit that it was very much useless when you'd came across chopper first— and then he'd managed to coax you into buying him cotton candy like no years had passed at all. like time had been cut and sewn back together seamlessly and you were back to the day that camie and hachi were showing you around.

and from there, things speed up quick. you're allowed to sink into nami's arms when she offers you a hug, you laugh at usopp's stories of his mentor and an island that wanted to eat him, your stomach rejoices when it's finally satiated by sanji's cooking— you can finally smile at luffy, but there's no time for anything else. you've spent many nights grappling on how to be there for luffy when you were reunited, but he seems to return to you whole. toughened up, with that same smile that only reassures no matter what and after fishman island, you can't, in good conscious, ask luffy to slow down and force him back into the memories that no doubt haunt.

and haunt they do.

you've never reckoned luffy to be weak— no, he was your captain and he was the man who was going to be the king of pirates. you've placed your bets on him long ago, all in for this firecracker of a teen, but marineford had done something to him— to the luffy that has always stood so proudly in your memory like a god out of touch.

when you see a rival pirate sneak up on luffy from behind him, you see that photo that had been caught by chance in marineford. the luffy that had never bowed to any authority with his shaky arms, wrapped tight around his dying brother— not in the usual manner, the excitable way where he'd coil his arm around, once, twice, thrice. his fingertips barely touching as they wrapped around ace's middle, his head ducked down into the slope of ace's neck, shoulders closed in. this was not your captain who had taken down crocodile, who had punched a celestial dragon, who had saved countless members of his crew. this was luffy that had lost ace.

and you think, you've been thinking that luffy could have well died in that battle. it's selfish in a way that you know luffy would never quite accept, but you're a pirate. so you step in between the sword and luffy— and when you see the absolute horror that contorts luffy's vision, you think you can understand him a little bit better.

you wake up a little after less than twenty–four hours and nothing is out of the ordinary, except— except for the fact that your right hand is numb when the sword had driven through your stomach. hazily dragging your eyes over the lines of wooden planks that made up the ceiling of chopper's office until it pulls down onto a squeeze of your hand. "captain." your throat aches.

"you—" his bottom lip wobbles and his hand, wrapped around yours, squeezes again. you wince.

he sees it, he loosens up a little, but his fingers continue on, pressing between the meat of the bones in the back of your hand.

chopper comes in, sees you've woken up, and takes over accordingly.

you don't get to talk to luffy about this incident either.

things melt back into what they used to be and what stands out when you look at luffy is that expression that had degraded onto his face when you'd jumped in front of him. burdened by a shame and guilt, you let it be.

two days pass— not so normally as luffy has taken to becoming an unmovable extension of you and you let that be until it becomes a problem.

"luffy," he turns to you when you call for him, "are you okay?"

he makes a face that's as judgemental as he can fathom— it's similar to how nami's face twists, only his eyebrows are pinched more in a zoro–like fashion. "why?" sticks his face closer to yours and his eyes draw wide, deep and suddenly unfathomable, "you're the one in bandages," he says like it's an insult. you're surprisingly wounded by it though so maybe it was.

"it's not a competition." but if it were, you don't think you'd be winning. luffy doesn't dignify that with a response past a loud huff and shrugging away, his hands tightened around his ankle but the length of his arm is wrapped around yours. "i'm sorry, luffy." and it's obvious, far too obvious, that it would have been you that gives in first.

a good captain he is, luffy knows you have more to say— his ear twitches but he doesn’t turn back to look at you. amused, you reach out for his hand and pull it from his ankle. "i am sorry, captain. i think everyone is."

that interests him enough to incline his head back to you, the straw hat tipping with the slope. you leave it be and nod your head down to the material, resting against him. "for not being there." you can't see his face but you're shamelessly capable of imagining what it looks like right now.

"s'not your fault." he tells you, voice as even as he could make it. "it's," his chest puffs up like he was starting a sigh but it never goes back down. "i was right there 'n—" his voice cracks. "it was meant for me."

ah, you realise something, you've hurt him more than you imagined. the hand you've held loosely twists around and settles over your thighs; when he clenches down, violent in the blunt press of his nails softened over the material of your trousers, you don't wince. "ace must have been happy." you can say that confidently. "to see that his younger brother had come to save him— embarrassed too i bet."

cocky that you're trying to lighten the mood but luffy huffs a laugh so you know you must be right. "he was," luffy tells you, petulant and childish. "he told me to go away."

you let that rest for a while, let it dust off the still hurt that had been weighing luffy down and allow your captain to find that after his small laugh, something in his heart stretches outwards, then snaps back into place with an ease that he'd lost since marineford.

then you're at it again. "ace couldn't have lived with himself if you had died for him— and i know it well. if he had lost you and whitebeard at the expense of himself," you don't finish that sentence because you know luffy understands. it's in the way that his hand loosens around your thigh. "i'm sorry i wasn't there and that i stepped in the way of that sword, but luffy—"

"i know." solemn. "don't say it." demanding.

"okay captain." smiling, you push closer into luffy.

the captain and his first mate, and you say this with so much love in your heart, are two like minded buffons. you knew that they had sailed together in a little dinghy together before they had received the going merry from a friend of usopp's and you have to wonder how the hell they had survived. luffy was one thing, but zoro was another.

zoro's charmed you to believe in his competence. he's a monolith of a man— every part of him heavy, hurtful, mean, he carries three swords, his eyebrows set in a deep frown that is soothed by no name branded alcohol, steps silent and so sure. strong shoulders set back, the boredom on his face easily mistakable as an easy glare— they knew him as pirate hunter roronoa zoro before he'd crawled onto a pirate ship and claimed his title as monkey d. luffy's first mate.

you're disillusioned enough now by this untouchable man. he's one braincell that is easily swayed by anything powerful and it sometimes aligns itself with luffy's own singular braincell. zoro is little more than a simple muscle head that is aware, to a fault, of his own shortcomings. his reckoning had come to him on thriller bark; you've no idea what exactly it was. he maintains that nothing happened, sanji and brook (the only ones privy to this detail) refuse to blab about it. and you respect zoro enough to leave it alone, but you do not miss the look that he offers luffy's back sometimes, like he's discerning something deep in his itchy bones, teething around the ache to get to the rot.

you know his origins well. he's a force that had come, snarling and biting, out of the east blue— toppled whatever hierarchy they'd made there as a singular unit. you also know that east blue is the weakest of all four seas so it matters not that zoro was considered strong there. he may have had the strength to protect himself in that weak sea, but he was more than a lone wolf now and the rest of the world? it should not be underestimated.

zoro, prideful man he is, had to learn that lesson the hard way. saobaody archipelago was the hurricane after the storm; for a short moment after thriller bark, it had seemed like zoro had learnt how to live after nothing, how to cope with it. you're still curious as ever, but you know to leave well enough alone.

then, there's after saobaody, split into two very precise periods. before marineford and after marineford. you take it about as well as you could and though you're not one to compare, you know that zoro must have taken it harder. luffy and zoro's joining didn't begin with the latter pledging his loyalty, nami had dramatised the tale to express her woes of sailing with a group of brutes (and usopp), but it was enough for you to understand. after his first reckoning at baratie, zoro had prided himself as luffy's first mate, staked his claim as the man stood by his side. his own dreams weaved perfectly into luffy's.

saobaody happens again and zoro has only grown stronger in those two years— even though he's now missing an eye.

you recognise quickly that his pride, his ego is quieter these days. it's still as easy as ever for him to be riled up by sanji, but it's more stagnant. on nights where he's no reason to be awake, watch duty delegated to someone else— just as capable— he's awake, an overbearing presence that refuses to rest. on your nights, zoro hovers.

you don't take it personally. you know that zoro believes in your capability just as much he does his own, but recently, you've been doubting his faith. not the faith he has in you, the faith he has in himself.

"what's up with you?" you can't help yourself from asking one night, up on the highest vantage of the sunny where it's easier to see.

zoro peeks over his shoulder, levels his one good eye at you, and glares— wow he's good at using that eye. your hands slip from the purchase of his shoulders, the pressure that had been keeping him bent down against his calves lets up and he follows the singing relief, straightening up. "what'dya mean?"

there's a lightness to his words that you belatedly recognise from the past, he hasn't been letting you see that recently. whiplashed from the sudden realisation, you give him your own stink–eye, annoyed more when it only carries half the potency that zoro's does. "you're running yourself dry is what i mean." your hands settle onto your hips.

he's undisturbed by the attempt at dominance so you give it up quick. sighing as you slump down next to him; he continues to stretch without your help.

"who did you go to?" you ask after a moment, realising that you didn't know.

zoro, bent down against his right leg, body inclined away from you, answers easily. "dracule mihawk." his voice a grunt of effort with his organs crushed.

"woah. really?" you can't imagine that— or well, you can, but it wasn't very easy. he doesn't dignify that with a response, stretches his body to his left leg, his arm brushed up against your knee as he wraps his hand around his ankle. "you trained with that guy?" scrunching up your face, "can't imagine him offering to train you."

"he didn't offer," you eye zoro warily, like his back would split open and cymbal clapping monkeys would grow from his spine, "i asked."

"you did?" you wince when you hear the own surprise in your voice, even though you think that the cymbal playing monkeys wouldn't be so strange now. "when?"

"after."

you pathetically fight the urge to wack him, hands turned into fists. "after what?"

zoro can't eye you since you're sat on his left so he stretches an arm out to push away your face. "stop bothering me."

hitting his arm away, you lean into him. "you're bothering me. it's my night." intruding into his personal space, you push your arm through the gap of his torso and his knee, slapping his nose. "after marineford?" he bites your hand and you take it as a yes, though you're sure it could also mean fuck off.

you gag, pulling your arm away.

you know zoro well enough now to know that he's only at rest when he knows everyone is accounted for; never speaks it verbal though, does a rudimentary sweep of the sunny with his haki and settles when he feels the giggling chirp of his crews' heartbeat that soothes his own. you don't bother with words, zoro has no need for them.

shifting, you slide behind zoro. "okay," you relent, pretending that this conversation never happened. "thank you for keeping me company, mister pirate hunter." slumping over so that you can lean your side against his back as it straightens up, your head hits his shoulder as he grows, back to the steady obelisk that the sunny depends on.

"if you fall asleep on me, i'm telling luffy."

you wrap your arms around his neck, inner elbow against his adam's apple; you let him go when he taps out for the third time.

to live his life right, law needed a heavy hitting hand, a very forceful and demanding hand that knows no refusal. no one pretended that it wasn't necessary, not even the man himself; the task is delegated mostly onto bepo, who law has an unexplainable soft spot for, shachi and penguin, who can hide behind their self proclaimed roles as his seniors in life and grew up with him, and ikkaku, who law treats a little bit less rough on account of her being female.

that's why everyone was so disconcerted about being told to go to zou without him— it would happen ultimately because the heart pirates prided themselves on their selfless loyalty and what their captain says, goes. but the aforementioned childhood friends were a lot more vocal, could afford to be, about their dislike of his plan. everyone else silently sided with shachi and penguin, treated law like he might shatter for the following weeks leading up to the split, drove him up the wall with it.

despite it all, law is a good captain— too good, separates himself from the individuality that would intonate himself as anything but a captain, so he leaves his crew alone when they start treading 'round him like he's about a breath away from shattering. it doesn't last too long though, because after an entire day's worth of silent looks from his crew and then badgering from shachi, he blows like a poorly constructed pipe— you all blame it on shachi and he takes it as poorly as law did, if only more childish.

after yelling about anything and everything— unrelated things like the state of the kitchen, the stain that clione had been sporting all week, the state of bepo's fur (which the mink apologises repeatedly for), the scarce stock of coffee grounds, law is sober enough to glare at everyone, except bepo for whom he offers something of an apologetic look, and then makes a point of stomping to his room like a prepubescent teenager in the midst of his angst. following his outburst, everyone peeks around quietly at each other until someone gains the balls to speak.

ironically, it's ikkaku who throws her arms into the air and declares that she can't do it anymore. she's looking at you pointedly, which makes everyone else follow— even bepo, his two life seniors, jean-bart "traitors," you call them.

you follow after the quake of law's stamping, the metal panels of the polar tang squeaking under your careful feet as if forewarning your fate. you knock on the door of his quarters, forceful hand he needs, you don't wait for the answer that'll never come and come in swinging. "captain," you greet, acquiescently.

he looks all parts of a man that was mourning a loved one— the man he was before he picked up his idiotic and nosy crew. sat on the edge of his bed, knees locked as he stabilises his elbows on them and rests his head on his hands, fingers locked together. law doesn't even acknowledge you as you invite yourself in, overbearing and click the door shut behind you, ignore the fact that his two life seniors will come and press their ears up against the door.

a miffed huff leaves his throat when you take a seat next to him, the dip of the mattress makes you slide up next to him. "they're worried," you give him a pointed look that makes the sarcastic remark on his tongue shrivel. "that's all— we're not going to stop you if you're so insistent on going off alone."

your look doesn't stop him this time— incline his head away so that he can look up at you, something of a sarcastic grin on his face. "you seem hellbent on trying though." your eyes trace over the scruff of his face, up between the creases at the corner of his dry lips, catch on the honey gold of his eyes that flicker with his eyelashes.

"we physically can't," you sweatdrop, "you've built a crew of medics, who here can overpower you?" he shakes his head away, a small laugh, his shoulders loosening. "if only shachi hadn't been caught in his plans of procuring a set of seastone cuffs that we would've used to chain you to bed." you let out a faux sigh.

"don't try that again."

you eye his door, imagine the shiver that runs down shachi's spine with the veiled threat. despite how awful and strange the one–sided interaction ended, everything simmers back down and the crew is back to their usual idiocy when law leaves his room a half an hour after you've left and makes a point of not looking at anyone whilst making himself coffee, then dropping by the navigation room. the heart pirates bask in the coldness of their cruel captain's forgiveness.

when he leaves, it's full of tears and promises. law, as he usually does, looks about as emotionally constipated as ever and he can only take the dramatic farewell until shachi delegates himself as stand–in captain. he opens up a room, but doesn't shamble away until he tells you all that anyone— quite literally anyone— can be the stand–in captain if it means that shachi is not. you all wordlessly push the role onto penguin and then watch his room fizzle away after he shambles himself. then, the polar tang is off.

you all keep up with him the best you could. all you get is a newspaper headlining doflamingo's resignation as a warlord, it's hard to get news on zou, apparently. it's fine though— because even if law had not promised that he'd make it back in one piece, make it back at all, you knew he was a good captain and death was not as kind enough to take him yet.

when law comes back to you, he's smaller in a way you can't fathom. it's strange only because you feel like you're finally seeing him for the first time— everything redundant peeled back, the flesh that he keeps up to continue as a captain pinned away, bones shaved down, muscles melted, and you were staring at law. if anyone else in the crew sees it, they don't mention it.

when you're allowed to, your arms wrap around his middle— pat down his back as if feeling for his body and slide your ear against his heart. it's a hug that's too tender and intimate, less excitable than the ones that his oldest friends have offered him and law has since become a stranger to this kind of touch. he feels like an imposter when he lets his arms circle around you.

you don't say anything to law during or after that, don't bother giving him ammunition to be able to rationalise, nitpick, and dissect your words into anything less than it is. you leave him with a hug and make him grasp at the meaning.

if law is there, hidden around a corner or behind a tree, when you sincerely thank luffy for bringing him back— half–alive and less of a vindictive existence— whether it's by design or not, he does not know. but he's thankful regardless, for not being forced to come face with it.

[enavstars]

I wanted to do this in digital but I don't have the time right now.

For context I hc Rin and Obito as 2 years older than Kakashi, so Kakashi was 12 during Kannabi and Rin and Obito 14.

I don't usually draw Rin that much but I absolutely love her and plan to do more with her. It's funny because when I first watched the show I didn’t like her. It wasn't until I began to read fanfics and saw all the headcanons and interpretations of her character here on tumblr that I started to like her. So thank you all for that <3<3

So here are some (bits of how I see her/of my my headcanons about her) on her relationship with Kakashi.

Rin used to idealize Kakashi, so ended up crushing on him. And Kakashi really did carry himself with a lot of self-confidence and strenght, always giving that prodigy vibes. So Rin being a kid didn't realize how young Kakashi actually is.

This changes after the Kannabi bridge mission. Kakashi, whose body is still adapting to his Sharingan, is unable to keep the confident facade due to the inmense pain he's in (I can expand on this in another post if you'd like), so he looks extremely vulnerable and small.

After seeing Kakashi in this state, Rin can't ignore anymore that Kakashi is a kid even younger than herself and inmediately drops her crush.

So now Rin sees Kakashi as more like a little brother, and she decides to look after him. (This comes from what little caracterization we have in canon of her. In the scene where Obito dies, while Kakashi is crying and shaking, Rin inmediately stops crying when Obito asks her to do the transplant, showing her incredible mental strength).

And she takes care of Kakashi not just because she understands how important he was to Obito, but also as a way to cope, in the same selfless (but unhealthy) way she's always known. She needs this, needs to take care of someone vulnerable to help herself. After all, she was really messed up by Konoha and the war, she is still a child soldier who got her obsession with being useful to the village drilled into her head. So she distracts herself from her own grief by helping Kakashi with his, thinking it's what Obito would have wanted, even if it's slowly destroying her.

Because here's the thing, Rin underestimates how important she truly was to Obito and prioritizes Kakashi over her, in the same way Kakashi prioritizes Rin. Neither realizes that both of them were the most important people to Obito.

So in summary, Rin seals her own pain and refuses to cry or show weakness in front of Kakashi (supporting him like she supported Obito) but at the same time she spends most of her time with him with the excuse that she’s helping him with the pain from the Sharingan.

They sometimes sleep in the same hospital bed, hugging and exhausted, and then there can be heard soft sobs and sniffles. But it's impossible to know which one of them is making those noises.

[7squidgy7]

✧.*200 follower celebration type thing*.✧

previous drawing in others style

So a while ago I hit and 200 followers and I wanted to do a celebration of this milestone, by doing fanart for different cotl artist.

Most people probably already know these artists, but if you don't consider giving them all a look, they all do really cool stuff.

Close up plus some explanations on what inspired me below (don't have to read just wanna put it out there):

@runningwithscizzorz

You have such a cool art style and your wonderlust au is so interesting to me. Its a really cool concept.

You have some of the coolest and most recognizable designs for these two.

There was no particular post that inpired me for the pose I just used this character sheet as my reference.

The background however is based of your banner art (I need to re-watch spirited away)

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

@nufflesdoodles

Your comics are so cute plus your styles so round and cuddly.

I really like the way you draw the lamb in particular, their wool's so shape and I love the pattern on the cloak.

So the inspiration for this was a variety of things. Your comic of Narinder fishing with Aym and Baal plus the drawing of Lamb and Narinder fishing. So i decided to draw them fishing together.

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

@bogor-o

I really like the mother au, these two are so interesting to me and the shittens are so cute. I love Ovidia's design, its a very unique and recognisable one. I especially like the dress they wear, the patterning was really fun to draw.

This was originally suppost to look more evil, but i decided to keep it fluffy. I combined this drawing of Ovidia being evil with Narinder and the second pic of this post of them being all lovey.

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

@shrimpsketchy

I got the designs so wrong. I miss interpreted the reference and by the time I realised it was too late, sorry about that. The lamb's just lending their coat to Narinder for the day :')

Aside for that I really like the concept of a pirate au. Your designs are really cool and have a really nice silhouette. My friend who I was sending progress pics really liked your pirate au.

So for the drawing i used your valentines day art as my inspiration and wanted to draw the lamb balancing on the mast.

I also got some of the clothes' colours from the dtiys

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

@mary-cross

I love your art, not really sure how to put it into words, but like the eye shapes and the sketchiness. I really like it. This was a fun one to draw especially Dulciter's hair

After seeing the femme Dulciter designs I knew that was the version of them I wanted to draw. The animatic of Dulciter and Narinder hugging is so cute, that was the inspiration for the colour pallet and pose.

The stars in the eyes, background and the blue spots was inspired by this comic. I love the choice to use stars in the eyes.

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

@bamsara

Trod was the thing that really got me into cotl and has inspired a now year long art obsession with the game.

I really like your art, especially the comics. I love how expressive everyone is. Lambert and Narinder's characterisations are some of my favourite.

Anyway this piece is using the colour pallete of the devil whispering in the ear art and is based around the heart chain thing that frequently appears in the au's art.

Lambert probably tripped over and Narinder caught them. I've drawn Narinder as aware of the connection, while lamberts confused/ concerned and a little flustered that he's just staring at them. Why's his face split open? I just think it looks neat.

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

[goldfades]

missing social media manager rn☹️☹️ hope she’s doing okay!

here's what im thinking --

it’s march. the last game at gampel.

the kind of night that makes manager feel like she’s floating and sinking at the same time. the weight of the moment pressing down on her chest, but the energy of the crowd—of her girls—lifting her right back up.

it’s been a long season. a grueling season. full of injuries, late-night flights, moments of brilliance, moments of heartbreak. but now, standing on the baseline as the final buzzer echoes through gampel, manager doesn’t feel any of that exhaustion. she just feels full.

the seniors are standing at half-court, wiping at their faces, soaking it all in. paige has her hands on her hips, looking up at the banners like she’s trying to memorize them, like she doesn’t already have every single one seared into her brain.

manager’s phone is blowing up—texts, dms, comments.

she smiles, a little sad but mostly warm. she knows she hasn’t been posting as much. hasn’t been as quick with the clips, the captions, the behind-the-scenes chaos that everyone loves. but it’s hard. it’s hard when she’s here, in it, living through moments she doesn’t want to experience through a screen.

because what’s she supposed to do? pick up her phone and record when she sees paige, red-eyed, hugging geno like she’s never letting go? when azzi buries her face in caroline’s shoulder, gripping the back of her jersey so tight like she’s trying to freeze time?

the team is doing their final walk around the court, waving to the fans, to the student section that’s been packed all year long. manager watches as kk stops to take a picture with a little girl in a uconn jersey three sizes too big. as jana and morgan trade jerseys, laughing through their tears. as sarah jogs over and throws herself into manager’s arms like she’s six, not a freshman who’s already growing into one of the best guards in the country.

“i love you,” sarah sniffles, voice muffled against manager’s hoodie.

manager squeezes her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “i love you too, kid.”

the thing about this job—the thing about this team—is that it never really gets easier. no matter how many years she’s been here, no matter how many seasons she’s seen come and go, it never gets easier to say goodbye.

but she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

and she’ll be back online soon. just—just give her a second. she’s here right now.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

No One Here Is Alone

Elks Chapter 2

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Chapter Rating: T. (Nothing explicit for the first few chapters.) Chapter Summary: Two evenings spent painting, two evenings with Joel Miller cooking dinner for you, two evenings of him gazing at you in that certain way, and one walk home together under a shared umbrella. Chapter Warnings: FIX IT FIC ALERT, pov switching (joel is in bold), soft jackson joel, romance, rumors still spread in the apocalypse, domestic joel miller making dinner, thigh paint, knee pillow, interrupted tender moment, cat on window sill, there was only one umbrella, early 2000’s indie rock, reader has a backstory Words: 6,800

A/N: I'm so happy to be sharing this story again. My fanfic journey started with these two and I'm happy to be adding so much more to their story. Listen, IDK what you're expecting, but this Joel is soft and this whole fic is written like one big, comforting hug. If you're reading it, please line up for your hug. (I am a cold, Scottish lass who does not like touch sooooo if you get a hug from me, you've earned it.) Thank you to @devineconjuring for all of her brilliant beta work.

Elks Masterlist Masterlist Playlist Chapter Song: “Infinite Arms" by Band of Horses

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Joel feels a strange feeling as he straightens up his workshop. He made sure to hide the carving he’s currently working on in the cabinet, as if anybody could even tell what the final product will be. Still, Joel Miller believes in caution.

He brushes his calloused hand across the workbench, sweeping wood shavings to the floor. He still sometimes forgets to grab the dustpan when he sweeps the floor–he still can’t believe he owns one in the apocalypse.

Just last year, he would’ve scoffed at the idea of having a workshop, of creating rather than surviving. Back then, his hands were tools for different work. Weapons. Means to an end. Now, they shape wood into delicate sculptures, finding beauty from a blank canvas.

He grabs the broom and dustpan out of the closet, sweeping up the pile of wood shavings and dust, trying to make the room perfect for you. He dumps the shavings into a small metal bin–they’ll later be used as kindling.

He leans against the workbench, looking around the workshop Tommy helped him build and equip. He still isn’t used to it—this strange semblance of a normal life.

He hears the familiar slam of the front door and walks out of the room, broom and dustpan in hand, finding Ellie kicking her boots off.

“Hey,” she smiles, dropping her backpack to the floor and removing her jacket. “Heard you’ll have company tonight.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “My teacher of all people!” she gasps.

“S’not like that,” Joel responds.

“Whatever,” Ellie says, rolling her eyes with a wide smile. “Then why is your hair slicked back like that? You never slick back your hair.”

He runs a hand through his hair, feeling oddly self-conscious under the teenager’s gaze. "Just… wanted a change.”

"Sure. And I suppose you just felt like sweeping your workshop on a random Monday afternoon?”

Joel lets out a heavy sigh and makes his way to the kitchen. “Pick up your jacket and backpack.”

“Eh, I’m heading to Dina’s soon; I’ll grab them on the way out.”

He pauses mid-stride, turning back to face her. “You didn’t ask if you could go to Dina’s.”

“Nope, but I also don’t think you want my watchful eyes around while Teach is here.”

She’s got a point, and Joel knows it. There's no way he can afford to give Ellie any more reasons to make fun of him, especially not today.

—-

It's a beautiful Monday evening, a light breeze rolling off the mountains as the sun sets behind it. Joel’s house looks like it’s glowing under the aureate sky as you make your way up the path. You’re getting around much better now since your knees have started healing.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself before giving Joel’s front door three quick knocks. You clutch your messenger bag tightly, nervously bouncing back and forth on your heels.

The door swings open, revealing Joel with a warm smile. “Hi, come on in.”

“Hey,” you reply, trying to keep your smile under control.

"Let me show you the room."

Joel leads you into his home to a makeshift studio just off the living room. The space takes your breath away–it’s filled with an array of finished woodworkings, half-carved animals, shelves of tools, and a long worktable. You'd never expect it, but Joel is an artist.

It’s so open and warm, lived in and utilized. You're happy places like this can still exist in other people's homes. 

The sight of a few guitars leaning against the wall surprises you.

“You play guitar?” you ask.

He nods. “Been playing almost my whole life. You?”

“Same, but my guitar broke a few weeks ago,” you say with a hint of sadness. “There’s a big hole in the side now.”

“That’s rough. Your stereo and your guitar?”

It surprises you a bit that Joel’s remembered about your stereo.

“Afraid so,” you admit. “It’s very quiet in my home.”

“Those guitars over there are broken, but I just haven’t gotten around to fixing ‘em. I’m sure I could easily repair one for you,” he offers.

“Joel, you—that’s incredibly kind,” you reply, touched but hesitant. “I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“No, s’okay, I like fixing things,” he insists with a reassuring smile. 

“Wish I could fix things,” you say with a nervous chuckle. “By the time I would be done, it’d be a pile of sawdust.”

A huff of air releases out of Joel’s mouth, his smile making a dimple you’ve never noticed before appear. God, he’s gorgeous. “You’re funny. I can see why Ellie likes you.”

Heat creeps up your chest and settles into your cheeks. The way he looks at you overwhelms you so much you have to glance away. “So, Where would you like me to draw the mural?” you ask, using your question to cut through the nervousness inside you. 

“Was thinking over on this wall with the window. I can see it from my chair in the living room.” 

You turn to examine the large, empty wall. You’re not sure if the cream hue is the original paint color or if it was colored that way from age. Either way, it’s a perfect canvas.

“Good choice,” you say. “Do you want the whole wall?”

“The whole wall.”

“Just bluebells?” you clarify.

“Just bluebells.”

“Perfect.”

You pull the pencil from the chest pocket of your overalls, gently pressing it against the wall to sketch out the first bluebell. You can feel his eyes on you, his large body crowding the space behind you. You try to focus on your drawing, blocking out the sound of his breathing and the heat of his closeness.

Joel clears his throat. “I’ll just be in the kitchen making dinner. Did ya’ eat?”

“No,” you reply, glancing back at him. “But I can eat after I’m done here.”

“Have more than enough here for another person, and Ellie’s at Dina’s tonight. You like pasta?”

“Of course I do,” you say with a smile. “I’d starve if I didn’t. Shelf stable.”

Joel chuckles, “I’ll be in the kitchen cooking. Just holler if you need anything. Help yourself to any of the supplies I have here.”

You nod as Joel turns and strides down the hall.

—-

You’re just down the hall, clad in light blue overalls covered in paint stains. All he has to do is take the twelve small steps to the room, and he’d get to see your pretty face.

He makes himself focus, busying himself in the kitchen, stirring the boiling pasta so he doesn’t just stand silently in the hallway trying to hear the scratch of your pencil against the wall or the occasional approving “yes” under your breath when you’re happy with a line. It’s oddly comforting, having someone else fill the empty spaces of his home.

Boston never felt like a home, no matter the poorly realized strong feelings he had for Tess. It’s hard to make a home out of a dilapidated apartment where his lumpy mattress rested on cinderblocks.

Cooking in a large kitchen–with full cupboards and a fridge–still feels like he’s playing pretend. But he’s trying to get used to it. For Ellie… and maybe for himself.

He can just make out the soft sound of your humming. He doesn't recognize the tune, but it makes him smile nonetheless. He catches himself and straightens his face, feeling foolish.

Dinner will be ready soon, an idea lighting in his mind as he cuts two slices of bread from the loaf he just picked up this morning from the co-op.

—-

“What a beautiful face, I have found in this place, That is circling all ‘round the sun, What a beautiful dream...”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle as you hear the familiar strum of a guitar, breaking the silence that had settled in the room while you quietly sketched. For the last hour, the only noises were Joel’s movements in the kitchen and the soft sound of your pencil against the wall.

Now, his home is filled with the sound of the first song off of your mixed CD you had left there. Despite being all alone in his studio, you can’t help but grin. You tuck your pencil behind your ear and head to the kitchen.

You almost stop in your tracks at the sight–Joel’s biceps stretch the sleeves of his gray shirt as he lifts the pot and drains the cooked pasta. The steam floats into the air, swirling around him, creating an almost dreamlike scene of domestic bliss. You blink a few times, reaching for your daisy pendant to center yourself, helping yourself realize that this is, in fact, really happening.

It’s almost as if he senses your presence, turning his head to find you resting against the kitchen doorway.

“Neutral Milk Hotel,” you say.

“S’a pretty good song,” he replies, turning, his gaze landing on your pendant. 

“From my CD?” you ask.

“It is.”

“Thanks for playing it,” you smile. “It’s nice to hear it again.”

“Course. When’d your player break?”

“A while ago. I lived without a stereo for close to fifteen years. My CDs sat in a crate next to my bed all those years. I got used to them existing almost like photographs, circular snapshots of memories… silent and incapable of their original use,” you say, your voice trailing off as you remember. “When I got here and walked into my house, the first thing I saw was the small boombox on the shelf. I almost passed out when Maria told me it worked.” Joel stands there, spoon in hand, his eyes fixed on you, not impatient, not bored, but rather a tender fascination as you speak. “It had to be repaired a few times, and Gordon kept warning me that it wasn’t built to last. Took it to him the day after it broke for good, and he let me know nothing could be done,” you sigh. “Sorry, I tend to ramble.”

You can feel the embarrassment creeping up your neck, but Joel just shakes his head.

"Don't apologize," he says gently. "I understand what it's like to lose something that connects you to… before."

“Thanks. I still have other things to fill my time, so it’s not as bad as I’m making it seem. I know it’s a luxury, and I know I can live without it. It’s just… the noise kept me company, you know?” 

“I do,” he responds, tilting his head towards the table. “Dinner’s about ready.”

You sit down at his table by the window, the glow of the sunset streaming through, casting a soft light over everything. Coffee rings cover Joel’s wooden tabletop, a sign he probably never cleans up his mug until after he’s home in the evening. It feels so comfortable and warm here.

His back is turned as he dishes the pasta and sauce into two bowls, allowing you to take him in. You let yourself stare, memorizing the broadness of his shoulders and the bits of curly hair on the back of his neck. There's something so beautifully mundane about watching him move through his kitchen. 

"Thank you," you say as he places one in front of you. "It smells amazing."

"Just pasta," he shrugs, sitting across from you.

“This looks delicious,” you say, picking up your fork.

“Sauce was made by Maria. She takes pity on my kitchen skills and makes sure Ellie and I are well-fed.” 

“She’s great,” you say through a bite. “So is Tommy.”

He nods in agreement, watching you intently as if he’s captivated by your presence. You’d be doing the same if you weren’t so nervous about him noticing. You sense Joel doesn’t care if you notice him watching.

You both settle into a shared silence while you eat, your CD playing in the background.

A slow and haunting song begins to play, and Joel looks up from his meal. “This is my favorite song on your CD.”

“Cheer up, honey. I hope you can, There is something wrong with me, My mind is filled with silvery stars.”

“‘Radio Cure’ by Wilco,” you say. “One of my favorite bands. My only CD of theirs is so scratched it no longer works. This is the only song I have now.” 

You get lost in the music, leaning back and mouthing the lyrics silently. 

“S’beautiful,” he says softly as you open your eyes and find him watching you again. He clears his throat, “... the song’s beautiful.”

Your heart skips a beat at the tenderness in his voice. So soft and deep. You wonder if he talks to anybody else this gently. 

“If you like it, keep my CD,” you offer. “You’ll get more use out of it than I will now.” 

“I’ll borrow it until you get a new CD player,” Joel says as he stands and takes his bowl to the sink. “You’re welcome to come over and listen anytime. You can bring your other CDs over if you want.”

“Really? I appreciate that,” your voice lifts with excitement.

“Glad to help.”

“I’m going to get back to drawing before it gets any darker,” you say, handing him your empty bowl. “I really enjoyed dinner, thank you.”

“‘Course,” he nods, taking the bowl from your hand and depositing it into the soapy water.

You return to the woodworking room, pick up your pencil, and continue delicately sketching flowers on his wall.

—-

Joel’s house is quiet again once your CD has finished playing. You’re too focused on drawing to really miss it.

“Did you want another light in here?” Joel’s voice startles you, making you jolt and turn to find him leaning against the doorway; you don’t know how long he’s been standing there. “S’getting dark in here.”

��Y-yeah, that would be great. I just want to finish up the first outline tonight.” 

Joel nods and heads over to the large cabinet in the corner, retrieving a work light.

“This’ll help,” he says, grunting slightly as he bends over and plugs it in.

The bright light floods the room; now, you can see every delicate line you’ve sketched across the wall.

“Thank you,” you say, blinking your eyes to adjust.

“It’s lookin’ really nice so far.” Joel’s voice dips low, barely audible.

You begin to sketch again, thankful for the extra light. “I love the process of beginning a large piece like this. It makes me so excited to think what it’ll look like when it’s all finished. Breaking it down into small steps, then seeing it all come together.”

“No wonder Ellie’s always so excited about art when you put it all that way.” 

You nod without looking back at him, trying to hide the smile playing on your lips.

“Well, I’ll just be in the living room reading my book. Lemme know if I can help,” he offers.

“Thanks.”

Joel’s footsteps fade as he walks into the living room. You hear him settle into his chair with a sigh. The chair he can sit in and look at your mural from, the chair he can sit in and watch you work from. Your insides twist as you feel like you’re being watched by him. You like it. 

You round each small petal, making every flower perfect for Joel’s eyes, the bluebells taking shape and spreading across the wall.

Sometimes, you hear a page turn, or an occasional sniff, or a throat clear. It feels odd to be this comfortable in Joel’s space. But, somehow, it feels familiar, the nerves dissipating with each bluebell you draw.

You step back from the wall, surveying the outline. You’re very happy with it.

“Okay,” you say, shaking out your overused hand and stretching your tired fingers. 

“Finished for the night?” Joel asks as he stands and steps into the room. “It’s beautiful,” he says, his eyes lingering on the wall.

“Thanks,” you reply, feeling a mix of pride and uncertainty. “There’s still a lot that has to be done, but I’m really happy with how it’s looking so far.” You back up to stand next to him, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. "When do you want me to come back?"

“I’ll be out on patrol with Tommy until Friday night. I know you have the library, but does Saturday work for you?”

“No, it’s okay, Saturday’s good. Same time?”

“Same time,” he confirms with a nod. “I’ll make dinner again.”

“You really don’t have to,” you reply, bending down to grab your bag.

“S’okay, I want to.” 

“Okay,” you reply, stifling a yawn and blinking your tired eyes. 

Joel notices and grins slightly, watching you. “Getting late for you, huh?” 

“Yeah, close to my bedtime,” you admit. 

He walks with you to his door and holds it open. "G’night. I'll see you on Saturday."

“Have a safe patrol,” you say as you step out the door, turning back to him with a small smile. “Goodnight.”

You feel Joel’s quiet, watchful gaze follow you as you leave his yard.  

You crawl into bed that night without bothering to change out of your shirt. It smells like Joel’s home.

—-

He looks up at the sky, trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. He’s far too used to his comfortable mattress in his home now. Tommy’s already asleep, softly snoring across from him as the low campfire crackles between them. Joel shifts, tucking his arm beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. Sleep won’t come easy tonight.

The Pink Moon sits high in the sky tonight, surrounded by innumerable stars. He wonders if you're looking at it right now, too, or if you’re already asleep, dreaming of bluebells.

"Damn," he mutters under his breath, running a hand down his face. When did he start thinking about you like this? Was it when you walked into the community hall the first day he arrived in Jackson? Or when Ellie wouldn't stop talking about her new teacher?

It’s only been three days, and he actually feels like he misses you.

Tommy stirs for a second before settling back into slumber. Joel watches his brother sleep, reminding him of the years they spent together in a far harsher reality.

In a few months, Tommy will be a father. The thought still amazes him. His little brother, the one who always believed in a better existence, is building something Joel never thought possible in this world–a family and a future.

He turns over, staring up at the sky, as he thinks of the wall in his woodworking room, now covered in delicate bluebells you’ll soon paint and bring to life.

—-

“Hey lady,” your friend Helen greets you as she steps into your classroom, interrupting your paper grading. 

You look up and give her a smile. “What’s up?”

“A group of us are getting drinks tomorrow night at the Bison. You in?” 

“Oh,” you pause, putting your pen down. “I can’t. I’m painting something for Joel Miller at his house.” 

Her eyebrows rise. “Joel Miller, Joel Miller?” 

“Yeah…” you nod.

She steps closer, crossing her arms with a smirk. “So, the rumors are true?”

“Rumors?” you ask.

“Grace said she saw you leaving his place late Monday night. Apparently, Joel stood and watched you walk home the whole way.”

You roll your eyes. “God, this place is small, isn’t it?”

Helen laughs, her expression softening as she moves closer. “He nice to you?” Her protective side always shows when it comes to you. 

“I wouldn’t be doing this for him if he wasn’t.”

She nods. “Atta girl, I’ll leave you to it,” she knocks on your desk before leaving. You’ve heard all the rumors about Tommy Miller’s scary older brother. You’ve listened intently as people regaled tales of his violent past and whispered stories of his brutality. You heard the hush amongst the crowd whenever he’d walk into a room when he and Ellie first showed up. He’s supposedly a monster, and yet all you see are deep, soft brown eyes that crinkle at the corners whenever he smiles at you.

—-

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t exhausted after running the library today, and yet there’s still a sense of excitement as you walk down the road towards Joel’s house, shielding yourself and your box of paints beneath an umbrella.

Joel opens the door before you even get to the porch steps, his broad body backlit by the golden glow of his home.

"Hey there," he says with a small smile, stepping aside to let you in. "Nasty weather out there. Was lookin’ for you so you didn’t get stuck in the rain.”

You lose the fight to hide a smile at his sweetness. “Thanks, it’s awful out,” you reply, stepping inside and shrugging off your flannel. “How was patrol?” 

“Same as usual,” he remarks, taking your jacket and hanging it on the hook over his coat.

“Well, that’s a good thing,” you reply, already heading into his woodworking room and placing your paints on the floor.

Joel follows right behind you, watching as you kneel and begin unpacking your supplies.

“That your CD book?” Joel nods to the faded black leather portfolio with tattered corners covered in faded stickers. 

“Yeah, I brought it over.”

“Haven’t seen something like that in years. Can I look at ‘em?” “Go ahead,” you say with a warm smile, handing the album up to him. “Find something to play. It’s your stereo, after all. Don’t tell me what you pick. I want it to be a surprise.”

You love hearing the gentle, rhythmic thump of the pages as Joel flips through the album.

“Don’t recognize most of these names,” he murmurs. “What kind of music do you like?” you ask as you unroll your brush holder and pick out the brushes you’ll need.

“Rock, country… a little bit of blues.”

“Country? Really? How typical Texas of you,” you tease with a playful smile, raising an eyebrow. He chuckles. “Good country. Real country. Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, ’n the like.” “I stand corrected, Texas.”

He grunts in amusement while you begin laying out your paints on the countertop, carefully choosing your colors. 

“Found something,” Joel says.

“Can’t wait to hear what you pick,” you respond, pulling your palette out of your bag as he leaves the room with the unknown CD in hand.

A bluesy rock guitar intro with a steady drumbeat starts as you mix emerald and olive tones together.

“Haven’t heard this one in over 20 years,” Joel comments as he comes back into the room. “I always liked The Rolling Stones.” 

“Me too. I actually got this CD from your brother, believe it or not.”

Joel leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Tommy gave you that?"

"Yeah, last year. He brought it back from patrol. He figured I’d want it, and he was right. Maria and Tommy have both been great to me.”

Joel stands there watching you, a small smile playing on his lips. "Tommy's always had a good heart."

"It runs in the family," you mutter, regretting the words the moment they leave your lips. With a slight shake of your head, you look back down at your palette and dip your brush into the green paint, making a few strokes on the palette before turning to face the wall.

You kneel down on the hardwood floor and begin to trace the slim lines of stems across the wall. Your brush and body move slowly and smoothly in tandem, rising to finish each stem tip. Joel’s steady and attentive gaze follows you the whole time. 

“Never thought I’d see somebody paint like this again,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s my favorite thing to do,” you say, your focus unwavering from the wall. 

“Can tell,” the gentleness of his voice causes a shiver down your spine. “M’excited to see how it’ll look when it’s done.”

“Me too.”

You hear Joel take a deep breath, and his footsteps shift. “I’m gonna go finish cleanin’ my guns,” he says with an exhale. “I’ll be in the dining room if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” you respond, turning to look back at him with a smile. Suddenly, a large glob of green paint falls from the paintbrush in your hand, landing on your thigh. 

Joel’s eyes immediately drop to the spot, widening as you grab your rag and wipe the paint off.

He clears his throat, his cheeks starting to blush a subtle shade of red. “Uh, right. I’ll be in the dining room,” he repeats, turning quickly to stride away.

His hurried footsteps fade as they move into the next room– a small smile tugs at your lips, and a rush of excitement blooms within you. 

You dip your brush back into the paint again, steadying your breath, and begin painting a new stem. —-

Joel has cleaned this Winchester hundreds of times. He could practically do it with his eyes closed, yet tonight, his hands fumble with the bolt carrier.

He's spent twenty minutes on a five-minute job because he can’t stop thinking about you. The way your hands move across his wall, the confidence in your art, the slight furrow in your brow when you're concentrating, the beautiful green paint on your beautiful skin.

He sets down the cleaning rod with a soft sigh, his calloused fingers tapping against the wooden table. If he cranes his neck just right, he can see the edge of you through the doorway. The Rolling Stones still play quietly in the background, and Joel notices how your body sometimes sways slightly along to the song.

Five days on patrol shouldn't have felt so long. It was the same route he'd taken dozens of times with Tommy, the same checkpoints, the same abandoned buildings. But for the first time, he wanted to go back home. To Jackson. To you.

—-

The rain patters steadily against the windows as you work. It almost feels too comfortable being in Joel’s home, painting as the CD softly plays in the other room, the occasional clink of metal coming from down the hall.

"S'pretty dark in here. Do you want that work light again?” Joel asks, interrupting your focus. 

“Yes, please,” you reply, not taking your eyes off the delicate petal you’re working on.

Joel shuffles behind you, pulling the light out. You recognize the same low grunt that left his mouth earlier this week when he bends over to plug it in. The light buzzes on, flooding the room and your painting with a bright white glow.

“You been kneeling on the floor like that for long?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. 

“Yep, it’s not so bad while down here.”

“Ya’ still have the hurt knees, and you’re kneeling on the damn hardwood floor,” he mumbles under his breath as he leaves the room. 

You’ve gotten used to people not being concerned about such simple things as your personal comfort. Joel’s worry for you makes you feel a foreign feeling. 

He returns and holds a pillow out for you. “Here, grabbed ya’ this.”

“Oh, I’m okay, really,” you protest, “I don’t want to accidentally get paint on it.” 

“Don’t care, take it,” he insists.

You hesitate for a second before taking the pillow and slipping it underneath your already aching knees.

“Feels much better, thank you,” you say, settling back and forth on the softness. 

“Welcome.” 

A long sigh escapes his lips, catching your attention. You glance up and meet his eyes—the hazel flecks shine in the light supplied by the work lamp.

His tongue darts out to wet his supple lips, and your eyes move to watch. He reaches a hand out, his thumb resting against your cheek, his fingers gently cradling your chin. 

Your breath hitches, your lips parting as you inhale deeply, and a shiver runs through your entire body. The music from the stereo fades into the background; all that exists now in this moment is Joel’s touch. 

“Thank you again for doin’ this for me,” he says, his voice low and tender. “Been thinkin’ about how nice it’s gonna be to look over and see this once it’s finished… reminding me of home.”

“O-of course,” you stammer, your eyes still lingering on his mouth. 

“Mm,” he grunts, his head dipping with a slight nod. 

“L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L–” The music stutters, caught in a loop, cutting through the moment.

“Shit, I forgot this song always does that,” you say as Joel’s hand retreats from your cheek. 

“I got it,” he says, quickly striding out of the room. 

“You just have to skip to the next track, and it should work!” you call after him as your skin still tingles from where his hand had been moments ago, silently cursing your scratched CD.  

The track changes, the interruption long gone, just like Joel’s touch. You return to painting, calming your body and emotions in the aftermath. You exhale slowly, trying to calm the flutter of nerves in your chest, grounding yourself back into the rhythm of painting. You don’t hear from him until well after the CD finishes and the house has fallen silent.

—-

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Joel says, tapping softly on the doorframe, snapping you out of your reverie as you paint. “You got a lot done—it’s lookin’ real good.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, surprised by how much time has passed. The shared moment between the two of you now feels long gone and distant.

“Thanks,” you respond. “I just want to finish up on this bluebell.”

“Take your time. Just come to the kitchen when you’re all done in here.” 

—-

He stares at the table, his hands resting against his hips. He doesn’t know why he wants to impress you. He’s never been one for setting a proper table, but tonight, he’s even folded the tattered cloth napkins.

There’s something about you–something that makes him feel like the world isn’t as broken as he knows it to be.

He watches the steam rise from the pot of soup he’s made, almost feeling nervous. He wants you to like it. He wants you to like him.

—-

You stand up, stretching your back to ease the stiffness, rinsing your brush in the jar of water before making your way down the hall to the kitchen. Your steps almost falter at the sight–Joel Miller sitting at his neatly set kitchen table. A soup spoon rests atop a folded napkin, a glass of water lined up next to it. He’s even taken the time to wipe up the coffee stains.

“Hope you like turkey and barley soup,” Joel says as you walk into the kitchen. 

“Any soup makes me happy,” you reply with a smile, taking a seat across from him.

“Good. This one I actually made; Maria didn’t have to take pity on me for this meal,” he says, a small grin lifting his lips.

The care he’s put into a simple dinner doesn’t go unnoticed. You’re touched. The soup looks delicious, steam rising from the ceramic bowl.

You take a bite, the warm soup sliding down your throat. Perfect for a chilly rainy evening, it’s good. “Joel, this is… really good.”

His eyes soften when he sends you a nod.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, with only the sound of your spoons clinking against the bowls. You should be nervous in this situation, but the way Joel handles himself in front of you–as if he’s perfectly comfortable with you in his home–makes your nerves settle.

"Thanks for dinner," you say, watching Joel finish his last spoonful. "It was exactly what I needed after painting for so long."

You place your spoon down and sit back in your chair. “What was your favorite food before… everything?”

He thinks for a moment. “Don’t really know. Maybe tamales? My mom used to make them every year for the holidays. I could eat six of them in one sitting.” 

“I loved tamales, too. You know, I just remembered margaritas. I used to always see people drink them when we’d go out to eat Mexican food, and I thought that looked so cool. I never got to try one.” 

He watches you with that familiar expression, as if he could listen to you talk for hours, nodding along with a small smile. “What was your favorite food?” he asks.

“Fettuccine Alfredo, one hundred percent. My mom used to make it for me every year for my birthday. If we went to an Italian restaurant, it’s what I’d always order. Definitely Fettuccine Alfredo.”

“Never had it, always just stuck to pouring a jar of Ragu over spaghetti or a frozen lasagna,” he says, a small grin on his face. 

“I miss those too. And cheese. I miss being able to have cheese whenever I wanted so much. The stuff we have now just isn’t the same.”

“Mm,” Joel nods. “Kinda like the ice cream we have. Not the same, but good enough.”

“Isn’t that the motto of these times?” you say with a smirk. “Not the same, but good enough.”

“It’s a good one,” Joel pauses. “You’re funny.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling Joel’s eyes follow your movements as he gets up. 

You stand as well, grabbing your bowl to follow Joel over to the sink. He reaches for it, his fingers brushing against yours as he takes it from your hand. “You seem to be almost finished in there.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can finish tonight. I think there’s still a couple more hours of work left.” 

“Of course. I don’t want to keep you any longer tonight. I know you had a long day, and I know it’s a lot bein’ down on the floor like that for as long you were.” 

“Yeah, my knees are aching again,” you admit with a shy smile. “When do you want me to come and finish it?”

“Monday at the same time, if you want. Sundays are always reserved for Ellie.”

"Monday works just fine," you reply, smiling at the idea of him reserving an entire day just for Ellie. "I can be here right after work. Is it okay if I leave my things in the room? If not, that’s okay too. I can take them ho–” 

“S’fine,” he interrupts gently. He places his hand against your back. “Don’t mind at all. I’ll walk you home. It’s getting late, and it’s still rainin’ pretty bad.” 

You protest. “No, I’ll be okay. I’ve walked through much worse.” 

“Don’t care,” he cuts you off as he grabs your flannel from the hook. “I’m walking you home, it’s pourin’.”

He holds your flannel open for you and offers a slight nod. You step forward and slip your arms through the sleeves, the closeness sending goosebumps across your skin.

"Thanks," you lowly whisper.

“Course,” Joel breathes out as you step away and grab your backpack.

“You really don’t have to—“

“Now, stop telling me I don’t have to,” he says, mild frustration tinging his voice as he shrugs on his jacket. “I want to.”

He opens the door and motions you to go ahead of him before grabbing your umbrella. 

“Don’t you have one as well?” you ask.

“Never got one.” 

You step out, the rain pouring down in a steady stream. “It’s good for the crops and the water reserves, at least,” you shrug as Joel holds the umbrella above you. 

As you two make your way down the road, you notice the rain pelting Joel, his head and shoulders already damp as he holds the umbrella over you.

“There’s enough room for both of us under here; there’s no sense in you getting soaked,” you say, stepping closer to him.

He mumbles something softly–it sounds like “Y’sweet,” but the rain drowns out his words. You almost think you imagined it. He adjusts the umbrella, moving it so both of you are shielded from the rain.

The two of you walk towards your home, your bodies occasionally tapping against each other as Joel huddles over you. You wish you could slow down, draw out your time next to him, stay under the shelter of the umbrella and his body.

“That’s me, right there,” you say, nodding towards your front door. 

“Y’got a cat?” Joel asks when he sees your cat Penny sitting on your windowsill backlit by your lamp.

“Yeah, two of them. You like cats?”

“Even if I did, couldn’t have ‘em. Allergic.”

“That’s a shame,” you reply with a shrug.

“Hm,” he grunts with a subtle smile.

Escaping the rain underneath the safety of your front porch awning, Joel closes your umbrella and hands it back to you as you tap your wet boots against your frayed welcome mat.

“Well, thanks for walking me home. I’ll see you Monday?” You say as you rest your back against your front door.

“Yeah,” Joel says, his eyes holding your attention for a moment longer than expected. “See you Monday.”

He turns and leaves your little yard, turning back around at your fencepost to give you a nod before continuing down the road in the dark rain. 

Joel Miller just walked you home.

—-

The rain pelts him as he walks home, trying to avoid the large puddles scattered across the ground. The feeling inside his chest is familiar and yet still so foreign. You might just be the sweetest and kindest person he’s ever met.

Kindness, he used to know it. Hell, he used to teach it. 

Telling Sarah to hold doors open for the elderly. Letting Tommy know he needs to drop in to visit their mom more often, not just when he needed to borrow a few bucks. Not charging the overwhelmed father overtime fees for drywall work when a burst pipe destroyed half his kitchen. Helping the short woman grab a bottle of soda off the top shelf at the grocery store. 

But, thousands of miles traversed across a wasteland, killing and pillaging after losing the one reason he had to live, changes a man. 

Then, Tommy. Becoming the grown-up as soon as Sarah took her last breath, keeping a watchful eye on Joel. Running through the door, grabbing the gun after Joel flinched, slapping him across the face and saying he needed him. That someday, someone else would need him. That Joel couldn’t leave him alone—not after they’d already lost so much.

Then, Tess. Exceedingly tough and resourceful. Teaching him that there’s more to getting what you want than violence. That you can lose everything and still believe in something better. 

Then, Ellie. All she’s known is this world he’s called cruel and unforgiving, and yet, she’s tenacious, funny, and excited for every day. Each mile traveled with her, each cheesy joke she giggled at, each time she’d hide behind him, a bit of kindness would wrap around his heart. 

He glances at the garage in his backyard. The lights are out; he’s sure she’s already asleep by now. 

Then, Jackson. How can one care for others when they can’t even care for themselves?  It was always easier to say community no longer exists… until the gates opened to him, and he saw a future for not only himself but for Ellie, too. 

He steps through his door, knocking his wet boots against the rug before slipping them off and putting them on a shoe rack. He never thought he’d have something as ridiculously utilitarian as a shoe rack. Now, he has a warm home to make his own, a comfortable bed to lie in, safety, and protection. Foreign luxuries that now seem normal. 

He slowly learned to believe that there was hope, there was kindness. He didn’t have to lock his heart away. He could have a future while still holding onto the past kindness he once knew. 

He walks into his studio and studies the half-finished mural. Green stems climb across the wall, waiting for you to make the petals bloom. He leans in, his eyes following your delicate brush strokes. His heart is overwhelmed by the time and care you’ve put forth to do this for him. He doesn’t deserve this kindness, and yet, your art tells him otherwise. 

And then, there’s you. Your bright flowers covering dingy walls, leaving the world a little more beautiful. Your joy for teaching your students, especially Ellie. Your little library, giving his fellow residents an escape with each tattered book. People like you shouldn’t exist, so young when the world ended, and yet here you are–restoring kindness into the too-often cruel world. Restoring kindness inside his heart. 

He opens the cabinet in the corner of his studio, pulling out the wooden block just starting to take shape and his carving tools before sitting down on his work stool, facing the mural.

Songs mentioned in this chapter: "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea" by Neutral Milk Hotel "Radio Cure" by Wilco "Miss You" by The Rolling Stones

Divider courtesy of @/saradika-graphics

perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon Tagging some mutuals who showed interest and those who requested. (As always, let me know if you'd like to be put on or taken off.) @secretelephanttattoo, @sawymredfox, @moonlitbirdie, @arcanefox207, @almostfoxglove, @pascalssbabyy, @toomanytookas, @jolapeno, @goodwithcheese, @msjarvis@itwasntimethatdidit40, @burntheedges, @magpiepills, @maggiemayhemnj, @ace-turned-confused@lorettafudge, @jennaispunk, @lotusbxtch, @sunnytuliptime, @sizzlingcloudmentality@cheekychaos28, @ashleyfilm, @anoverwhelmingdin, @chewie-bars, @whimsiwitchy@suzysface, @peelieblue, @copperhalfcent, @flawssy-227, @tuquoquebrute

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a team. l Joel Miller

before Jackson

Summary: you finally made it to Jackson

Warnings: angst, tears, Tommy and Maria, Ellie is here too, some swearing, guns, Joel is an asshole, some fluff at the end

A/N: @underneath-the-sky-again and I were talking about what happened when Reader and Joel got to Jackson. is this a good answer?

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

"Joel! Ellie!"

When you were surrounded by people on horses, you were sure that this was the end for you. You were so close to Jackson that you couldn't believe that fate could be so capricious. You saw Joel grab Ellie by the arm, trying to pull her away, but escape was impossible. Not this time...

Suddenly, someone shouted your name. You raised your head and looked around. You knew this man. He was from Jackson. You were safe.

Joel never fully trusted anyone, not in these times. Even though you were talking to that guy who had just pointed a gun at you, Joel kept an eye on you the whole time. He wasn't convinced of your safety until he saw Tommy.

When the younger Miller's eyes landed on you, he beamed. "Good to see you! Thanks for bringing them here." he said, taking you in his arms and hugging you tightly "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"We bumped into each other a long way from here." you replied "I thought they could use a guide. Damn, I wouldn't have guessed you were brothers!"

"Yeah!" Tommy laughed, "I inherited all the personal charm."

"And the extroversion." you chuckled.

Tommy took you to a warm place and you were given a meal. You didn't want to disturb Joel and Tommy, so you sat down further away. It took you longer than you planned to get back to Jackson, but you finally made it here. However, your happiness was covered by a black cloud that told you one thing - it was time to part ways.

All you talked about was getting to this place, Joel found his brother, Ellie was safe, and you... You were going to be alone again.

"Are you coming with us?" Ellie called when Tommy and Maria wanted to show them the empty house they were going to stay in.

"I'm not sure." You replied.

Maria smiled at you, stroking her visible belly. "Your old room is free. You can stay there." You nodded, thanking her quietly.

Ellie frowned and looked at Joel. "She won't be living with us?" she asked.

"It's not up to me, kid." He replied, but you noticed that he threw a quick glance your way.

“But she belongs to us. We’ve been through so much together.” She walked over to you, grabbing your hand. “You’re coming with us. If need be, I’ll give you my bed.”

"Ellie..." You sighed, unable to hide your emotion. "I don't want to bother you. You and Joel were supposed to get to Jackson. We made it."

Maria looked from you to the girl, finally speaking. "Her room is really comfortable and warm. You'll see each other around town. Unless she runs away again."

Someone cleared their throat, and you all looked over at Joel. He had already put on his jacket and was standing by the door, clearly tired. “Ellie’s right, you should move in with us. If you want.”

"What do you mean? We've barely arrived and we're already leaving?" you looked at Joel not understanding a word.

You managed to sleep for a few hours and eat another meal. You took a bath and felt like a new person, and in the meantime Miller told you that he was going somewhere again. After coming back from Tommy's, he seemed more depressed to you, as if a great burden had fallen on his shoulders again. You, on the other hand, were confused.

"Ellie is important." he finally spoke.

You folded your arms across your chest. "Of course she is. But what does that have to do with her?"

"You won't understand."

"Then explain it to me!" you snorted. "If I have to go with you, I want to know."

Something in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. You understood it without words. The decision had been made and you were not to be a part of it.

"You've got to be kidding..." you hissed.

"Just me and Ellie." Joel lowered his gaze, not ready to look you in the eye. You had done so much for her, risked so much, and now he was leaving you alone. For your safety, but he couldn't tell you about it. He couldn't tell you anything, even though he wanted to.

When he heard your voice again, it was trembling and full of suppressed emotions. "We're a team. We're in this together. All this way here, I..."

"It's always been just me and Ellie. You're staying."

It was like a slap in the face. He saw your eyes widen, glistening with tears. He knew you would give anything for Ellie, even your own life. He also knew that if he asked you to go with him, you would do it without hesitation. But you had to stay in Jackson. You were safer here than with them.

"Listen..." he started, but he saw you raise a hand, stopping him from saying anything else.

"You've said enough, Joel."

He hadn't felt as alone as he did at that moment in a long time.

The weeks dragged on incredibly. To occupy your time, you began patrolling the area, but your thoughts kept returning to Joel and Ellie.

Your farewell wasn't one of tenderness and joy. As you held Ellie in your arms, you begged her to come back to you safe and sound. She didn't understand why you couldn't go with them either, but Joel didn't explain much to anyone.

Joel. His furtive glances at you were full of pain and remorse, but you knew that didn’t mean he’d changed his mind. Even before he left, he heard your quiet voice, barely above a whisper. “Take care of yourself, Joel.”

“Will you be here when we get back?” he asked before he could stop himself.

That was what he feared most. That you would leave again, that you would disappear over the horizon and he would never see you again. How was it possible that he needed you so much?

"If you want me to be."

He nodded. He couldn't answer louder.

"You're still waiting for them. Do you think they'll come back?"

You looked at Stephen, who shifted in his saddle and reached for a canteen of water.

"I hope so." You replied.

"We're all waiting for someone, darling." You smiled and looked at the man.

"And what are you waiting for, Stephen?"

"Until my fucking leg stops hurting. I think it's going to rain, it always hurts like that when it rains."

You've been circling the area since morning, your patrol slowly coming to an end. One last look at the horizon, one last squint, because maybe you'll be able to see something more.

"Is that a fucking car?"

You turned around as if on command and saw it too. A car was slowly driving down the dirt road in your direction. You reached for your gun instinctively, the horses nervously pawing the ground with their hooves. Only when someone started waving at you from the passenger seat did you realize who it was.

"Ellie! It's them, Stephen!" you called out and hit the horse's sides with your heels, forcing it to gallop.

The car stopped and you jumped down, running towards it. Ellie almost fell out of the vehicle and threw herself into your arms. "Are you okay? Are you okay?" you asked, hugging her tightly, kissing her forehead and ruffling her hair.

"I'm okay! Hey!" she groaned, but giggled "I missed you so damn much!"

"I missed you too! Jesus, I was about to look for you myself." You pushed the girl to arms length and looked at her closely "Are you sure you're okay? Should I take you to the clinic?"

"Relax!" Ellie chuckled.

The slam of the door closing caught your attention. You recognized him immediately, although he seemed somehow changed, as if the burden he took with him from Jackson hadn't left him at all.

"Hi." Joel greeted you.

He didn't expect that. You let go of Ellie and after a moment you threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Hesitantly, but with relief, Joel embraced you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

They were home.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name

[into-deepspace]

hi there! i saw you are taking requests hehe So i have this idea, how would the Lads guys (in specific Sylus) react to your past situationships, lets suppose you just happen to mention your last romantic interest and the way he treated you before him and he's truly horrified and like ''did you really allowed that? sweetie, why? that's absolutely, no, not acceptable.'' bc obviously he is better and treats us as royalty, he would be horrified to find out the audacity some man have hahahaha if this is something you are comfortable with i would love to know your take on this, thank u so muchhh, mwa

hiiii oh my goodness tysm for the ask!! this is such a interesting premise, i've just written sylus's part for now but i have ideas (and some rough drafts hehe) for the other guys' parts that i hope to post in the next few days 🥰 so, without further ado:

sylus vs your (not-so-stellar) past relationships

690 words, mc/sylus, mini-fic format, mentions of (past) over-controlling relationships, they/them pronouns for MC, MC is described as wearing a dress, no smut but Sylus does get a lil handsy with it oops

request info • remember to reblog your authors!

zayne (coming soon) • rafayel (coming soon) • xavier (coming soon)

MC frowns at themselves in the mirror.

They don't look bad. Truly, they look good. Great, even, in the dress they'd picked out for tonight's auction. No doubt about it, the fabric hugs and flares in all the right places. It could be described as show-stopping, truly, with the way it suits them so nicely.

But, at the same time, it's clear that MC has some slightly different proportions to the online model. It doesn't affect how the dress fits, or how good it looks but it does affect how much of certain pieces of skin are showing. They run their fingers along the edges of the fabric, trying to pull a bit, wondering if half an hour is enough time to procure some fashion tape and tug the dress around so that the coverage is just a bit more... well, covering.

There's a knock at the door, more an announcement than a true request for entrance, and then Sylus is striding into the room, his neat suit jacket draped over one shoulder like a cape. He clasps an expensive-looking watch onto his wrist as he crosses the floor, smiling as his eyes drag up and down MC's figure.

"I was going to ask if you're ready," he comments with a quiet smile and a glint in his eye, as he steps up behind them and drapes his arms around their waist, "but now I'm not sure if I want to leave the house at all..." MC flushes, gaze breaking from the mirror and dropping to the floor.

"Yeah," they manage, breath tight in their chest, both from having him so close and from preemptive nervousness regarding any comments about their choice of dress. "This isn't super- uh- public-appropriate." Their gaze darts back up just in time to watch Sylus raise an eyebrow.

Once again, Sylus's eyes rake up and down their body, this time less of a flirtatious look and more of a genuine search. His thumbs brush gentle, idle circles over MC's hips.

"I don't see why it's not," he says, and MC almost believes him with how genuine it sounds. "Look," he says, tracing the lines of the dress with the smirk of a man that knows exactly what he's doing. "All the exclusive parts are covered, aren't they?" MC can feel their cheeks burn warmer.

"I mean- well, yeah," they choke out. "But... come on, I'm not stupid." They look up at Sylus in the mirror, trying their hardest to not think about the pleasant weight of his hands on their waist, not right now. "Not like I haven't had a boyfriend before. I know how guys think." Sylus's shoulders straighten a bit, and a slightly more serious expression crosses his face.

"Oh? Do you?" he says. "Enlighten me, then." MC huffs, feeling remarkably like an animal in a trap.

"You know. People don't like it when their partners, well, parade themselves around. I'm not stupid. I know this is a little too much to be wearing out and about."

Sylus gives a few slow blinks, then lets out a measured breath. He searches their face in their reflection for a moment, as if trying to figure out just what's going on. Finally, with a soft, serious voice, he speaks.

"I don't know what sort of insecure boys you've dated in the past," he says with distaste, "but I don't find myself in the business of telling my partner what they can and cannot wear." One of his hands moves to their jaw and cups their face, gently turning their gaze from the mirror to him. With a unique softness, he presses a grazing kiss to their lips.

"So," Sylus continues, "unless you yourself are uncomfortable with the amount of skin you are currently showing, I think it would be best to go ahead and get your shoes on so that we can begin our evening."

Well. MC's face splits into a relieved, grateful smile — they aren't about to argue with that. They relax a bit, leaning against Sylus as they gaze up at him over their shoulder.

"Sounds good," they breathe. Sylus smiles back.

"Good."

[paucubarsisimp]

Reader finding out that Pedri sprays her perfume on his pillowcase and bed shirt before away games because he misses her and the smell reminds him of her 🥺

spray of love

pairing: pedri x reader

summary: basically the request

warnings: none!

tagged: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @nngkay, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

it was a busy day at the stadium. the game had just finished, and the team was making their way to the locker room. you had stayed behind a bit to talk to a few of pedri’s teammates, including ferran and gavi, who always found a way to keep things light.

you were chatting with them, laughing about a ridiculous play from the match, when ferran, with that signature mischievous grin, decided to drop a bomb.

“so… have you noticed anything strange about pedri’s clothes when he comes back from away games?” ferran asked, leaning casually against the wall.

you raised an eyebrow, curious. “what do you mean?”

gavi snickered, leaning in to add, “you know how he always smells like you when he gets back? like, every time. his shirt, his pillow… it all smells like your perfume.”

you blinked, a little confused. “wait, really?”

“oh yeah,” ferran said, practically grinning from ear to ear. “the guy sprays your perfume on his pillowcase and shirts before every trip. says it helps him feel like you’re there with him when he’s away.”

your heart did a little flip at the thought, and you stared at the two of them. “are you serious?”

“completely,” gavi replied, now fully laughing. “we noticed it when we went on a trip last month. he kept talking about how your scent was the only thing that made him feel better when he was away. he’s basically obsessed.”

ferran shrugged. “i think it’s sweet, honestly. he’s a little too shy to tell you, but we all know about it.”

you were a little speechless, your mind racing. pedri had been carrying a piece of you with him all this time without you knowing. you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. it was honestly one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for you.

“you’re telling me… my perfume is his good luck charm?” you asked, half-laughing, half-melting inside.

gavi nodded, grinning. “he said it makes him feel like you’re there, even if you’re miles away. it’s adorable.”

ferran teased, “you should definitely give him a little surprise next time. maybe spray extra perfume on his pillow before his next game.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “i think i will. i think i’ll just spray it on everything.”

as you turned to walk toward the locker room to find pedri, gavi called after you. “he’s totally going to get embarrassed when you find out, just so you know.”

“don’t worry, i’ll make sure to make him extra embarrassed,” you replied with a sly smile.

a little while later, you found pedri in the locker room, looking tired but happy after the match. as soon as he saw you, a soft smile spread across his face.

“hey, cariño,” he greeted, pulling you into a warm hug. you hugged him back, but you couldn’t resist the playful grin that tugged at your lips.

“hey, how was the game?” you asked, trying to sound casual, though your mind was still on what ferran and gavi had just shared with you.

“it went well,” he said, pulling back slightly to look at you. “glad to be back home, though.”

you nodded, but instead of answering right away, you stepped back, sniffing the air dramatically.

“hmm,” you said, tapping your chin, “i thought i smelled something familiar.”

pedri furrowed his brows, clearly puzzled. “what do you mean?”

“oh, i don’t know…” you leaned in closer to his shirt, taking a deep breath. “maybe my perfume? you’ve been wearing it a lot lately, haven’t you?”

he froze, his face turning an adorable shade of red. “uh… w-what? i—uh…”

you couldn’t hold it in any longer. you burst out laughing, both at the cute look of embarrassment on his face and the fact that he had been caught. “ferran and gavi told me everything, pedri. you’ve been spraying my perfume on your pillowcase and shirts so you can feel like i’m there with you.”

pedri’s face went even redder as he stammered. “i—I didn’t—gavi and ferran—”

you smiled playfully, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “it’s actually really sweet, you know? i didn’t think you were the type to do something like that.”

pedri’s eyes softened, his nervousness turning into a gentle smile. “only for you, cariño.”

you grinned, brushing your fingers against his chest. “well, next time, i’ll make sure to leave a little extra on your pillow for you.”

he smiled, still a little bashful but clearly touched. “i’d like that.”

and just like that, in the middle of the busy locker room, with the sounds of teammates laughing and celebrating in the background, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you—quiet, intimate, and a little sweeter than before.

don’t forget to leave a request!

[stargirlygirl]

okay but like bakugou x seamstress fem!reader. you’re a fashion designer and have your own small label. for every event your husband goes to, he’s in one of your designs that was, of course, made by you.

he groans as you sit on the floor, one knee bent as you push up your glasses. you’ve got your tape measure wrapped around katsuki’s lower leg.

he thinks you look absolutely adorable as you concentrate on taking his measurements. he still finds odd that you insist on always re-taking his measurements every few months, but he's learned to shrug it off and let you have your way.

“i wanna make sure your clothes look good, suki!” you chime. you pushed him back by the shoulders, leading him to the centre of the living room where he now stands, peering down at you.

tingles erupt underneath his skin as your delicate, pin-pricked fingertips run up his shin to his thigh, tape measure gliding through his blond hair. and when you gaze up at him with those pretty lined eyes, he comes undone.

his heart beats calmly as you say, “you’re thighs have gotten bigger.” tch.

he huffs, “what’s that supposed t’mean?” you poke his thigh innocently, meeting his crimson eyes with a similar look.

you grin, “probably because it’s winter.” you gaze back at the tape measure before recording his new measurement in your trusty notebook. you can feel him glaring at you, but you know it’s in jest. you then measure his other leg and hips.

coming to his waist, you giggle, “and your waist has gotten bigger too.”

your husband grumbles, “yea, well, don’t get used to it. by summer, it’ll all be gone.” you look up at him, your palm cupping his cheek as you guide his gaze to yours.

you say sweetly, “but i like you like this.” with your other hand, you poke the fresh fat of his tummy. there’s not too much. just enough so he’s more cuddly now.

“oi! quit it, brat!” he steps back, evading your wandering hands.

you pout playfully, “oh come on, suki! let me finish my measurements, please.” he gives in after a minute of staring down at you, feigning irritation whilst utterly entranced by your soft gaze.

once you finish, you peck him on the cheek and skip off happily to your sewing room to start designing his new suit.

…⊹₊⟡⋆…

at the annual pro heroes gala, no one can take their eyes off your husband. you really outdid yourself this time, sewing his suit to perfection.

you only finished it a few hours ago as you had been making some last-minute alterations. all of the sweat and tiny pricks and screaming as you seam ripped was all worth it as your husband looks delicious. you could take a bite out of him the way the fabric falls over his skin, hugging his 50 pounds of ass and meaty biceps. you can’t decide which one you want to devour first.

seeing your dazed expression, katsuki comes back to you, eager to rid himself of old acquaintances and false pleasantries. he wraps his arm around your waist, drawing you into his side tightly as he mutters into your hairline, “everything okay, sweets?”

you hum, snapping out of it and gazing up at him. you say quietly, “just thinking about how good you look tonight. everyone keeps staring at you.”

katsuki chuckles gruffly, the sound pure ecstasy to your ears. “all because of you, doll.” you shake your head in protest, but your husband grabs your chin and tilts it back. your lips brush lightly, teasingly.

he whispers against them, “why don’t cha let me show you how grateful i am?” you bite on your lower lip as you think over his offer that you’re bound to accept. the little movement drives him crazy. crazy enough to smash his lips onto yours as photographers rapidly snap pictures.

the next morning, you’re sore. there’s no doubt about that. you groan as you roll over, taking in a grinning katsuki as he pulls you close, hand in his phone as he scrolls through twitter.

there are a million comments about you both: your kiss, your incredible design and sewing skills, how hot pro hero dynamight is, how lucky you are to be his wife.

you tilt your head up and kiss his jaw, mumbling into it a sleepy “good morning”. he hums as he tightens his grip on your hips.

after bellowing about a comment he read, katsuki draws you in impossibly closer and kisses your forehead. the heat of his lips lingers on your skin as he peppers kisses down to your ear. he grumbles, “love you.”

you sigh, curling your toes from the warmth spreading throughout your body. “i love you, too.”

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

"YOU CAN NOT MATCH THEIR FREAK

(Smut maybe kinda this ain't to deep but I just wanted to test the waters to see if I got that dog in me)

Many people think (including wb!readers partners) this is some kind of a prude—you back away when it comes to hugging, hell, you lean away when it comes to kissing. You get flustered over holding hands, and you get shy at hugging; they can feel your body shiver at the slightest touch. They start to think you’re touch-starved, but your friends do that stuff all the time, so why are you getting all shy when the manor is empty, and it's just you and them on your bedroom floor? Lack of partners, maybe? Your corner's first crush, lack of experience—Jaime's never been with a boy. You're insecure; Bart thinks you're the most beautiful girl to ever cross his eyes, but you’ve just never kissed anyone before. Cassie has never kissed a girl before; you’re both even. But really, they don't know how much of a freak you are—like, AT ALL. You paid five dollars for NSFW content from a dating sim, and you own the freakiest mangas you can get your grubby little hands on. You read and write the nastiest of smut; if they saw your freaky side, they wouldn't survive it—none of them.

You're hanging in your room with Bart. He starts to get nosy, looking at your manga collection. He sees a small compartment in the back hiding some more manga. He's thinking you didn't have any space, but lo and behold, it's something downright freaky: "Lady K and the Sick Man." He flips through a few pages, and by God, was it graphic! He didn't know the 21st century had this kind of stuff. And you owned physical copies. He’s blushing, skimming through the pages gently, imagining the two of you in these types of positions. His hands are getting clammy with sweat just at the thought of you getting off on this. God, you’re perverted, laying on your bed, breathing heavily, fingers dancing and teasing your clit as the posters on your wall stare at you, knowing how you really are when you’re all alone.

"Bart, stop snooping around; if you want to read some, I'll let you borrow them." His body is shocked when he hears your voice, but he doesn't drop the book. "So you're saying I can keep this, right, pretty girl?" You turn your head just to feel your stomach drop—you can't wiggle yourself out of this one. He's walking over to you slowly, stalking like a hyena to its prey. "Not so innocent, are you?" Jaime doesn't think it's fair that you act so shy, but he heard in your past relationships you were so open with your lovers, so out there, so handsy and grabby. With him, the two of you had a small kiss, and that was a stretch, because your first kiss was on Valentine's Day—corny, I know. You fell to your knees the moment your lips touched, but to take things slow is to take things easy; he can wait. No, he can't. Maybe you're hiding something in your sketchbook; you're always drawing in that thing. Maybe he'll find something that will give him answers.

So when you leave to go to the bathroom, he grabs your backpack and scavenges through it like a hungry raccoon, pulling out the notebook with the cute little sticker and faded paint on it. Time to know what's on your mind, and let's just say what's on your mind is him. It's filled with him and just him. He's never thought he looked so good in your eyes, never thought you saw him like this. The pride is kicking in. He lingers on every page until he finds "that one": a sketchy drawing of the two of you making out, bodies closer than he can ever imagine. It looks like a small comic with sketches of his pleasured reactions. The next one is a body spread page of you judging him in the most compromising positions— you behind him, kissing his neck as you played with an now-erased drawing of your hand on his cock, pulling the back of his long hair as the two of you kissed, and so many more. It's enough to make him go crazy! Is this what you've been hiding from—pushing him away for throwing pages in the trash can?

When you come to see the sketch, you tackle Jaime to the floor, flustered, trying to get it out of his hands. He holds it out of your reach as you sit on top of him; he can’t stop laughing, calling all kinds of perverted names. He throws the sketchbook across his room. You’re ready to get up, but he pulls on your hips, pulling you down on top of him. "I could always do a nude painting for you, cariño." He kisses your neck, and your body jolts. "Acting all shy when this is the kind of stuff you draw? I'll send you pictures if you need a reference," he teases. "Shut up! I just get curious!" You shout—way too curious.

You and Conner love musicals. You always have new bands for him to try out, and he's always finding new songs he wants you to put on your shared playlist. Whenever you play a song that is a little bit perverted or a little bit inappropriate—maybe a bit suggestive—you always seem to hold a straight face. But when you kiss, you can barely stand on your feet. Sometimes, you gatekeep songs with silly excuses: "It's for the girls" (lie), "Oh, it's in another language" (lie), "You just wouldn't get them like I do" (lie). But he won't bother you about it; if you don't want to tell him, don't tell him. He'll figure it out on his own. If there's one thing Tim taught him, it's that stalking is like research; you have to discover things no one has ever reached.

So, on his little mission to find out what you're listening to, he figured out a way to get into your Spotify. Nothing different—just a few new songs or more. They're not as bad or as underground as you; they were just regular songs, so why hide it? But this definitely wasn't what you were listening to. He had to up his game. Flying over to the manor, he was going to confront you until he heard a moan are you in pain. Oh god, he's flying to your window; your curtains were drawn. All he could see was the blue light from your laptop screen touching your face gently. He heard another moan; you were not in pain. He pressed himself closer to the window, seeing your headphones over your ears, your hand in your panties as you whimpered sweetly.

Oh, oh, OH. He didn't know you—wow, it's always the quiet ones, huh? His ears perked up hearing the sound of a guy groaning. Okay, you're definitely not listening to music. "Kon," you whined out as your fingers moved in imperfect circles. He's breathing heavily, feeling the fabric of his suit get tighter as he watches you tremble, struggling to keep your voice down. "Fuck...~" Okay, that's enough; he can't sit there and watch. He needs to help you, and you're going to help him. You hear a knock on your window; you whine, turning your head to the side and seeing those blue eyes. Oh god, he wasn't watching you, was he?