#(another one of the big !!! thoughts in my head right now)

[supernotnatural2005]

Sexual Encounters with Dean Winchester - Edging

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Exploring new kinks with Dean. How far can you push him before he breaks?

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings/tags: SMUT! (18+ONLY!!!), edging, swearing, kinks, fluff

AN: So for one of my bingo submissions, I was given the prompt Wax Play < (Which you can read here). I had mentioned making it into an anthology, kink series, and this kinda just fell out of my head and onto paper. 😅 So, I thought it would work well as part of that universe? I'd say this is a bit of a prequel, another kink exploration. If you would like to see more of these, please let me know? 💕

Masterlist

Dean woke up to the feeling of you.

Soft, warm, draped across him like you belonged there—which, at this point, you damn well did. The first thing he felt was your fingers, featherlight as they traced over his stomach, dipping beneath the hem of his boxers, not quite touching where he already ached from the morning alone. The second thing he felt was your lips, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along his jaw, down his neck, nipping just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Morning,” you murmured against his skin, voice still thick with sleep.

Dean groaned, blinking blearily as he reached for you, pulling you on top of him so he could kiss you properly.

Your mouth was warm, inviting, your lips moving against his in that way that made his entire body react instantly. The lazy slide of your tongue against his sent heat pooling in his stomach, and when you rocked against him — the feel of the warm dampness of your panties rubbing against him — he swore under his breath.

His hands roamed over your body, slipping under your shirt, fingers tracing the curves he knew so damn well. He needed you—needed you under him, around him, all of you — but you had other plans.

Your touch turned purposeful, teasing, your nails raking lightly over his chest, your fingers slipping lower, brushing over his cock through the fabric of his boxers.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his grip tightening on your hips as his head fell back against the pillow. His body was already strung tight, aching for more, and just when he thought you’d finally give it to him—

You stopped.

Dean let out a strangled noise as you rolled off him with a smirk, stretching like you hadn’t just left him hanging.

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning as he ran a hand down his face. Right. He fucking agreed to this.

This wasn’t out of the blue—not with you.

From the start, you had met him toe-to-toe, not just in the hunt, but in everything else. Sex included. You matched him in ways no one else ever had—you enjoyed it just as much as he did, never shying away from what you wanted, and you had been giving him a run for his money since day one.

Recently, though, you had started pushing things further—both of you had. It wasn’t just about good sex anymore (though, damn, it was always good); it was about exploring, testing each other’s limits, finding new ways to unravel each other. Some things were new, things neither of you had done before, and some were things you’d just never done together.

And that was how, last night, wrapped up in bed with you, his body still buzzing from round two, you had propped yourself up on your elbow and given him that look.

"Let me edge you tomorrow."

At first, he had laughed, figuring you were just messing with him. But then your fingers had danced across his skin, your voice dipping into something sultry and teasing as you explained—

"I mean it, Dean. No touching yourself, no finishing until I say."

That had sobered him up real fast.

You had gone on to say you wanted to see him unravel under you, to see him desperate, begging—something you knew he wasn’t used to. And Dean, ever the cocky bastard, had just smirked.

"Sweetheart, you can try."

Yeah. Big fucking mistake.

Now, here he was, hard as a rock and throbbing — and it was only the start of the day — while you walked into the bathroom like you hadn’t just ruined his life.

“…You’re evil.”

You just winked at him before shutting the door.

Dean groaned, rolling onto his stomach to press his face into the pillow. He was in for a long fucking day.

Dean was still on edge by the time the three of you sat down at the diner for breakfast. He’d taken an ice-cold shower, drank half a pot of coffee, and tried not to think about how smug you looked every time he shifted uncomfortably.

The place was your standard roadside joint—checkered floors, peeling leather seats, the smell of grease and coffee thick in the air. It was the kind of place Dean loved, under any other circumstances. But right now, he was too distracted, too worked up. 

You sat right beside him, thigh pressed to his, radiating warmth. It shouldn’t have been a problem. Should’ve been normal. But it wasn’t—not after you’re little stunt this morning.

He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself as subtly as possible. Sam was talking, something about the case, and Dean forced himself to tune in.

"Mark White," Sam said, tapping away on the laptop in front of him. "Every witness we've talked to mentions him—he’s been spotted with all the missing girls. Seems to be using some kind of college chatroom, specifically targeting young girls. He lures them in, promises VIP access to this underground club, and then poof—they’re gone."

Dean nodded, trying to focus. “So, what, we thinking lone vamp, or is this a full nest situation?”

Before Sam could answer, Dean felt it—your hand, settling lightly on his thigh.

At first, it was nothing. Just a casual touch. He forced himself to ignore it, to listen as Sam continued.

"I say we divide and conquer," Sam said. "One of us monitors the chatrooms, see if he tries to bait another girl. The other two stake out the club tonight—see if we can confirm he's our guy and if he’s really working alone.”

Dean hummed in acknowledgment, willing his body to relax. But then your fingers started moving—just barely, a slow, absentminded stroke along the inside of his thigh. Innocent enough, but his whole body reacted, tightening with anticipation.

He swallowed thickly, staring down at his coffee cup, burning a hole in the black liquid as his forced himself to focus.

“I can set up an alert on the chatroom, see if he sends out any invites while you two are at the club,” Sam said, clicking and scrolling on the device. “Might give us an idea of who he’s targeting next.”

Dean nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Smart thinkin’.”

Then your fingers inched higher, and his breath hitched. 

Shit.

He felt your nails rake lightly over the denim of his jeans, deliberate this time, your touch lingering, teasing. His jaw clenched, his grip tightening on his coffee mug. He could feel himself hardening, already so on edge from the morning that even this—barely anything—was too much.

But Sam was still talking. Dean forced himself to stay in the conversation. He managed a nod, as he lifted the mug to his lips, and offer a gruff “right”, even as you slid your hand just a little higher, fingertips grazing the seam of his jeans.

He almost choked on his coffee.

"You good?" Sam asked, frowning at him.

Dean cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as you gave him an innocent glance, the corners of your mouth twitching. 

Fucking tease.

"Yeah, yeah. Just, uh—" He swallowed hard, scrambling for an excuse. “Dunno, maybe I’m coming down with something.”

Sam frowned. “You do look kinda flushed.”

Dean exhaled sharply, not daring to look at you. “Yeah, well—”

You squeezed.

Dean nearly doubled over.

"—shit," he muttered under his breath, gripping the edge of the table.

Sam’s frown deepened. “Maybe you should sit this one out.”

“No!” Dean said quickly, maybe too quickly. “No, I’m fine. Probably just something I ate.”

Sam shook his head and chuckled. “I mean, you do live off red meat fried in cheese and products only made with corn syrup.”

You snickered at that, your hand finally retreating. Dean gave you a look—one that said you’re gonna pay for that—but all you did was smile sweetly, fake concern in your eyes.

He was gonna kill you. If you didn’t kill him first.

By the time you and Dean were parked outside the club that night, he was barely holding it together.

The teasing hadn’t stopped at the diner. No, you had spent the entire goddamn day tormenting him.

At the precinct, you had worn that tight-ass FBI pencil skirt, the one that hugged your curves just right, riding up slightly whenever you bent over to grab something. And you’d made sure to bend extra slow, knowing his eyes would be on you.

You hadn’t even touched him, but it didn’t matter. You’d glance over your shoulder with that smug little smirk, bite the tip of your pen and look him dead in the eye as you wrapped your lips around it, and every single time, Dean had to force himself to look away before he made a scene.

And now here you were, alone in the Impala, the dim glow of the streetlights casting a soft glow over your features, that look in your eye and Dean already knew he was screwed.

“Sweetheart,” he half-heartedly warned, his voice already hoarse.

“What?” you asked innocently, reaching for his belt.

Dean groaned, his head thudding against the seat. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You just grinned. “We’ve got time.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but then your hand was slipping inside his jeans, and whatever he was about to say turned into a strangled groan.

Your touch was slow, deliberate, your fingers wrapping around his cock with just the right amount of pressure. You stroked him to full mast, your lips trailing along his jaw, sucking at his pulse point making him twitch in your palm. 

“Fuck,” Dean drawled as you lowered onto your front on the bench seat, your mouth replacing your hand, wrapping around him like a warm hug. Your tongue teased the sensitive tip until his hands were gripping the seat, white-knuckled, and then you took him all the way.

“Holy—,” he choked on his own breath, his hips jerking as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking him deeper, faster, gagging slightly as you pushed him to the back of your throat.

It was too much. The whole day had been too much. He was right there, so close it hurt—

And then… 

You pulled away, and Dean actually whined.

You sat up and wiped at your mouth, giving him one last smirk as you settled back into your seat like nothing happened.

Dean slammed his head against the seat again, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

You hummed, pleased. “No, you don’t.”

Of course, you were right. 

The motel door had barely clicked shut before Dean was on you. His hands gripped your hips, lips crashing against yours in a desperate kiss—hot, messy, needy. He was shaking, breath ragged as he pressed you back against the door.

But you weren’t giving in that easy.

You smiled against his lips, teasing, and broke away just as he tried to deepen it. His frustrated groan sent a thrill through you.

"Strip," you ordered, voice honeyed but firm.

His pupils blew wide, his body thrumming with anticipation. He obeyed, yanking off his flannel and t-shirt, kicking off his boots as you stepped back toward the bed, sitting on the edge with an air of complete control.

By the time he was bare, standing in front of you, he was already rock-hard, the tip of his cock flushed deep red, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. He ached; every nerve raw from how you’d spent the entire day torturing him.

You spread your legs slightly, a silent invitation, and he stepped closer, but you placed a firm hand on his thigh, stopping him.

"On your knees," you murmured.

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening, but he obeyed. He sank to the floor, settling between your parted thighs, hands twitching at his sides, aching to touch—but he knew that wasn’t how this worked. Not tonight.

"You’ve been so good for me today," you praised, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. "Taking everything I’ve given you."

"Too much," he ground out, frustration darkening his eyes. "You—fuck, sweetheart, you ruined me today.”

You pouted in faux sympathy and leaned in to kiss him, slow and teasing. Dean chased after it instantly, deepening it with desperate hunger. You could feel the way his lips trembled, the barely contained need in every press of his mouth. He wanted more. Craved it. You smirked against his lips before pulling back, cupping his jaw when he tried to follow.

"You think you can last just a little longer, baby?" You cooed, trailing soft kisses along his cheek, down the sharp cut of his jaw, and then lower, pressing against the thick cord of his throat. His eyes shut tight, a shuddering sigh slipping from his lips at the feel of you.

His cock throbbed painfully, every nerve in his body screaming for relief, but your praise—fuck, your praise—was just as intoxicating as your touch. He needed to hear it as much as he needed to come.

So, he nodded.

"I want you to make me cum, baby," you whispered, your breath hot against his ear before you nipped at his lobe. Dean shivered. "And I promise, I’ll touch you."

A switch flipped.

He was on his feet in seconds, grabbing you, shoving you down onto the mattress with enough force to make you gasp. His movements were rough, desperate as he stripped you bare, tossing your clothes aside like they were in his way—because they were.

And then he saw you.

Laid out beneath him, glistening, perfect, drenched for him in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

"Fuck," he groaned, breath hitching.

"It’s all because of you, Dean," you told him, voice breathy, chest rising and falling faster. He watched your eyes flutter shut, your head tipping back as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin of your thighs.

"You have no idea how hot you are," you continued, voice unravelling, "how fucking beautiful. Watching you restrain yourself, the desperation to cum—"

Dean growled low in his throat and bit down, sucking a mark into the inside of your thigh. You gasped, back arching off the bed, and the sound shot straight through him, straight to his cock. He groaned, hips rolling into the mattress for any kind of relief, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

When his gaze met yours again, you were smirking. Of course you were. You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew how much he loved this—your taste, your praise, the way your body surrendered to him.

You reached down, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip. His lashes fluttered, eyes slipping shut at the contact, like he was savouring it. Then he opened them again, gaze burning.

"Make me cum with your perfect mouth, baby."

Dean let out a low, guttural noise and then—he was on you.

The first swipe of his tongue was slow, deliberate, and he groaned at the taste of you, his fingers digging into the plush flesh of your thighs as he spread you wider. He licked into you, drinking you in, his nose pressed against your clit, his stubble scraping the soft skin of your inner thighs.

"Jesus," he rasped, voice muffled against your cunt. "You taste so fucking good."

He couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t stop. He flicked his tongue over your clit, sucking it into his mouth, and the sound you made—needy, wrecked—made his cock twitch against the mattress. His hips rutted down, searching for friction, but it was secondary to this. To you.

"Dean—fuck—" You whimpered, thighs trembling around his head. "Just like that, baby—feels so good."

His groan vibrated against you.

Praises. You knew what they did to him. He ate them up as greedily as he devoured you.

Your fingers fisted in his hair, tugging him closer, and he moaned, tongue working you over with precision, like he was born to do this. The way you came apart in his mouth, the way your body clenched and shuddered beneath him—it was his fucking religion.

"Dean—" Your voice cracked, high and needy.

"You’re so good at this," you gasped, making his cock throb painfully at the praise. “Such a good boy for me, taking care of me first.”

Dean groaned into you, the vibrations sending another shockwave of pleasure through your body. His grip on your thighs tightened, his nails digging into your skin as he redoubled his efforts, desperate to hear more.

“Oh, God. Don’t stop," you whimpered, your breath hitching. “You’re so fucking perfect, so good.”

A deep, wrecked sound tore from his throat, his hips rutting against the mattress as if your words alone could get him off. He was lost in you, in the slick heat of your body, in the way you fell apart just for him.

"Come on, baby," you cooed, threading your fingers through his hair again, tugging just the way you knew he liked. "Make me cum."

Dean damn near growled, his tongue flicking and curling against you with a new sense of urgency, chasing that moment—chasing your pleasure like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

And then—

You shattered, back arching off the mattress as your release hit, pleasure rolling through you in waves. Dean groaned, gripping your thighs tighter as he licked you through it, savouring every pulse, every shudder.

And fuck, watching you like this—watching you lose yourself because of him—he can never get enough of it. Feeling it, the way you pulse against his tongue, knowing he’d done that, he’d unravelled you completely—it nearly wrecked him.

When you finally caught your breath, your fingers slid from his hair, caressing over his jaw, his cheek as Dean climbed up your body, and then you pulled him down, kissing him deep and thorough, humming at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

And fuck, was it hot.

He was so lost in the kiss, he barely had time to process it before you pushed him onto his back.

His head hit the pillows, his chest heaving, every muscle in his body tense with need.

Then you were kissing down his torso, slow and teasing, your lips tracing the ridges of his abs, the dips of his hips. His cock jerked against his stomach, swollen and aching. You dragged your lips along his length, your breath hot against his sensitive skin.

You kept him there, right on the edge, pushing him higher and higher, until every muscle in his body was trembling. His hips bucked slightly, chasing more, but you stayed just out of reach, dragging your tongue along his length, your touch too light, your pace too slow.

His head tipped back, throat exposed as he let out a ragged moan, chest heaving. "Fucking hell, sweetheart—"

You hummed against him, feeling the way he twitched, saw the way he clenched his jaw so tight it might crack.

Then you wrapped your lips around him—soft, slow, but not enough. Never enough.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he groaned, voice hoarse. "Please—"

But you didn’t give in.

You kept him there, right on the edge, holding him in that unbearable place of need.

And Dean realised, for the first time, that he actually couldn’t take it.

His head fell back against the pillows, his hands gripping the sheets so hard they might rip. "Impala."

You froze.

Dean’s entire body was shaking now, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. "Baby, please," he rasped. "I can’t—I need—"

You didn’t make him beg any further.

This time, when you wrapped your lips around him again, you didn’t tease. You didn’t hold back. You took him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him hard, your hand stroking the base in tight, relentless motions.

Dean choked on a curse, his hips jerking as his body locked up beneath you. His fingers twisted into the sheets, shaking, like he was barely holding himself together. "Oh, fuck—"

You didn’t stop. You wanted him to let go. Your tongue flicked over the sensitive tip, your pace never faltering as you worked him with everything you had—your mouth, your hands, all of it, pushing him higher and higher.

Dean let out a strangled groan, his abs clenching, his thighs trembling as his entire body tensed. And then, he shattered.

A guttural moan tore from his throat as pleasure slammed into him, so intense it stole his breath. His release hit him like a freight train, so hard and fast his vision blurred, white-hot euphoria crashing through him in waves. You milked him for all he was worth, working him through it, swallowing every, last drop until his body jerked beneath you, raw and oversensitive.

"Jesus Christ," he rasped, his voice wrecked and hoarse. His head lolled to the side; his arm flung weakly over his face as he tried to catch his breath.

You crawled up beside him, pressing a kiss to his damp skin, running your fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

"Did so good for me, Dean," you murmured.

He let out a breathless, exhausted laugh, still trying to regain control of his body. "I think you just killed me, sweetheart."

You smiled against his chest. "Worth it?"

Dean groaned, rolling onto his side to pull you flush against him, his grip still firm despite how completely spent he was. "Yeah," he admitted, voice rough. "Fucking worth it."

And as he drifted off, tangled with you in the aftermath, he was already wondering what the hell you’d come up with next time.

Because patience might not have been his strong suit.

But he’d suffer through it for you.

Every single time.

AN: Okay I hope y'all survived that one? 👀😅 i’m sorry i couldn’t resist with some Dean smut for Valentine’s day 😏🥵

If there are any other kinks you guys can think of or would like to see, I'd be happy to take requests! Who doesn't enjoy some kinky times with Dean? 🥵 As always thank you for reading. ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitandsee

[nanamisgirly]

imagine nerd!Choso, you both are in the same degree. he didn't really noticed you at first but, for some unknown reasons, he kept bumping into you— wether in the hallway or you'd be few rows in front of him during lectures. And just like that, he developed an obsession toward you. and might god forgive him, but he couldn't help jerking off his cock at the thought of his length disappearing between your lips, eyes flickering up at him with a teasing glint. he was kind of sad you didn't even know he existed :/

but how lucky! in one of your lesson, the teacher assigned a partnered project. and fortunately, the duo were made with a randomized system!! Choso did not think twice, with some quick manipulation on his computer, he paired himself…with you! almost too easy

on your side tho, you had never heard the name Choso before. So when you reached out to set up a time for the project, you didn't expect much of it. But now…sitting across from him…his wide figure looming over the table, inked arms straining against the ridiculous tightness of his shirt…that was another story. How hadn't you noticed such a pretty face?? sharp eyes lined with kohl, two messy buns with some rebellious strands framing his beautiful features, and perfect dark purple painted nails tapping against the table. ‘am i blind or sum?’ you wondered. 

nerd!Choso was originally awkward with social interaction but more so when it came to you. He clears his throat "I- uh," he started, voice trembling "f-for the work, would you like t-t- to…" his cheeks flushed an adorable pink as you stared at him, giving him time to formule his thoughts ‘such a cute boy’ you mused.

"we can do it at my home!" he suddenly blurted out, words rushed, as if the poor man hadn’t said it now, he never would have :( "i- i mean, t-the assignment! o-of course..." he was so embarrassed of himself, his hands nervously cupping his warm milk chocolate "if— if you want to.." his eyes darted anywhere but yours, unable to hold your gaze. not when you were looking so intently, like you were seeing right through him. because what if you had some superpowers, the kind to read his horny thoughts, the kind to know exactly how many times he fucked his fist to the image of your pretty mouth stuffed full of his aching cock. catastrophe!!!!

nerd!Choso was blushing furiously, messier, stuttering over his words more than usual when you were unconditionally giving your best to give the man a gooood ride. “p-p-please” he whined, voice breaking. You leaned in, your breath warm against his ear “tell me, my pretty shy boy…what are you begging for, hmm? use your words, pretty". 

choso's hands gripped your thighs like a lifeline, fingers digging into your skin. “y-you— mngh, it's— it's too good. i can't last— i— please,” he choked out, eyes glossy as you slammed your hips down harder. His happy trail rubbed against your clit with every grind. the friction giving you as much pleasure as him.

“preeetty boy," you cooed, trying to maintain your composure despite having his fat dick stretching you enough to see stars. “is this what you've been thinking about the whole year? me riding you? or even better,” your mouth went for his neck, licking softly, contrasting with the pulsing grip of your cunt, milking his cock. "touching yourself to the thought of my glossy lips wrapped around your pathetically big dick ?" your voice was so sensual "tell me, tell me and i'll give you what you want” that man was moaning, the sluttiest moans escaping his throat. in response, your walls clenched harder, trying to suck him in even deeper at this point. “i— i was— i mean, i- fuckfuckfuck" choso were sur he lost the ability to form a simple sentence, his head falling back as he felt his tip kissing your cervix. but he tried his best to continue "i— i was…pumping my— my cock at the- mngh, thought o-of you..t-takin' me…d-d-deep,” poor boy was losing his mind. You've never seen a man being that pussy drunk, so openly lost into you, that was addicting.

your fingers trailed over his inked pecs, moving along the curves of his tattoos making their way to his nipples, and you pinched. not too rough to hurt but enough to send jolts of pleasure through his body. “look at this good boy," you sighed, feeling choso throbbing inside you. "earned the right to cum inside me… would you like that?”. 

you loved teasing him. he was a total whimpering, fucked out mess beneath you. ‘so cute’

nerd!Choso was as sur as the sky is blue that you had superpowers, somehow. and you both sur as well scored a beautiful A on the assignment.

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

[laambfuzz]

—- cat and mouse. ft schlatt. ᝰ

summary: after schlatt's audio, you had to make it known you had discovered it. all goes well and you think you finally have the upper hand, until you log back onto soundgasm to see a surprise waiting for you.

— tags: smut, lunch club!schlatt, mutual masturbation.. technically?, schlatt does porn (duh), dirty talk, degradation and light praise, open ending.. again

authors note: happy valentines my loves!! wanted to treat you with a longer post and hoped to get this out for the 14th for you all (it's still the 14th for me, so!) whether you celebrated it with someone or not, you've got some pornstar!schlatt to help you with the day. once again, credit to @fanficfox who started this lovely idea.♡

schlatt had finally came back to streaming, after a few days off

and you were going to take tonight as your chance to get him back in this game of cat and mouse you had been playing

you lurked in chat for a while, letting the stream run by as normal. you wanted to wait a little, before inevitably pouncing your prey

and so when he had mentioned a bathroom break, you decided it was your time to strike

you got your donation amount and message ready for him returning, your index finger hovering over your mouse. you wanted to get the donation in as soon as possible, before others started to do the same

you heard the clambering of schlatt almost falling into his room, drawing your attention back to the screen as he sat back on his chair, announcing his return

your finger hit the donation button instantly, and now you just had to wait for the payment to confirm, and for tts to pick up your message

it took a minute, but finally the tts bot spoke up and announced your message

"i can't believe i was soaked a few nights ago, and it was all your fault. tsk tsk, big guy."

schlatts face contorts into one of shock, face turning to his other monitor as he tried to catch who sent the donation

as soon as he saw your name he felt a shiver go through his spine

but he changed his facial expression to one of disgust, shaking his head and murmuring a "what the fuck?" to act like it was just a random thirst comment

but he knew it was more than that, and so did you

chat was on schlatt's side of course, calling out the weirdness of the donation and noticing how uncomfy schlatt had gotten

then another donation pinged through, schlatt's eyes darting to the screen to see if it was from you

and it was

"you made a bet that it was going to rain last stream, and it did."

chat is suddenly spamming OMEGALUL's and KEKW's, laughing at the misconception but still shocked at how the last donation was worded

schlatt swallowed thickly, letting out a heavy sigh as he felt relief. relief from what? he didn't know, but somehow chat not caring made him feel hidden, still

"what, were you thinking of something else? fucking pervs."

the last donation comes through, and chat just continues to laugh. they assume it's at them, and that's what you wanted

but once again, you and schlatt knew it was more than that

schlatt sent somewhat of a glare to the camera, and you felt his dark eyes peering right through you

but you felt a thrill of excitement at the same time, happy to have one-upped him after a few nights ago

however, you really weren't expecting him to get you back so soon

you got into bed later that night and had your phone already loaded onto schlatt's soundgasm page, and that's when you seen it

a new video had been uploaded tonight— desperate little thing

a heat suddenly started to pool in your belly as you read the title, and you clicked on it instantly

your free hand trailed under the covers, nudging your underwear to the side as your middle and index fingers grazed your clit

you press the start button and you're instantly greeted with a dark, low chuckle

"bet you thought you were real clever, huh sweetheart? thought you could try tease me like that and get away with it?"

a whine leaves your throat at his voice, the fact it's condescending and so much lower than you usually hear on stream

you hear a scoff, a creak of the chair before his breath is suddenly hitting the mic

he breathes deeply into the mic for a few moments, his breath hitching occasionally so you can only imagine he's once again stroking himself on the other end

"pathetic fuckin' donation messages, is what they were," he starts, inhaling through his nose before heavily exhaling. "could tell how needy you were. wanted me to see so bad you had to give me your fuckin' cash?"

your fingers toyed with your clit before you rubbed slow circles, moaning softly at his low voice, and how he was insulting you

"bet you're already touching yourself, huh? like a filthy fuckin' slut, all because im talkin' down on you," he chuckles dryly, before groaning lowly. "just pathetic. can't keep your hands off yourself when you see me. so- fuck.. so desperate."

and he was right. you were touching yourself, getting even wetter as he spoke down on you, as if you were nothing

if his words were so wrong and mean, why was it making you feel so good?

a sweet moan drops from his lips, and you can hear the wet sounds as he jerks himself off. "but don't you worry, sweetheart. i like my sluts desperate."

and something about that line drove you wild. you felt your face grow hot at the embarrassing whine you let out as he said it, but it's not as if he was here to hear it anyways

your fingers sped up, stroking the circles faster against your clit as you bucked your hips up into your fingers

anything for the extra friction

the audio continued with schlatt talking you through touching yourself, talking about how he's stroking himself and all the lovely groans, pants and grunts that comes with it

suddenly he stops all movement though, and nothing can be heard

"should i finish, hmm? should i let you hear me cum? beg for me slut, c'mon."

and it's so fucking stupid, and you shouldn't beg for an audio file

and yet..

your fingers are slipping downwards, allowing your thumb to take over the role for rubbing your clit, as the other two fingers now slide inside you

"fuck! please— please schlatt, let me— let me hear it. need to hear you— please."

the words fall from your lips without command, pouring right from your heart as you ache to hear him in return, needing to hear as he hits his climax

you hear a long, slow grunt from the audio causing you to gasp and perk up, fingers continuing their work

"i know you're a good slut f'me, letting everyone know how much you need me. and you love it, don't you? love me putting you in your place, over a fuckin' audio file? pathetic."

schlatt lets out a whine as he pants, a shuddering moan escaping him and you can tell he's cumming, judging by the higher moans and faster movements

"come on, fuckin' listen to me. you better cum now sweetheart, i'm telling you."

and as if his words had some control over you, suddenly your whole body was shaking as the orgasm overtook it, and your slick began to soak your fingers

you worked yourself through the orgasm, slowly but surely working down the pace of your fingers and thumb before you slumped into the bed, chest heaving as you closed your eyes, revelling in schlatt's own heavy breathing

"next time— next time you come to play, remember who owns you sweetheart. i'll see you next time, because i'm hoping you'll come back for more," he starts, before he cuts himself off with a chuckle

"who am i kiddin'? of course you'll come crawling back to me, you always do."

[strawberriesoup]

don’t come crying₊˚⊹♡

♡ genre: minho x reader, oneshot, friends to lovers, angst, fluff

♡ warnings: swearing, kissing, heartbreak

♡ wc: 2.7k

♡ a/n: HAPPY VALENTINES DAYY here’s a quick, bite-sized minho oneshot that i somehow wrote yesterday and today. it’s not proofread in any way so good luck reading (JK I HOPE YOU ENJOYY)

if you make it all the way through, please leave some feedback! i always love to hear other people’s thoughts!! your feedback is what keeps me writing stories like these <33

♡ taglist: @jisunggy @hannamoon143 @fly-you-dam-fools @chancloud8 @hannieslittlerockstar @vixensss @skzpvol @gxtwllsn @yinzgarden @kayleefriedchicken @nightmarenyxx @dwesion

if you would like to be added to my series taglist or my general taglist, send me a comment or an ask! <3

―୨♡୧―

Objectively speaking, Minho is an asshole.

Said asshole is currently sprawled over your couch, eating your cookies, and he has the nerve to berate you about who you chose to go out with on Valentine's Day? He’s insufferable.

Your eye twitches as Minho scornfully regards the picture of your date— which you had only sent him after he had nagged you nonstop for ten minutes— pointing out that his hair color didn’t quite suit him, and also that he should probably shave more often.

Having had quite enough, you snatch the phone from his grasp, earning yourself a loud “Hey!” of protest. Shutting the screen off, you toss it on the ground and cross your arms, glaring at his form on the couch next to you. If you were a jerk like Minho, you definitely would have smacked him by now. But, since you’re not, you press your mouth into a straight line and blink widely at him.

“You done?” You ask thinly.

Minho stretches before responding, whole body quivering with the effort.

“No, but I suppose I should shut up now if I want any more of those cookies,” He examines a nail with apparent disintrest.

“Good choice,” It takes everything in you to not wipe that goddamn expression off his face. He just looks so… ugh. You can’t even look at him right now. The sight of his face incites a type of rage in you that should probably be studied. “Why do you care so much anyways, huh? It’s not like your date is any better,” then you gasp, tapping the side of your head in mock remembrance, “Oh, wait, that’s right! You don’t have a date, do you?”

The roll of his eyes and curl of his lip give you your answer before he can even speak.

“That’s what I thought. Now you can shut up and eat the fucking cookie,” You snap, pushing yourself up from the couch. Minho’s voice trails after you as you storm off to your room.

“Just don’t come crying to me when he stands you up tomorrow!”

Your door slams shut before you have to hear another word from his mouth.

This is dumb. He’s a perfectly fine guy! Minho’s just being overdramatic for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Have you been wrong about guys before? Yes. Has Minho been right the majority of the time? Also yes. But that doesn’t mean he’s right this time.

You sigh dreamily just thinking about it. Just last week, he had asked you to be his valentine with a huge bouquet of crimson roses and box of chocolates. Call it childish, but you have been absolutely giddy ever since. The world seems three shades brighter, and you walk with an extra skip in your step. That is, until a certain someone had to go and open his big, opinionated, mouth.

His words circle in your mind, but you shake your head quickly to clear it. Minho’s probably just in a foul mood because you have a date and he doesn’t. Why he’s taking it out on you though is beyond you, but you try not to take it to heart too much.

You have a good feeling about this one. You just know it will go well tomorrow, and you can’t wait to rub your success in Minho’s smug face.

જ⁀➴

You have a bad feeling about this.

Your date-to-be is sitting across from you, leaning back and listening to you talk. You two had decided to touch base at a cafe before tomorrow, just to go over plans. As you are reviewing the meetup time, you swear you can sense a hint of annoyance in the curve of his lip. His knee taps up and down, as if impatient. No, that can’t be right. Minho’s words had just gotten to you, that’s all. Nevertheless, your stomach sinks a bit as your date finishes off his coffee and stands up.

“Yup, sounds good.” He tosses his empty cup in the trash, “I gotta go, but i’ll see you tomorrow,”

Without so much as a wave goodbye, you watch him head out. The door announces his departure with a pleaseant ring.

There you sit, half-finished latte in hand. He didn’t even offer to pay.

You hate to admit it, but Minho might be right. You don’t understand. What did you do wrong? Did you come off as too eager? Minho does always tell you that you’re too clingy, you guess. But it just doesn’t make sense, you had seen your date just the other day and he was all smiles, holding your hand as you walked and wrapping his jacket around your shoulders when you shivered. You must have done something wrong for him to be acting like this, there’s no other explanation. Unless he’s just had a particularly bad day.

You nod as you push out your chair and stand. That might just be it. Still, Minho’s words of warning run rampant in your mind, despite your efforts to push them to the back of your mind.

Everything will be fine, Minho’s just a hater.

જ⁀➴

Just because he’s not here yet doesn’t mean he’s not showing up.

This morning you had put on the cute little dress you had planned with a hum on your lips, a good nights sleep having managed to put some pep back into your step. When you had finished touching up your hair, you were not at all surprised to find Minho spread across your couch, watching a show and eating a bowl of cereal like he owned the place. You’re quite used to it at this point, he doesn’t know how to stay at his own house for the life of him. No words were exchanged, Minho merely glancing in your direction in greeting before returning his attention to the show.

Good. You like him better when that big mouth of his is shut.

You tap a heel nervously, the inside of your cheeks sore and raw from how much you had been chewing on them. How long has it been now? Half an hour? It might even be more, it feels like you have been standing beside this bus stop for ages. Countlesss couples had passed by, fingers intertwined as they tuck their partners hair behind their ear, or stifling giggles as whispered jokes are exchanged.

He’s not coming, is he?

Of course he’s not, you were a fool for thinking he would. Your unanswered text stares up at you, the read receipt sitting gut-droppingly below it. Hot tears prick at your eyes as you hunch your shoulders into yourself. What do you even do now? Just… go home?

Your feet move on their own, carrying you in the direction you came. When you started running, you’re not sure, but the chilly breeze stings your flushed face as you push your way through the busy sidewalk.

You pull out your phone as you run, tapping on Minho’s contact. Your blurred vision makes it nearly impossible to type a sentence. A simple, ‘you were right’ is all it reads.

Sent.

જ⁀➴

Minho had graciously not blessed you with his presence when you stumble through your front door, cheeks stained with tears and nose running. You don’t even know if he read the message, but you’re sure once he does, he’s going to be a smug little shit about it, as per usual.

It’s all you can do to not hurl yourself onto your bed and just sleep for the next three days. Maybe you’ll wake up and this will all be some bad dream.

Your disheveled appearance in the mirror stares back at you dully, assuring you that this is not a dream, and you did indeed just get stood up on Valentine's Day.

The cold of the mirror chills your hand as you lean forward on it, breaking eye contact with yourself. Your mind still can’t comprehend it. Why? Why are you always second best? Every single time you open your stitched up heart up to someone, they rip out the seams and leave you with the pieces. Frustrated tears sear behind your eyes, but you purse your lips and shove them back down. There’s no point in crying.

A single knock. Your front door opens before you can take a breath to answer it. Only one person would be so bold as to enter your place without so much as waiting for a response. The one and only, Lee fucking Minho.

You can hear him shuffling around the front door, most likely kicking off his shoes. There is absolutely no way you are going out to greet him, he’s only here to rub it in your face that he was right the whole time. And while yes, that is in fact true, it’s really the last thing you need to be hearing right now. Your fist unintentionally curls in on itself as you hear his footsteps approaching your door.

You cross from your mirror to your bed, flopping down and burying your face in the pillow. Maybe it will block out his voice when he comes in and starts yapping.

A long moment passes. You don’t hear his movements anymore. Then, softly, three knocks sound against the wood of your door.

You decidedly do not answer. He really can’t take a hint, huh?

Instead of opening the door immediately like usual, Minho waits a moment before knocking again. The knocks are just as soft and careful as before. The switch in mannerisms has your eyebrows furrowed. What’s the matter with him?

“What do you want, Minho.” Your voice is muffled, face still stuffed in the pillow.

This time, your door opens. The soft padding of his footsteps cross your room, but you don’t raise your head. You’re not sure what keeps you hidden. Embarrassment? Anger? Both? Nevertheless, you won’t be showing your face anytime soon.

The edge of your bed dips as he sits on the edge of it, not a word uttered. Yet. You tense as he takes a breath in, preparing your heart and mind for whatever he’s going to spew at you.

And yet, no such thing happens. A hand lightly sets itself on your shoulder, making you jump slightly in surprise. As he draws his hand soothingly across your back, your shoulders drop and you let out a shaky sigh.

When you finally gather the courage to look up at him, you find his gaze fixed on his lap. There, he holds a small handful of assorted wildflowers. You look from Minho, to the flowers, then back to him. Since when were his lashes this… pretty?

“It hurts, you know.”

His voice, nearly a whisper, cuts through the silence. He keeps his eyes locked on the flowers as he fiddles with one of the petals.

“Seeing you give some loser a chance,” he continues, “And you get hurt. Every. Time.” He searches your face, that little wrinkle between his eyebrows visible. “When are you going to decide you’ve had enough?”

You’re trapped in those big brown eyes of his, filled with a mixture of concern and genuine confusion. Despite his efforts to be the biggest nuisance in your life, he cares about you, even if he rarely shows it.

At your lack of response, Minho sighs and drops his hand from your shoulder, bringing it to his little bouquet of flowers. His little bouquet that suspiciously resembles the flowers planted outside of your building, along the sidewalk.

You flip over, facing the ceiling. It’s easier than facing him.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I just… I just want to be loved, y’know? Every single time, I think: ‘this one’s different’,” You let out a rueful laugh, “guess you were right, huh, genius?” You prod him in the side with one finger.

Not even a witty retort falls from Minho’s lips. In favor of an answer, he offers to you the bunch of flowers.

You turn your head, watching as a pink petal flutters from the bouquet and lands gracefully on your sheets. Your eyes never leave his face as you reach out slowly and accept his gift.

A beat of silence falls as you bring the petals to your nose. The quiet is unusual. With Minho, the bickering is practically non-stop, a quick response always on the tip of both of your tongues. But now, only the quiet whistle of his breath fills the room.

“Is this..?” You tilt your head at him as you draw yourself into a seated position.

He blinks a couple times. You wonder if he’s ever asked anyone to be his valentine before.

“It’s- yeah.” He states simply, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.

Minho’s demeanor is somewhat relaxed, but the way he keeps twisting his ring to the tip of his finger and back gives tell to his nervousness. His lips are pursed a bit at the corners, his little dimples making an appearance.

This is a side of him you rarely see. In fact, he’s never acted this way before. His blunt quips replaced with a type of openness that seems foreign even to himself.

You know what. Fuck it.

Grabbing his chin, you draw close to him. His eyes widen and he freezes in place. You take in his features with a squint. The angle of his brow, the fullness of his lips, that little beauty mark at the end of his nose. Instead of making your stomach twist in annoyance, his face ignites a little flame in your chest. You’ve always known Minho as an attractive man, you’d have to be blind to think otherwise, but you’ve never seen him quite in this light.

This whole time, he’s been trying to protect you. In his own, strange, Minho way.

His throat bobs as he swallows, lips parting. The sight of his bunny teeth peeking from beneath his lip is the final straw. You close the distance, capturing his lips in a swift kiss.

The moment is brief, and you pull away just as quickly as you had leaned in, his chin still grasped between your fingers.

He blinks rapidly for a couple of seconds, a habit of his you’ve picked up.

You break into a smile at his reaction, giddy at finally having the upper hand.

“You know, you could at least— oof!” Halfway through your sentence, you are interrupted by Minho’s grip on your arm as he yanks you towards him.

He catches you as you fall backwards over his lap, his arm supporting your back. You’re at a loss for words, your mouth opening and closing dumbly a couple of times. Minho lets out a huff of laughter and rolls his eyes.

“You’re actually an idiot, hope you realize that,” he observes.

“Just kiss me, you asshole,”

Grabbing the collar of his shirt, you drag him down to you. You can feel him smile against your lips as he tightens his grip around you, one hand drifting through your hair while the other holds you steady.

This. It feels right. More right than any of those other guys had made you feel, despite their fancy gifts and extravagant shows of so-called ‘love’. Maybe the reason none of them had worked out was because deep down, you truly only want one person. And that person is here, holding you between his own two arms, quenching the thirst for him that you didn’t even realize you had until you tried a sip. His lips move in harmony with yours. He’s firm, but not desperate. Gentle, but confident. Your body melts under his every touch, until you can't imagine being anywhere else but here.

He pulls away first, cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink that matches the flowers sitting forgotten on the mattress. He quirks an eyebrow wryly at you.

“So much for not coming crying,”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, “Excuse me? I did not!”

“Did too.”

“Did not!”

“Did too.”

“You’re such an ass, Lee Minho.”

જ⁀➴

[sunwonkism]

He keeps asking me who is he?!

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Synopsis: You're stuck with a sulking Jungwon after finding out he wasn't your first love. He was hellbent on finding out who had your heart first, not knowing he's currently in the same room as him.

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Pairings: fem!reader x Jungwon

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Genre: non idol au, collage au bit it's not mentioned, established relationship

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Wc: 1,586

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Warnings: tiny angst, very fluffy, implied age gap (nothing too big js like 1-2 yrs), cursing, you have a(n older) brother

a/n: My valentine's special ig?? AHAHAHAH it's inspired by a kdrama scene, guess which one it is! >u< lmk if I missed anything!! Enjoy!

"Jungwon”

Silence.

“Baby pleas-”

“No” he responded. “You told me I was the first man you fell in love with. Who's the ‘bus guy’ F/n said you loved before me??”

more under cut! ⬇️

Jungwon was on the couch sitting with his legs and arms crossed. His eyes were slightly furrowed and his lips formed into a slight pout.

It was such an adorable scene. You would've giggled at the sight if you weren't determined to get your boyfriend to forgive you by tonight. He's been depriving you of affection since your hangout with F/n and her boyfriend yesterday, and you just can't stand it anymore.

You were on the armchair diagonal to him. Trying to reason out with him before your patience runs out.

“I wouldn't say love-”

“F/n said that you applied to the same tutor house he went to, even when you didn't need help studying. She also said that you found out his favorite cafe and stayed there just to catch a glimpse of him even when they made shitty drinks.” He stated.

You were honestly surprised at how much he remembered. You recall talking about your ex crush for a solid 5 minutes before moving on to another topic.

“Well-”

“Not only that!” Oh he wasn't finished. “F/n also mentioned how you’d ask your brother to take the long way home so that you could follow ‘bus boy’ and see him again because that's always where he was headed! You hate going home late! You didn't even go to the same school as him! How could I say you were in love with the guy with the amount of effort you put to see him??”

“Yeah well, every girl falls in love with a guy on a bus at least once right?” You tried to reason out.

Jungwon huffed before facing the other side, completely turning away from you.

You sighed before walking over and sitting next to him.

“Babe” you started, hands going up to hold his face so that he'd look at you. “You don't have to worry about anything, okay? Yes I liked him, but that's in the past now. I'm with you now, aren't I? There's no need to be jealous baby” you kissed him on the nose after talking.

Jungwon melted into your touch. “I'm not jealous, I swear. I just wanna know which asshole had your heart first.”

You held back a laugh. You were 100% sure if you laughed right now he will not let you sleep with him tonight.

“Okay, you really want to know?” You asked again.

“Yes.” Jungwon replied, with a cute but serious expression on his face.

“Then let's make it a game”, you replied. “If you can guess who he is with 3 or less of my hints, I'll buy you that new hoodie you wanted—and lots of kisses.”

“And if I lose? I don’t even know the guy.” Jungwon raised his eyebrow.

You simply smiled. “Oh you do know him, trust me. No hoodie if you lose.”

He thought about it for a minute, before eventually agreeing. What's the worst that could happen right?

“Okay, first hint” you started. “He didn't go to the same school as me.”

“I already know that” he whined.

“Oh shush if I tell you something else you'll know who it is immediately”. You softly glared at him before continuing.

“Next, he was in the grade above me.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Okay, that's new. What's the last one?”

You smirked, ‘this is gonna be fun’ you thought.

“The number of the bus he always rode was 726” you replied.

Now he was really confused, his eyebrows were now furrowed and his eyes kept darting around the room. As if the walls around him would give him the answer he's looking for.

“Bus 726? I'm..very lost” he said after a few minutes of thinking.

“Final answer?”

“No wait!” he exclaimed.

You waited for him as you both sat there, the atmosphere so quiet as he thought long and hard about who the mystery man was.

“Was it Jaeyun?” He asked after a long pause.

“Nope”

“Yeonjun?”

“Babe he's like, 3 grades above me.”

“Ricky?”

“We were classmates 5 times.”

“Felix?”

“I barely know the guy.”

“Nicholas?”

“Who?”

“Maybe it's Sungho-”

“Okay!” You grabbed him by the shoulders, cutting him off. “I promise you love, it is none of you friends. I don't even know majority of them”.

Jungwon just looked at you, clueless. “Well if it's not any of my friends, who could it be?”.

You sighed before standing up to grab something from your bag, feeling Jungwon's eyes following you.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“I’m going to grab my phone, I still have some pics of him from before.” You said as you pulled out the gadget from your shoulder bag and started scrolling through your photos app.

“What?!” Jungwon gasped. “My love, why the fuck do you have pictures of another man in your phone. Just tell me, are you still interested in him?” He asked, stress and hurt evident in his tone.

You started to feel bad at this point, but you can't back out now. This will be the grand reveal.

You sat back down on the couch, scrolling to find a pic of the mystery guy. Meanwhile Jungwon sits next to you, practically hovering over your phone with how close he was.

“Aha!” You exclaimed.

“What? What is it?” Jungwon asked. His eyes are instantly glued on your phone screen. wanting to know what you found.

“I still have the best picture I took of him saved, look!” You turned the phone so that he could see it.

Jungwon made sure to take a good look at the picture, lots of names immediately coming to his mind. But none of them match the face in the picture because he sees himself.

It was a candid picture of him on a bus. He was looking down on his phone, doing something. He doesn't recall how old he is here, but he guesses he was in his early teenage years from the uniform he's wearing in the picture.

“Wait…how do you have this? I don't understand…” Jungwon trailed off.

You mentally face palmed. “Baby, didn't you ride a bus to go home after school? Does Bus 726 not ring any bells at all?”

A few seconds passed, before a light bulb went off his head.

“Oh my god” he muttered. “I'm the bus guy you fell in love with? Your first love?”

You let out a relieved sigh. “Yes, Jungwon, you are my first love.”

Jungwon was shocked. He felt relief and joy all at the same time. But he's still confused over one thing. “Wait but- but how do you have this picture of me? Oh my, were you in the bus stalking me during this??” He asked accusingly.

“What? No!” You retorted. “I took it while I was in the car. You literally mentioned that I follow ‘bus boy’ around in my brother's car like 20 minutes ago, remember?” You defended yourself.

You looked at the picture, suddenly feeling nostalgic. “That was actually the second U-turn my brother did. The bus wasn't moving but I couldn’t tell my brother to stop the car and cause traffic just because I didn’t snap a proper picture of you now could I?”. You laughed at the memory. “My brother was pissed after that”.

“I thought of showing you when I gathered enough courage to talk to you. But by the time I did, you already graduated and changed schools.” You told him with a small sad smile.

“Oh” Jungwon replied. His mouth stayed at an ‘o’ shape as he took the information in.

“Um” he hesitated. “You didn't follow me until I went home, right? Just to make sure you didn't actually stalk me before we met.” He asked.

“What? No!” You retorted, again. “I always stopped following you after the first stoplight. I may be there at places you're usually in without you knowing, but I know where the line is” you reassured him.

Jungwon let out a relieved sigh. “Okay, just making sure…”

“Wait, is this why your brother was like ‘thank fuck it's over’ when you introduced me to your family as your boyfriend?” He asked.

You smiled at him sheepishly. “Yeahh, aside from the U-turns, I asked him a lot of favors regarding you so that's why…”

Jungwon grinned, “I'm your first love.” he was teasing you right now. But deep down, he was glad that the competition he thought he had was only himself. He didn't know what he'd do if he had to fight another man for your love.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah yeah don't get too excited. You're not getting any hoodie because you didn't guess it right.”

“I don't care,” he responded, still grinning widely. “Me knowing the fact I was your first love is enough of a gift for me. Now, where are my kisses?”

You stood up, preparing to run away from him. “Not a chance babe, you lost!” You said as you dashed down the hallway, heading to your shared bedroom with him.

Not long after he ran after you. “Hey, you didn't say no to kisses if I lost!” He said, laughing as he chased you.

Jungwon is a very jealous man. That's how you know he loves you. Luckily for you, you always know how to reassure him that he's the only one.

Divider: @/toastray

[forcaleb]

a picture worth sharing — caleb

warnings — fluff, childhood friends to lovers (kind of, it's implied)

notes — i think childhood friends to lovers is one of my favorite tropes in the books and fics // tags: @aomiiine @sydneybee @tojicide

caleb taps your shoulder, trying to show you a picture on his phone. “hey, pip-squeak, do you remember when-”

you quickly cut him off. “nope! no, i don’t. i actually don’t know what you’re talking about.” you turn your head away, refusing to look at his phone, already suspecting it’s something embarrassing.

“you didn’t even let me finish,” caleb says, a pout evident on his lips. “come on, i promise it’s something good. you’ll love it.”

“no way! the last time you tried showing me something, it was an embarrassing picture of me as a kid!” you grimace, recalling the picture of you crying because you fell off a slide. caleb had snapped the shot with your grandma’s phone before tending to your scraped knee. “i’m not looking at whatever you’re about to show me.”

“hey, i swear it’s nothing embarrassing this time,” caleb promises. “it’s actually a picture of us from your graduation day.”

that piques your interest. “huh? really? where? i haven’t seen my graduation pictures in so long.” you reach for caleb’s phone, but instead of handing it to you, he raises it out of reach. “hey! i thought you wanted to show it to me!”

“yeah, but aren’t you going to apologize for… whatever that was just now?” caleb raises an eyebrow.

you groan. “ugh, fine. i’m sorry for assuming you were going to be mean to me. forgive me? pretty please?” you give him the classic puppy eyes, his ultimate weakness.

“pip-squeak…” caleb sighs, shaking his head. “alright, i give up. here, look.”

he shows you his phone, and your eyes widen at the sight of the picture. it is a picture of you and caleb together during your graduation day. you stand just in front of caleb, your body angled slightly toward the camera. you are holding a bouquet of sunflowers in both hands, your face lit up with a warm, cheerful smile. behind you, caleb stands slightly to your side, his posture relaxed and confident. one of his hands rests gently on your shoulder, a subtle gesture of support and closeness. 

“cute, isn’t it?” he asks, grinning.

“how have i never seen this picture before?” you exclaim.

“well…” caleb smiles mischievously. “i made sure the photographer didn’t upload this to the graduation album. that way, i could surprise you with it anytime, like now.”

“wait, was it the photographer or one of your friends from the academy? i remember you coming to my graduation with a friend... gideon, right?” you ask, recalling how gideon kept teasing caleb about being so smitten with you.

“hm… well, it’s both, actually.” caleb points out. he swipes left and shows another version of the photograph. except, this time it’s a different shot. in this image, you are posing playfully in front of caleb, tilting your head to the side with a big, joyful smile. you raise one arm high in the air in an energetic and carefree gesture, adding a lively and cheerful tone to the scene. caleb stands behind you, his body angled slightly toward you, wearing a relaxed smile. his expression is calm and gentle, complementing your vibrant energy. “this is the one gideon took, and the previous one was taken by the photographer.”

“why didn’t you send these to me before?” you whine. “i could’ve used one for that empty photo frame I’ve been keeping in a box for a whole year.”

“okay, okay, i’ll send them now.” caleb chuckles as he opens your text thread and sends both pictures. “see? told you it wasn’t anything embarrassing.”

“yeah, yeah. i’m sorry for assuming the worst.” you apologize again, narrowing your eyes at him. “but from now on, you’d better send me any photos of us together. don’t you dare hide them from me again.”

“sure,” caleb agrees easily, his grin turning playful. “as long as i get to keep the silly pictures of you.”

“caleb! don’t you dare!” you shout, smacking his arm, while he laughs, clearly enjoying your reaction.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (ix)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, groups of people that believe in the paranormal

A/N: im sorry i disappeared i am employed now and also i am depressed. anyway pls lemme know what u guys think i love reading comments and screaming and everything you have to say MWAH. next one is a big one boys

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky wakes up to a weary, bone-deep sense of dread.

Not the kind of dread that means a sniper is lurking outside his window. No, this is a very specific kind of dread that sets in suddenly, altogether at once.

He knows exactly what it means. 

You are about to ruin his day.

His eyes flicker open, adjusting to the light filtering through his windows. 

The floor is quiet. Too quiet, almost. 

Alpine is curled on the windowsill, tail flicking idly. But he finds her staring at him already with mild judgment, as if she knows exactly what’s about to happen.

Bucky rubs a hand down his face, exhaling. He doesn’t know why he feels like this, because you’d taken to simply texting him the location these days, and then banging on his door. 

It was routine. He’d come to expect it. Like it, even, the way someone likes mundane sounds such as the buzz of the microwave heating up their lunch everyday. 

Except there’s a sudden, loud slam against his window.

Alpine launches off the windowsill, scrambling away with a hiss. 

Bucky is out of bed before his brain catches up. Years of instinct launch him into motion as he grips the knife under his pillow, pivots toward the sound– 

And sees you.

Hovering. Three stories up.

Waving.

Bucky full-body recoils and it takes everything in him not to launch his fucking knife at the window. 

He glares at you, barely awake, trying to process the absolute absurdity of this moment.

You tap your wrist like a watch, mouthing, "Video shoot."

Bucky turns around and launches a pillow at the window, furiously mouthing back, “I hope you fall.”

You grin.

His furiousness turns to raging annoyance at best. Which, in turn, makes him angry again. 

Just as he’s about to throw something heavier, FRIDAY dims the window until you fade from view. He doesn’t know who FRIDAY is protecting. 

Bucky collapses back onto his mattress.

He contemplates ignoring you again, but experience has taught him that only makes things worse.

Five minutes later, he’s stomping down the stairs. 

Bucky yanks open the car door and slides into the passenger seat.

Wordlessly, he shoves a coffee in your direction.

You blink at it. “How do you know my coffee order?”

Bucky grunts. “Do you want it or not?”

You take it, narrowing your eyes as you watch him chug it like it’s water. “Coffee doesn’t even work on you. Why do you drink it?”

He pauses mid-sip.

You tilt your head. "Do you even like the taste?"

Bucky slowly stares at the coffee like it personally wronged him, because no, he’s coming to realise that didn’t really like it. 

“…No,” he allows slowly. 

“Then why are you drinking it?”

His grip tightens around the cup. He doesn’t have a good answer, so he doesn’t look at you.

“Bought it,” he grumbles. ‘M gonna drink it.” 

“Sunken cost fallacy, right there,” you hum. “You bought it, so now you have to suffer through it. That’s a weird thing you do, y'know.”

Bucky exhales sharply, already done with this conversation. “It’s just coffee.”

“It’s just coffee,” you agree, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “And you just can’t let yourself pick something else. You a glutton for punishment?”

He scowls, taking another sip of the stupid beverage he didnt expect to be having a crisis over in the evening. 

"Whole world of warm drinks out there, Barnes. You ever tried chai? A matcha? You could be a matcha guy."

"No."

"You could be drinking hot chocolate. I think you'd like that. Marshmallows and everything.”

Bucky grips his cup harder.

"Hell, even warm lemonade would be a better choice."

Bucky scrunches his nose at the thought of warm lemonade and chugs his coffee out of spite.

You shake your head. “Whatever. Drink your hot bean water then.”

Silence stretches. The car hums down the highway. The weight of whatever he’s been avoiding lingers in the air between you.

Only five minutes later does it occur to him to ask.

“Where are we going?”

You shoot him a wide smile. “To make you some friends.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “I have friends.”

“You have Sam. And Steve.”

“Sam and Steve are enough.”

“Sam and Steve are legally obligated to be your friends.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “That’s not how friendship works.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Is this another haunted house? ‘Cause if it is, I'm staying in the car."

"No haunted house."

"Then what?"

You drum your fingers on the wheel. "We're going to check out the fastest-growing paranormal club in the city."

Bucky exhales through his nose, mentally preparing himself. 

"What’s the scam?" he deadpans.

"No scam." You pause. "Well, maybe a little scam. But I’m choosing to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity."

Bucky glances at you. “What kind of scam?”

“Maybe you’ll find yourself today, y’know? Maybe you’ll even be a treasured member of this club.” 

Bucky leans all the way back in his seat, shutting his eyes before he has an aneurysm. 

The location is exactly as sketchy as Bucky expected.

Which, to be clear, is very. 

A run-down community center at the edge of the city, sandwiched between a failing laundromat and a storage facility that definitely has bodies in it. 

The parking lot has three cars, two of which are missing doors. The third is a white van with no plates.

Bucky stares at it. “I’m staying in the car.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You can get your organs harvested. I’m not in the mood for that today.”

“We are not getting our organs harvested.” 

“We are about to walk into a situation that requires a white van with no plates.”

You tap the steering wheel. “You’re focusing on the wrong details.”

“Oh? What fuckin’ details should I be focusing on?”

You refuse to make eye contact. “I will not be taking questions at this time.”

A sign by the door says:

WELCOME, SEEKERS OF THE TRUTH.

Bucky points at it. “What the fuck is that?”

“They’re just seekers, Buck.” You unbuckle. “They’re seeking. Let them seek.”

“That’s not what that means.”

“They have over five hundred members in their Facebook group.”

Bucky rubs a hand down his face. “The Boogeyman fan club has eight thousand, so what?”

“Okay, but to be fair— Boogeyman’s hot.”

Bucky stares at you.

You stare back, unblinking.

“Do you want me to respond to that?”

“Only if you agree.”

Bucky inhales slowly, counting to ten.

Still, he gets out of the car. Because he always does.

The guy at the door looks exactly like someone who would be enthusiastic about this kind of thing. Whatever it was. 

Late twenties, cargo pants, black t-shirt, and… a cape. He stands in the doorway like he’s personally responsible for deciding who gets to know the truth.

Bucky is already exhausted.

You, however, are delighted.

“Hi!” you chirp, walking up to him. “We’re The Gra–”

Instead, the guy squints. “Hold on. I know you. You’re from TV.”

“Uh, yeah, he is–” you glance at Bucky, who glares at you for throwing him under the bus, but it’s not like you had been set up for interviews just yet or had any major public saves like the Battle of Earth. You operated on a scale similar to Spiderman until now. The Avengers were really just your first big corporate job. 

“No, I recognise you,” he looks pointedly at Bucky, before narrowing his eyes. “You got no reason to be out here–”

A few years ago Bucky’s shoulders would have tensed immediately, already bracing for the inevitable Winter Soldier comment.  

“Hey now,” you force a smile onto your face. 

“--showing your face in public,” the guy continues, gearing up. 

“Okay,” Bucky says, because he’s dealt with enough of public vitriol to really have it faze him anymore.

You prepare to take a step in front of him, body stiff. “Now let’s not get–”

“After breaking her heart like that? Shame on you.”

Bucky blinks. You also blink, steps halting.

“I’m sorry, whose heart?” he asks, looking between you and the guy.

The guy snaps his fingers.  "You're the one on that show. Love Island, aren’t ya?”

Bucky’s entire soul exits his body.

He blinks. Once. Twice. 

He processes the words and does not fucking understand them.

The guy nods, like he’s just cracked a case. “Yeah. My girlfriend fucking hates you, bro.”

Bucky opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

You, on the other hand, look like this is the greatest single living moment of your life. “Oh my god, Barnes.”

Bucky looks to the sky for help. None arrives.

“What the fuck is a Love Island?”

The guy crosses his arms. “Deny it all you want, man. But we all saw what you did to Lulu.”

“I was literally a prisoner of war for seventy years.”  

“And yet,” you say, eyes twinkling with evil delight, “you still had time to emotionally devastate a woman named Lulu on national television.”

Bucky turns to you, betrayed. “Who the fuck is Lulu?”

The guy shakes his head in disappointment. “Shame on you, man.”

You clap the guy on the shoulder. “You’re so right– what’s your name? Troy? You’re so right, Troy. Bucky here thinks just because he has a pretty face and a rockin’ bod, he can break hearts without consequences.”

“What the fuck is a Love Island?” Bucky asks in despair. 

“Ashamed of what gave you your fame?” You click your roof to the top of your mouth. “People would do anything for the opportunity to be shirtless on a beach for three months–”

“Someone tell me what the fuck a Love Island is.” Bucky drags a palm across his face.

“It’s not you? Oh.” Troy deflates, glancing at you instead. “Are you the one from Love Island then?”

“I wish.” You pull your lips into a straight line. “Some people just aren’t grateful for the chance they’re given.”

“Oh wait. I recognise you, you're from that ghost show.” He brightens up again, wagging his finger at you. “My niece loves you.”

You nudge Bucky in excitement at the news, as if you hadn’t induced fifteen years worth of self-hatred into him twenty seconds ago. “Tell your niece she's got great taste.”

He nods briefly. “So, what are you doing here?” 

“We heard this is the fastest-growing paranormal group in the city. Just wanted to check it out.”

The guy perks up immediately. “Oh yeah! The Ghost’s energy is real strong tonight. Dennis said he’s been slamming Monster Energy all day, so the vibes are there, man.”

Bucky’s expression does not change. “Who is Dennis?”

“Our medium.”

You nod sagely. “Of course.”

“He’s got a newsletter. You wanna subscribe?”

“Gee, I sure do,” Bucky says dryly.

You elbow him. “We wanted to join the club first.”

“Alright,” he chirps. “I’m sure Dennis won't mind. Meeting starts in ten minutes. You can grab your cloaks by the door and head on in.”

Bucky stops. “Cloaks?”

“Yeah, it's imperative to the Ghost that we dress the same.”

“Absolutely fucking–” 

“Don't worry about him, he's only upset that he didn't get to bring his own cloak,” you interject immediately. “It came free with his coffin and some sunscreen.”

Bucky steps on your foot. You give him a small kick.

“Alright, well, you can have ours. It’s usually five bucks each but I’ll let it slide if you sign something for my niece,” Troy says. “If you're filming, please keep the flash off.”

“You got it, boss,” you salute.

The guy shrugs. “Meeting starts in ten. You can drink from the chalice and head on in.”

Bucky immediately locks onto that second part. “The what?”

The guy pulls out a black goblet filled with dark red liquid.

Bucky immediately takes a step back.

The guy holds it out. “It’s the Ghost’s essence. Dennis prepares it before every meeting.”

Bucky and you stare at it.

You lean in, sniffing inconspicuously. “What ingredients are in the Ghost’s… essence?” 

The guy shrugs. “Dunno. Dennis just goes into a room, talks to the Ghost for a bit, and comes back with this. It’s different every time.”

Bucky’s stare is flat. “Oh yeah. That’s normal.”

“Here, try.”

Bucky does not move. “I’m allergic.”

“To what?”

“Yes.”

The guy frowns. “You haven’t even tasted it–”

“I’m allergic,” Bucky repeats. “Real bad. Death and everything.”

You nod solemnly. “I already had some.”

The guy blinks. “You did?”

“Yep, just couldn't help myself. Found some around here and I felt the Ghost really call to me.” You beam rather convincingly. 

“I think it’s calling to you again, you should try some more,” Bucky tells you.

“Nope. Had plenty. Gotta save some for the others,” you say loudly, kicking his foot again. “It was great, though. Ghost tastes great– I mean, got great taste.”

“Well in that case, here’s your cloak and you can head on in,” he smiles at you before turning to Bucky. “You’ll have to pay, though.”

Bucky’s face scrunches. “I’m in the fuckin’ show too.”

“So you are from Lo–”

“I was not on Love Island,” he declares definitely.

“Right,” he drags, like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Five bucks.”

Bucky stares at him. Troy smiles right back.

Bucky grumbles, relenting as he reaches out into his pocket to shell out five dollars.

Bucky had taken the mandatory black cloak with all the enthusiasm of someone being handed a parking ticket.

You, on the other hand, are already swirling yours around your shoulders like you’re about to perform a monologue.

“Personally, I’m not too fond of the silhouette, but it’s fine for a last-minute fit, I guess.” You adjust the hood, pulling it low over your eyes before striking a pose. “Do you think I look cute?”

Bucky blinks. He wasn’t expecting the question. His brain short-circuits almost immediately. 

You tilt your head, waiting.

He cannot figure out what to say, so he simply lets out a grunt. It’s extremely embarrassing. 

"I'll take that as a yes."  

Bucky makes a face. 

Instead, he moves to something else entirely. Flips his cloak over his shoulders, tying it into a perfect, military-precise knot in two seconds flat. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, that was fast.”

“It’s a knot. Not rocket science.”

You step in closer, reaching out to tug lightly at the strings of his cloak. “Did you go full Boy Scout at some point? Or was that just, like, a super useful skill in your assassin era?”

Bucky does not move. “Are you done?”

You grin. “Nope. I like being all up in your space. You’re even hotter up close.” 

He immediately steps back.

“Coward.”

“Don’t want you ruining my knot.” Bucky tugs it tighter, then glares down at your very haphazardly tied cloak. “Jesus. That’s a disaster.”

"I was going for a more casual look."

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Give it.”

“Oh, so now you want to touch me?”

Bucky freezes for half a second, until you laugh and then it turns into a half-hearted glare. 

Then, without reacting, he reaches out and untangles your mess of a knot with infuriating ease.

You watch him carefully as he ties it. He’s surprisingly gentle, fingers working quickly.

“You’re being very careful.”

“You’ll find a way to strangle yourself otherwise.”

“Is this your version of caring?”

Bucky ignores you.

“Oh, it is.”

“Just– shut up. Five minutes. I’ll pay you.”

Bucky steps back, hands off. The knot is perfect. He gives it a quick tug to test it, then nods.

You stare at him.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You grin, pulling the hood over your head. “I just think it’s adorable that you want me to live.”

Bucky mutters something unintelligible under his breath and gestures toward the meeting hall. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The room is set up like a middle school talent show.

Rows of metal chairs, some folding, some clearly stolen from a diner, all arranged in a rows in front of a small, elevated stage. The stage itself is haphazardly draped with black fabric, trying to give the illusion of magic but mostly looking like a supermarket Halloween clearance aisle.

There is, for some fucking reason, a fog machine in the corner, already hissing out an unnecessary amount of smoke. The whole room smells faintly of lavender essential oils and burnt plastic.

"I gotta say, I expected more," you hum, adjusting your cloak as you scan the room.

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Maybe some candles? You’d think they’d at least have, like, a bowl of blood or something.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “Not everything has to fuckin’ theatrical all the time. Just ‘cause you’re floating around 23 hours of the day, scaring the shit out of everyone.” 

You grin. “Oh, so you do think my theatrics are effective.”

Bucky realizes his mistake immediately. “That is not what I said.”

"No, no, I heard it," you smirk, nudging his shoulder as you lean in slightly. "You're saying that my supernatural entrance at your window was extremely well-executed."

Bucky glares at you. “I am saying nothing.”

"You're saying I have a flair for the dramatic. That my execution is flawless. That you—"

Bucky reaches over and yanks your hood over your face.

"Mmph—" You flail immediately, dragging it back. "Rude."

Bucky hides a smile to himself but doesn’t say anything.

You narrow your eyes. “You know, you should consider a little showmanship yourself.”

"No."

"I mean, look at you," you gesture vaguely at him, ignoring him. "You've got the sexy ex-assassin, current caveman aesthetic locked down. I’m imagining a trench coat. Maybe a few monologues in the rain. You’d be unstoppable.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do I have to do to get you to shut up?”

“Put your tulips on my tulips–”

He gets up and moves one seat over, away from you and the heat blossoming on his face. 

You follow right behind him with a grin, satisfied.

Mercifully, something your attention is drawn to the people entering the room before you notice his face flushing. 

The crowd is a mix of true believers and people who are clearly just here for the novelty of it. Some attendees look fully committed, hoods drawn, faces solemn. Others are whispering and pulling out their phones, probably posting about this on some platform.

You, however, are too busy fiddling with your cloak.

"This fabric is trash," you mutter, pulling at it. "What is this, polyester? It’s so staticky."

"That’s the real issue here," Bucky mutters.

"It is when I keep getting shocked," you say, rubbing your wrist where the fabric clings.

Bucky watches you for half a second too long when you tug at it with annoyance, brows pulled together.

Maybe he should’ve been honest earlier when you asked how he thought you looked. 

Instead, he clears his throat and looks away.

More people take seats. 

The atmosphere changes suddenly when a man in his late thirties walks up to the podium. 

He wears a deep purple cloak, slightly different from the ones given at the door. His hair is combed neatly back, his expression calm and composed.

He raises a hand. The murmurs in the room die down almost immediately.

You lean toward Bucky slightly. "Okay, so we have our medium."

Bucky doesn’t respond, but his jaw shifts slightly.

The man smiles. "Welcome, seekers of truth."

A few people nod reverently.

Bucky leans toward you. "You owe me five bucks."

"What?"

"I bet you earlier that he was going to say ‘seekers of truth’ within the first two minutes."

You peer at him. "I don't remember making that bet."

“We absolutely did.”

“You’re just trying to get back the five bucks you spent on the cloak.”

On stage, Dennis continues.

"Tonight is special," he says smoothly. "The Ghost’s energy is stronger than ever."

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky leans in again. "If I start screaming, do you think they'll kick me out?"

"Fuck around and find out, babygirl."

Instead of responding, he reaches over and yanks the knot he had tied securely for you loose. 

You glare at it. Then at him.

"If you wanted to take my clothes off, you could have just asked," you whisper. “At least buy me dinner first.” 

 "I hate you."

"You don't."

"I’ve never hated anyone more."

"You don't," you say, tapping his knee lightly. "You like my company, even if it causes you physical pain. That’s why it sucks even worse for you."

Bucky makes a sound that is a little too like a growl. 

The speaker, oblivious, raises his hands again.

Then, with a slow, practiced movement, he turns back toward the stage.

The room settles. The tension shifts.

Bucky doesn’t like it.

Not because it’s weird, exactly– he’s been in weirder places. But because he knows a performance when he sees one.

Dennis moves deliberately. Every step, every gesture, designed for impact.

And then, in a voice as smooth as a radio host’s, he speaks.

"The Ghost moves among us tonight," he says, pacing slowly across the stage. "I felt it earlier. A shift in the air. A whisper."

Bucky leans toward you.

"Did the Ghost also tell him to crank the fog machine to maximum?"

You bite back a grin. "It adds ambiance."

"It adds a fucking fire hazard."

You both glance toward the corner of the room, where the mist machine continues pumping out thick, curling fog.

It’s a lot, and smells faintly chemical and like no fog Bucky has ever smelt before. It spills along the floor, reaching all the way to the back row of seats.

Dennis stops, tilting his head.

"The energy here is special," he murmurs. "Do you feel it?"

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky does not murmur.

Instead, he tunes in, watching the room, the way people react. Watching the way Dennis pauses just long enough to let silence work in his favour.

It's polished. Which means it’s bullshit.

You’re half-listening, half-scanning the room. Not just in the way you usually soak in information, but in a subtler way. Like you’re looking for something.

Bucky notices. He wonders if he should ask. 

Dennis closes his eyes briefly, as if receiving a message.

"Some of you are new," he says suddenly, his voice shifting slightly. "Some of you have never been here before. You’ve been drawn here. Led here. Perhaps by curiosity, or fate, or something deeper. Whatever the reason, you are here now."

And then Dennis gestures to the audience.

A few nods in the audience. Someone exhales softly, like they’re already halfway into a trance.

Dennis begins to pace. Slow, measured steps, his fingers twitching slightly as if he’s channeling something.

"The spirit has whispered to me once again." His voice lowers. "I have seen visions."

A murmur spreads through the audience.

Dennis stops. Closes his eyes for effect.

"Dark visions. Visions of the Great Ghost of Nickasta’s past."

Dennis opens his eyes, gaze sweeping the room. "Tonight, we will consult with– is someone filming?"

Every head snaps around, straight toward you and Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t move.

You blink. Then, very slowly, you look down at the camera in your hands.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.” You raise your hand slightly, like a student in class. “We're new. The Graveyard Shift here to witness the—”

You dig around in your pocket, pulling out a folded-up flyer, squinting at it in the dark.

"—transformative power of communicating with ghosts."

You fold it back up and look at him expectantly.

Dennis’ smile tightens. "Recording is not encouraged." 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

Dennis stares at him. With just a touch too much hesitation, he says “It disturbs the Ghost from reaching full power.”

Bucky’s head cranes.

"Keep that thing on," he tells you as if you had any plans of shutting it off, before raising his voice. "Why not? Don't you wanna get your message out there? Help people?"

Dennis' clasped hands remain tight.

"It is not my message," he says smoothly. "It is the Ghost’s. I am merely a vessel."

Bucky’s lips press together. "Great. Free publicity for the Ghost."

"Yeah, we're doing pretty well on YouTube," you add, twirling the camera slightly in your hands. "Could be doing better on Instagram, but this guy refuses to go live."

Bucky glares. “It’s not gonna happen. Let it go.”

Dennis’ jaw tightens slightly. His gaze does another quick sweep of the room.

Then, finally– 

"No." He plasters on a tight smile. "You may continue. But know this—some things cannot be captured by a device so primitive as a camera."

"I’ll take that risk." Bucky leans back in his chair, smug, before adding under his breath to you, "He’s definitely scamming."

You snort. "Give him a chance."

"I gave him five bucks."

"And you got a very hot cloak out of it, which your shoulders look incredible in."

Bucky glares ahead.

"What visions were you having?" someone in the crowd shouts, following it up with a strange laugh. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

Dennis claps his hands together, a smooth pivot away from the interruption.

"Ah, yes, the visions!" he announces, voice swelling with importance. "The Ghost has revealed to me a story of great suffering! Of betrayal! Of a spirit trapped! A mighty beast who could not be contained!"

A few people in the crowd gasp, others burst into tiny giggles. Bucky wonders if others were here for the shits and laughs too. 

"How big?" someone in the crowd shouts.

Dennis' eyes light up. He lifts his arms wide, stretching as far as he can.

"He was... huge!" he exclaims, pacing the stage, cloak billowing slightly behind him. "Larger than life itself! And he was trapped, my friends."

A few people gasp softly.

Dennis cries out, "Trapped in chains by the very people who claimed to ‘love’ him!"

Bucky’s face remains blank.

"His mighty beast was strong, yes, but he was misunderstood. He wanted to be free, to live among the people in peace. But no! They took him, they made him fight, and then they... they trapped him!"

Dennis throws himself against the table, inhaling deeply like he’s just been hit by divine revelation. "They made him climb a tall tower!"

He wonders if it actually hurt the guy, all the throwing himself around that he was doing. 

"They paraded him for all to see, mocking him!"

Bucky's eyes close briefly, as if in pain. "Okay."

Mist grows stronger around the room, almost like he’s stuck in a room with a bunch of vapers.

His nose scrunches up immediately, eyes stinging lightly as he blinks.

“What the hell is that smell,” he blows the air in front of him.

“Chemical, with undernotes of sweetness,” you note. “Is that what the Ghost smells like or is it a creative interpretation?”

“It's gonna give me a migraine.”

“Breathe through your mouth, then,” you say, raising the camera up and zooming into Dennis doing… whatever.

Bucky just shrugs the stupid cloak off his shoulders and ties it around his face in a makeshift balaclava.

“I feel it,” Dennis announces, throwing his hands in the air. “It is here.”

“What is?” the crowd cries.

“My migraine,” Bucky answers.

You shove at his knee with yours.

Someone stumbles to their feet. “The beast... the spirit... it’s... it's all so beautiful!”

People around him burst into giggles.

“I can feel it, it’s... inside me!” someone in the front laughs loud enough to drown out the music.

“Yes! Yes! The Ghost is in all of you!” Dennis shouts, pointing. “We are all like the beast, misunderstood and bound by chains, but we must rise above it all—

“I am rising,” the same cloak guy from earlier chuckles, knocking the chair behind him to the ground as he stands up. “I see the Ghost.”

“Oh,” you comment, looking around to see everyone with their hands up in the air.

Bucky's arms stay firmly crossed over his chest as he sits slumped in his miserable little chair, staring at the crowd around him around him.

“Everyone's doing something,” you observe through all the loud laughter.

“I can see that,” he says, noticing that your knee continues to brush against his after you shoved at him before coming to a rest. His throat constricts in a way that makes talking a little more difficult.

He pulls the stupid cloth tighter around his face because whatever the smell was, it clearly was giving him a physical reaction.

“I’m having FOMO.”  

“By all means, do not let them make you feel that way,” Bucky grumbles, in what he thought was a tone dropping with sarcasm.

“You're right,” you say, dumping the camera on him before standing up with your hands in the air.

Great. Now he was responsible for this thing too.

“They tried to tear him down from his tower,” Dennis shouts.

“Who?” you shout back like it’s a fucking improv show.

“The Witch! The righteous witch, walking along her path of gold!”

“What?” you stop immediately. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It’s the pink lady from Wizard of Oz,” Bucky says casually.

You turn to him, eyebrow raised.

“His great beast is King Kong. Tower, beast, misunderstood, made to fight,” Bucky replies. “Nick and Asta are characters from The Thin Man.”

You lean toward him. "What?"

“He’s bastardizing movies from the 20s.”

You squint toward Dennis, who is still in full Shakespearan mode.

"Can you feel the injustice, my children?" Dennis exclaims. "Can you see the Ghost at work?"

You grin. "Are you telling me you sat through movies in the ‘20s?"

"I was alive in the ‘20s, what the fuck else was I supposed to do?"

Dennis continues, "We are all on a journey, a journey just like those travelers in the great dust storm– oh yes, yes, the spirit shows me! We must keep pushing forward, even when the sand storm rages!"

Bucky grimaces immediately. "Grapes of Wrath."

"What?" 

"Saw it when it was released. Thought it was boring as fuck."

You try to stifle a laugh. "You look so young, sometimes I forget you were childhood friends with Adam and Eve."

Bucky glares at you. 

Dennis throws his arms out. "Another! Another in the room with us! This mechanical Titan with a heart of gold! They saw him as just a machine, but no, no! He was so much more! The spirit showed me! He was a reflection of the true power within us all—"

"Metropolis," he mutters. “Thea von Harbou's novel."

“Bucky, you fucking nerd.” You tap his shoulder, grinning. “Look at you, busting scams and quoting movies made during the dawn of time. Do you know how hot you are?”

“What?”

“I said, are you single? I’m asking for a friend.”

“Uh huh,” he replies, when the mist pumps into the room.

“I’m the friend.”

“Got that,” he replies, focusing on literally anything else.

Dennis continues without missing a beat. "But wait! Not all of you have followed the spirit’s true path!"

The room goes quiet. Dennis' eyes scan the crowd before he points suddenly.

"You! Yes, you!"

For a second, Bucky thinks he’s pointing at him.

"You betrayed the spirit, didn’t you? You��"

You poke Bucky. "Did you betray the spirit?"

"Only when I felt like it," he mutters.

However, the man in the row ahead of you suddenly lets out a panicked noise.

"I– I needed to go to the bathroom so bad!" he cries. "The line to the club was so long, and the bouncers weren’t letting anyone in, so I just cut ahead–"

Dennis gasps. A few others in the room let out soft, horrified whispers, as if the man had committed a felony. 

"No!" Dennis shouts, pointing like he’s passing divine judgment.

The poor guy visibly withers in his seat.

"You have broken the trust of the divine!" Dennis booms. "You must atone!"

The man trembles. "W-what should I do?"

Bucky mutters under his breath. "Is everyone here on drugs?"

Dennis softens slightly, his voice taking on a careful, patronizing tone.

"The spirit demands retribution," he says. "But the Ghost is merciful. And today, so very generous. For a small donation, you will have the chance to cleanse yourself from the darkness."

Bucky watches the guy scramble for his wallet. "Is he selling forgiveness?"

The man hands over thirty bucks.

"This is literally how the Church split,” he mumbles.

You suppress a laugh. "Did it affect your Sunday plans?"

Bucky shoots you a dry look. "I was born in 1917. The Church split four hundred years before that."

"Oh, right." You nod seriously. "I just assumed you were there when Martin Luther nailed his stuff to the door."

Bucky exhales, pressing the heel of his palm into his temples.

The fog thickens.

Dennis' voice rises. "Everyone quiet! The Ghost is speaking!"

You turn to Bucky. "The Ghost is speaking, Buck."

Bucky groans. "You mean till now he’s been freestyling?"

Dennis throws his hands up toward the ceiling. "I feel it! It is here!"

Bucky’s nose twitches. The smell is stronger now, almost becoming hard to see through– 

A split second later, you both realize.

Your eyes widen. "Is that–?"

"Nitrous oxide," Bucky confirms, standing up.

"Pumping laughing gas into the room, are you fucking kidding me?" you curse. “We need to air this place out.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky turns sharply, scanning the room. He watches as shoulders slump, as people laugh for no reason. A guy near the front sways slightly, blinking like he’s forgotten where he is.

Someone else lets out a dazed giggle.

Bucky’s focus zeroes in on the mist machine, still hissing. There are small metal canisters stacked neatly beside it, refilling the room.

Bucky crosses the room in four steps.

Dennis barely has time to turn and register the movement before Bucky grabs one of the small pressurized canisters, gripping it in one hand.

"Hey! What are you—"

Bucky doesn’t answer, instead throwing it straight through the window.

The glass explodes outward, scattering onto the pavement outside.

A rush of cold air floods in.

The sound shocks the room, pulling some people out of their haze. Others are still too fogged up to react.

Dennis' face twists in outrage. "What the fuck?!”

"Show’s over," he mutters, chucking the second one too.

It slams into the glass and tumbles outside, hissing as it empties into the night.

Dennis looks like he might actually explode. "You’re ruining–"

"You can talk to the great Ghost through your one phone call in jail," Bucky interrupts, brushing glass off his sleeve.

Dennis lets out a furious noise, grabbing the stupid silver chalice from the table beside him and hurls it directly at Bucky’s head.

Bucky barely tilts his head to the side but finds that there’s really no need.

The chalice stops midair. Hangs there. Slowly floats back to the table, settling back into place.

Dennis' rage turns into something closer to panic.

"Let’s not get pissy now," you remark, voice syrupy sweet.

"Fuck you," Dennis snarls.

And then, in an act of desperation, he grabs a knife from the altar.

It’s cheap plastic. It’s definitely a prop. This guy was fuckin’ nuts.

Still, he lifts it like he’s going to lunge at Bucky.

Except his own cloak yanks tight around his arms.

Dennis lets out a choked sound as it wraps, pulling his limbs against his sides.

The curtain behind him rips off its hooks, swirling around him.

In seconds, he’s bound to the chair behind him, like some kind of villain in a medieval play.

The room stares.

You smile, pleasantly.

"Enough," you say, voice cooler than it should be.

Dennis glares daggers at you.

Bucky glances at you, mouth twitching slightly. 

Only then do you notice silence has fallen. 

You look at the crowd, only to find them watching you.

Someone in the back lets out a horrified whisper. 

"The spirit is here."

The crowd erupts.

"Where?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"The Ghost!" someone screams. "It's you!"

You blink. "Oh, me?"

They nod fervently.

A few drop to their knees.

You process this for a moment. Then grin like you just won the lottery.

"Oh, right. Yeah. Of course it’s me." You lift your arms slightly. "Hey, y’all." 

The crowd gasps. 

“Guide us.”

Bucky groans. "Some fuckin’ role model you’ve got there."

You pretend not to hear him. Instead, you do what you’ve seen Wanda do a million times, even though it really did nothing for you. 

You lift your hands slightly. Let your feet rise just a little off the floor. 

The room erupts in gasps.

"Fuck’s sake," Bucky mutters, dropping his head into his hands.

You clear your throat. "Yes, it is I. Spirit of Stick Blasta."

"Nickasta," Bucky corrects.

"Nickasta," you confirm. "I have traveled a long time to be here."

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty millennia."

Bucky watches as you fake-peek through your half-closed eyes.

"I have some wisdom to share," you announce.

The crowd leans forward.

Bucky leans back.

"First!" you bellow. "Do not listen to anyone who stands on stage and says they've got a spirit moving through them. They're lying."

"But you’re doing that," Bucky heckles.

"Except me. I’m legit," you add quickly.

Bucky watches as you subtly flip him off with one of your raised hands.

"Second!" you continue. "Do not pay people for forgiveness."

You pause. "Unless that person’s name is Prosecutor and you’re bored of how long the case is being—"

"Next one," Bucky interrupts loudly.

You wave a hand dismissively.

"Third…" You falter. "I don’t know. Does anyone have suggestions?"

The crowd stares.

Bucky facepalms.

"Right. No suggestions." You clap your hands together. "Meeting adjourned."

The room is silent.

Then, someone whispers, "What… what do we do now?”

You land lightly on the floor again, brushing nonexistent dust off your cloak.

"For realsies, though, I suggest you get any money you paid this guy back. And then sue him into oblivion.” 

Dennis makes furious muffled noises from under the curtain still binding him.

You glance at him.

With zero effort, Dennis gets dragged backward, vanishing backstage.

The crowd stares.

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Everyone out," Bucky orders.

The crowd obeys instantly.

Still dazed, still giggling from the leftover gas, they shuffle toward the exits.

Bucky looks at you. "Are you fine?"

You ignore him. 

Instead, you call after the crowd, "And call someone to pick you up!"

They nod vaguely.

"I already called the paramedics, they'll be here in a minute!" you shout. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

Bucky’s expression tightens.

"Are you fine?" he repeats.

You wave it off. "Oh yeah. It takes way more substances to get me high. All this was covered under the Leviathan Weapon of Mass Destruction starter kit.  What about you?"

"Me too." Bucky shrugs. After a pause, he clears his throat. "You didn’t have to tie him up."

"He was annoying,” you say flippantly. 

"I wasn’t actually in danger."

"I know."

"It was probably grape juice."

"I know."

"I didn’t need help."

"I know."

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. "What’s your play here?"

"My play?" You scoff. "I know this emo lone wolf thing is something you’ve been cultivating carefully for years, but sometimes, people can do things for you and have it not be a play."

Bucky stares. "Like what?"

"Like-- I don’t know– trying to protect you even if you don’t need it." You turn on your heel, hopping down from the stage. "Or like checking to see if you’re still breathing when you’re lying face down on the table."

Bucky does not respond, feeling his fingers get all fidgety. 

 “C’mon,” you tell him, halfway out the door. “We’ve got some explaining to do.”

He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders back and starts behind you.

“We’ve got all the footage. So that should be good." You turn to eye him. "But you know what’ll really help our case? You keeping that cloak on.” 

Bucky groans, yanking at the fabric that hung across his neck like a bath towel. "I’m gonna set this thing on fire."

"You won’t. You are the cloak now.""

"I will."

“You’re still wearing it. I think you actually like it.”

Bucky grinds his teeth. "I’m leaving."

"In the cloak?"

"Shut up."

"I think it makes you look distinguished."

Bucky storms toward the exit.

You follow, grinning the whole way.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to know when this fic updates, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications! it's the only way tumblr will let me have a taglist and i don't post there at all except for fics </3

[pearlescentparade]

Hi!! here for a request for Noob X killer! reader (forsaken) fluff headcanons

yung kai - blue lyrics.

OMG NOOB..... let's hope i can get them right

🔰noob x killer! reader fluff headcanons 💝💞

noob walks right up to you when the round starts, blissfully unaware of your status as a killer. they believe you're just another friendly face that they can stick with in this scary new environment

you consider making a bloodbath of them, until they offer to share their snacks with you. automatically, you assume it's a peace offering or a plead for mercy. though you can't eat, you enjoy the sacrificial offerings regardless

they like to set up picnics with you during the round. they'll put out all of their food, sit down, and just chat about whatever comes to mind. you usually only listen and rarely chime in, but noob appreciates the company anyway. it helps them regain a sense of normalcy, and feel like they're living their old life before they were taken here. and while you've never known a life outside of this world (or at least, the spectre makes sure you don't remember it), you think you would've liked it to be something like this too

adding on, noob likes to play a game with you where they describe things in the 'real world' that they think you would have liked. even if you've never seen or heard of these concepts, you trust their judgement

it's always nighttime in the realm. so on your picnic dates, noob likes to stargaze with you. they don't know any constellations, so they make up their own

"that small star is me, and that big one next to it is you!"

"..how will we be able to tell them apart from the other stars?"

"they're really close together. like us!"

they trail you through every round, clinging onto your back like a lost puppy. when you encounter another survivor, you instruct noob to hide and close their eyes so they don't see you completely mutilating their friends. they are always the sole survivor

they are very jumpy. any sudden spooky noises in the ambience will make them latch onto you and cower. they've jumped into your arms before, and the embarrassment helped them forget all about their fear

the spectre blocks you from reciprocating any actions of love. even so, that doesn't deter noob from displaying his affection. they will hug, kiss, and compliment you like it's nobody's deal! they assure you that even if you physically can't do anything back, your presence is more than enough

often, you'll sneak up on survivors while they're doing a generator. all of them run in fear, except noob, of course. they sit there, still attempting to solve the puzzle on the generator. you'll hover over them, instructing them where to put what wire and what not. the accomplished smile that explodes on their face when they finish it invokes a feeling in you that even the spectre struggles to suppress

if anyone tries to give noob a hard time for lacking knowledge on how to do things, you target them heavily. and when you catch them, you ensure their death is gory and painful

sometimes, you bring their head to noob as a trophy and symbol of your love (since it's the closest thing you can do to show it). you even make sure to clean it and cauterize the wound where you severed their head from their neck so there's no blood at all, just for them!

"look, little fledgling. i've damned your enemy. now they won't bother you."

"AGH- that's- oh my goodness- uh.. i appreciate it, really-! i.. i just... i think i'm gonna throw up-"

"...apologies. i thought you would've liked to see it. it felt more romantic in my head."

"it's- it's okay, i'm- ough...- i'm fine with what you usually do.. it's the thought that counts..!"

they like to attempt to scare you by reappearing after eating their ghostburger. it never works, but you think it's cute. you'll even pretend your roles are switched, and you'll run from them as they act like the big bad killer chasing you

since noob had opened up to you about their drinking addiction, you've put a limit on how much bloxy cola they drink per round. if they've already reached it and try to go for another, you'll snatch it away and crush it in your hands. they protest about the waste of food, but can you really call the highly sugary processed drink 'food'?

because of your increased speed as a killer, noob likes to ride on your shoulders and pretend they're in a cart ride. you'll even go up and down slopes in the map and move in zigzag patterns to simulate the winding track, like how noob describes them

the other survivors use noob as bait, sending them out to find you first before you get to anyone else so that they can minimize the casualties. it's not in a mean-spirited way, it's a practical strategy because noob is able to distract you for the entire round and prevent you from killing anyone as long as long as the others stay out of your sight. noob doesn't mind, they'll happily assist their friends in anyway they can, considering they don't have any team-support abilities

(parade postscript: i tried to incorporate some of the song lyrics into the hcs, especially with the stargazing one! though i didnt know if i did it well LOL the song's meaning and lyrics kind of made me feel sad bc it felt very angsty with the themes of yearning and unrequited love, but i tried to focus on the sweet parts of it for the hcs :'])

[heliosunny]

Bidding for trouble - Valentine

Artist [_netoII]

Jade stared at you like you’d grown a second head.

“So, let me get this straight” she said, unimpressed. “You’re asking for love advice.”

“For a friend.” you clarified.

Jade raised an eyebrow. “Right. A friend.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t believe you.

Honestly, you wouldn’t believe you either.

Meanwhile, Across the Room

Sugilite wasn’t eavesdropping.

Not on purpose, at least.

He had walked past the lounge, minding his own business—until he heard your voice. Something about love advice. At first, he didn’t care.

Then, he heard:

“I just don’t know how to confess to them.”

Sugilite stopped.

He froze mid-step, turned slightly, and shamelessly listened.

Jade sighed, flipping through some reports. “Alright. What’s the problem?”

“She’s afraid of ruining their friendship” you explained. “They’ve known each other for years, and she doesn’t want things to get awkward if he doesn’t feel the same.”

Jade hummed. “Sounds like a him problem.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“If he’s too dumb to see the signs, that’s his fault.”

“That’s not—”

“Tell your friend to just do it.”

You sighed. This was a mistake.

Meanwhile, Sugilite was spiraling.

You were in love with someone?

Since when? Who?

More importantly—why hadn’t he noticed?

He scoffed.

This wasn’t a problem.

He was just curious.

Later That Day

You walked back to your desk, exhausted. Helping your friend was harder than expected. As soon as you sat down, Sugilite leaned against your desk, staring.

You frowned. “…What?”

He tilted his head, pretending to be casual.

“You in a good mood today?”

You squinted. Suspicious. “…I guess?”

Sugilite hummed. “Yeah? You feeling lucky?”

“…What?”

“No reason.” He smirked. “Just wondering if you’ve got something exciting going on.”

You blinked. Then it hit you.

Oh no. Did he hear the conversation with Jade?

If he thought you were in love with someone…

You were never going to hear the end of it.

You stared at Sugilite, reading his expression carefully.

His smirk was too casual. His eyes too sharp.

For a split second, you considered panicking.

But then, you thought, No. I’m overthinking it.

There was no way he overheard.

You decided to change the subject.

“So!” You clapped your hands together, grinning. “Did you eat lunch yet?”

Sugilite blinked. “What?”

“Lunch” you repeated. “Food. That thing people need to survive.”

Sugilite squinted.

“…Are you buying?”

You hesitated.

“Um.”

Sugilite smirked. “No? That’s a shame.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. I’ll buy you a coffee or something.”

Sugilite lit up instantly.

“Deal.” He grabbed his coat. “Let’s go.”

You blinked. Wait, now?

—

The moment you walked into the store, you felt like you were on a mission.

Technically, you were.

You needed chocolate.

One for your friend.

One for Sugilite.

Which was totally not a big deal, by the way. You just thought it’d be funny to see his reaction. That was all. No other reason.

You grabbed a nice-looking box of chocolates for your friend—simple, elegant, nothing too flashy.

Then, you carefully picked another for Sugilite.

Something less serious. (Like a joke gift. Yes. That made sense.)

You stared at the shelves for a moment before grabbing a box that had “For the Most Annoying Person I Know” written on it.

Perfect.

Just as you went to pay, someone tapped your shoulder.

“Didn’t take you for the romantic type.”

Your soul left your body.

You turned slowly. Sugilite stood there, arms crossed, smirking.

“…Why are you here?” you asked, already regretting everything.

“I was gonna ask you that.” He glanced at the chocolates in your hands. “Who’s the lucky person?”

You panicked.

“Topaz.”

“What?”

Wait. No.

Wrong name. Wrong name.

“I-I mean—not like that! It’s for my friend!”

“…Your friend is Topaz?”

“No—! I mean—yes, but not the chocolates—”

Sugilite raised an eyebrow.

You groaned, covering your face.

This was going terribly.

Sugilite finally let it go, shrugging. “Whatever you say.”

He wasn’t convinced.

But you were too relieved to notice.

…Now, you just had to sneak his chocolate to him later without him figuring out.

Easy, right?

After escaping Sugilite’s interrogation, you rushed to meet your friend.

She was already waiting, looking extremely nervous.

“You got it?” she asked, fidgeting.

You handed her the box of chocolates. “Of course. Don’t worry, you’ve got this.”

She exhaled. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can.” You patted her back. “Now go. Before I have to do it for you.”

She gasped in betrayal.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.”

With a dramatic groan, she finally went off to find her crush.

Now that that was done, you had to deal with the second part of your plan.

Getting Sugilite’s chocolate to him—without getting caught.

You left the box on his desk before he arrived.

It was foolproof.

Or so you thought.

Because the moment Sugilite walked into the office, he immediately knew.

He stared at the box.

Then at you.

Then back at the box.

Then back at you.

“…Seriously?”

You blinked innocently. “What?”

Sugilite sighed, picking up the box. “You’re terrible at being sneaky.”

You pouted. “Just take it.”

“Oh, I’m taking it” he said, smirking. “But don’t think for a second this is over.”

You suddenly had a very bad feeling.

The rest of the day passed without incident.

Which, honestly, worried you.

Sugilite was being suspiciously quiet.

Then, at the end of the day, he walked over to your desk, placed something in front of you, and left without another word.

You looked down.

It was a box of chocolates.

But not just any chocolates.

The message on the box read:

“For My Favorite Assistant (Who’s Terrible at Keeping Secrets)”

Your face burned.

From across the room, Sugilite just grinned.

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 138

jack had your valentine's day planned out long before the day arrived. a cute little picnic out in the february sun, with all of your favorite snacks and possibly even some painting. but when the day finally arrived, you both woke up to a storm.

typical jack to not check the weather beforehand.

however, the day was far from ruined. instead, you had your picnic in jack's living room, spending the day listening to the raindrops against the windows and just enjoying each others' presence. jack eventually brought out his old photo albums from when he and his brothers were still kids – ones you had never seen before, because otherwise you would've been obsessing over them every day up until now.

"this is from luke's tenth birthday," jack said, pointing at a picture of his brother with his face stuffed full of cake. in the next one, a dalmatian was licking whipped cream off his face. "our dog, amber. not nearly as calm as you could think from just looking at her."

"she looks sweet, though," you commented, eyes flickering over another picture of amber fast asleep in jack's embrace.

"her looks betray her." jack shuffled a little closer to you on the couch, side of his head leaning against yours. "i've been thinking about getting a new one, actually."

"a dog?"

"no, a new brother." he hissed when your elbow thrust into his side. "maybe not a dalmatian specifically, but… i don't know. i've just thought about it."

the next page showed a few pictures of jack on a stage, sitting in front of a grand piano in a pretty suit. he can't have been more than 13, and your eyebrows rose at the sight. "a piano man, huh?"

he rolled his eyes. "mom forced me to take classes. i hated it at first, but then…" he shrugged. "i kept it up for five years, and it grew on me. it was kind of nice to have something else to focus on other than hockey."

you never could've guessed that he would have done something like that. jack was so sporty, a very typical jock boy – he seemed more likely to be the one making fun of the music nerds than be one himself.

even when you'd spent so much time with him, you realized that you still had so much to learn about him; so many new sides to discover, so many layers to unravel.

frightening? no, exciting.

"i remember this one time when i was fourteen… quinn and luke were at some friend's house, so i was the only child at home. and our parents were fighting." your gaze fell to his hand which was resting all lonely on his thigh, so you took it in yours. "they were, like, yelling and everything. and i couldn't do anything about it. so i just sat down at the piano at home, and… played." you could feel the shakiness in the deep breath he took, but you didn't say anything, instead settling for a squeeze of his hand. "i think i did it to drown out the sound. it was the only thing i could control."

of course. his need for stability and to always be in control was deeply rooted in him. it made so much sense being put in perspective with your relationship; he craved the stability of knowing you're there with him and he hated the way you pulled away, leaving him unsure.

"what made you quit?" you hummed after a few long moments of silence.

"hockey was getting more serious… and the guys on the team didn't really think it was cool to spend my free time learning how to play classical pieces."

"i'm sure you still remember something," you said, head resting on his shoulder. "you should play for me sometime."

"i promise." he kissed the top of your head before flipping over to the last page of the book, revealing even more pictures of little jack – this time with a big, red bruise on the side of his cheek and boxing gloves covering his hands. "oh, right. i used to box."

"oh, you were a little fighter, huh?" you joked. "how come?"

"hockey wasn't enough. i wanted to be physical off the ice, too." his tone was lighthearted, yet there was a hint of sincerity in it. "something about it made me feel… invincible, you know? knowing that i could take a hit and still stand to deliver one of my own."

"uh uh. sounds totally sane."

he reached up to flick your forehead with his fingers, before giving your hand a gentle squeeze as an apology. "i guess, as a kid, i felt… powerless? a lot of the time. especially when my parents argued. and boxing helped with that," he said, and you could feel him nodding along to his words. "once, my dad came home from a night out with a black eye, and i've never felt so useless. i wanted to be able to fight back for him. or myself. or anyone else who needs it."

you want to protect them, you thought to yourself. his protective instinct was clear as day – even in the way he couldn't not be there for you, even when you said you didn't need a relationship or someone to take care of you.

he didn't fight just to fight. he fought to protect. it was the same thing with his fight at the first game of his you attended; he punched that rangers player to protect his teammate, not because he wanted to injure him.

"my coaches told me that i had to quit once i joined the ntdp, though. it made sense, since i never thought i'd have to use it in real life," jack said with a shrug. "so i didn't argue. but, in some twisted way, boxing made me less physical on the ice. like i had an outlet, somewhere to just let it all go, so i could just skate away from arguments on the ice."

"you're a good man, jack hughes," you said, leaning slightly to the side so that you could look up at him, glistening eyes studying his features. "you know that, right?"

he paused for a few moments, merely breathing as his gaze fell on you. "i'm good because of you. you make me want to be good."

[runninriot]

Another Love

written for the @corrodedcoffinfest pop-up event It's Complicated

wc: 1.966 | rated: M | tags: past friends with benefits Eddie/Jeff, newly established Steddie, unrequited love, complicated feelings, mild hurt/comfort, friendship | also on ao3

   “Guys, this is Steve. Steve, these are the guys. My best friends, who will not embarrass me today. Right?”

Eddie laughs, tries not to let his nerves show by making a silly grimace in the direction of Gareth, who lovingly scoffs and rolls his eyes, says ‘You don’t need us for that, you’re pretty good at embarrassing yourself‘, just to be a little shit. And maybe that’s good, because it means they’re not pretending to be something they’re not. There’s no need to mask who they are in front of Steve, Eddie knows that.

He knows that, once they’ve warmed up to each other, they’ll get along just fine. But still, he can’t shake the funny feeling in his gut.

This is a big deal for him, finally introducing his boyfriend to the people who, apart from Wayne, mean most to him in this world. He wants, no, needs them to accept this new person in his life, because there is one thing he’s absolutely certain of – Steve is here to stay.

Gareth and Doug, being the lifesavers they are, immediately start wrapping Steve up in a conversation and it helps ease Eddie’s nerves a bit. But out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the tension in Jeff’s shoulders. Can sense his resentment of the situation even if Jeff is obviously trying his best not to show it.

He stands off to the side, pretending to tune his guitar which he’s definitely not. Eddie knows he’s already done that before even coming to the venue. Out of all of them, Jeff’s always been the closest to a professional.

It’s something Eddie admires, one of those things he loves about him.

Jeff and Eddie go way back, met long before Gareth and Doug entered the picture. They’ve been friends forever, through thick and thin, always together against the rest of the world.

He’d never admit it out loud but Jeff’s opinion matters most. And that’s not only because he’s his best best friend. It’s also because he doesn’t know what he’d do if Jeff didn’t give him his blessing. There’s so much at stake here, so much to possibly end in ruins. This is so much more complicated than just wanting his friend's approval - there's more to consider. More to fight for. So that's what Eddie is willing to do.

   “Hey, man,” Eddie claps Jeff on the back trying to act casual, ignoring the twisted knots in his stomach. “Can we talk?”

   “If it’s about your boyfriend, then no.”

Jeff takes a big swig from his beer, the look in his eyes unusually cold and distant.

   “Come on, man. I thought we agreed that-”

   “Well, I’ve changed my mind. Look, Eddie. I’m happy for you, I really am. But you cannot expect me to put on a brave face and pretend that this doesn’t fuck me up.”

His words slice through Eddie like a knife, sharp and quick, no mercy on his heart.

Eddie probably deserves it for thinking he could ignore the giant ass elephant in the room and simply wait it out. Wait for the problem to solve itself, for everything to go back to normal, back to easy. Because truth is, there is nothing easy about this.

Eddie knew from the start that this would be complicated, no matter how much he wished it wasn’t. He knew and yet, stupid as he is, he still hoped they could just... move on. Not forget but maybe lock up the memories of a different time and go back to how things were before. When they were just friends, no feelings involved. At least not those kind of feelings.

   “I’m sorry, Jeff,” he says, head tilted down to avoid his friend’s piercing gaze, “I know it’s-“

It’s what? Hard? Unfair? Well, yeah, obviously. At least from Jeff’s point of view. But what is Eddie supposed to do? He didn’t choose to fall in love with someone else, it just happened. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have feelings for Jeff, only they’re different now. Not that he ever-

It’s a cruel thought, even though it’s true. They both know it because Eddie never pretended to be in love when he wasn’t. Was he attracted to Jeff? Oh, absolutely. Otherwise they wouldn’t have ended up in bed together. More than once. And it wasn't just the prospect of easy sex that had Eddie coming back for more - it was the thought of falling asleep in Jeff's arms. To be held by someone who makes you feel safe and cared for. He loved the kisses and giggles and how okay it was to be vulnerable and open because there's nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide because Jeff already knows everything about him.

The problem is, while it had all started out as casual fun between mates, something changed over time. Something Eddie noticed too late or he would’ve ended it sooner. Jeff never told him about his feelings, so that’s on him, but it is just as much Eddie’s fault because- he should’ve known anyway. Should’ve noticed the shift. But he hadn’t. Or maybe he simply refused to acknowledge it. Selfishly ignored it until he couldn’t anymore.

When he met Steve, he instantly knew he needed to put his cards on the table and come clean about what this would mean for him and Jeff. Told him about this guy he likes – ‘Don’t know if it’s mutual but I’d like to give it a shot, see where it’s going. Maybe it’s nothing but maybe- I think he could be the one.’

And at first, Jeff seemed to be fine with that. Said he understood that they couldn’t hook up anymore. Said he’d miss the fucking but ‘Eh, whatever.’

Only it wasn’t whatever.

But Eddie was so lost in his own head, so caught up on Steve, Steve, Steve that he didn’t see what it was doing to Jeff. Didn’t notice him pulling away more and more until Gareth mentioned it. Asked if something had happened between the two because they were acting weird.

So, when he finally confronted Jeff, things seemed... okay. Better. At least that’s what he thought when Jeff told him he’d get over it, that he just needed some time to adjust. Promised Eddie that nothing had changed when it came to their friendship but right now, Eddie isn’t so sure about that anymore.

And it kills him.

Makes him lie awake at night because he can’t stop thinking about all the worst possible outcomes. What if this breaks up the band? What if Eddie loses his best friend?

   “I don’t want to lose you, Jeff.”

    You’re up in five, someone calls from the side of the stage and Eddie knows this is the worst possible timing for a heart-to-heart. They should be getting ready, he should be talking to his boyfriend who he abandoned and left with people he doesn’t really know, in a place he’s never been to before. But he can’t step away, can’t leave it like that, not when Jeff still hasn’t said anything.

   “I need you. You’re my best friend and I- I love you.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, to use this word, this feeling that is the cause for this mess and the reason for Jeff’s pain. But it’s the right word nonetheless, because it’s the truth. Eddie loves him. Maybe not like he loves Steve but different from the way he loves Gareth and Doug. This love goes deeper than friendship, soul-deep.

   “I love you. You’re important to me and I know- I know you're hurt and I am sorry but I can’t change that my heart belongs to Steve.”

Eddie can’t stop, knows he should because right now, he’s only talking himself deeper into the hole he dug for himself. But he refuses to lie, refuses to try to appease Jeff with false hope – he needs to know where they stand. And if that means Jeff will tell him to fuck off, if that will be the end of their friendship, then-

   “I hate you.”

Eddie’s heart stops at Jeff's words, eyes filling with tears as he braces himself for the biggest regret he'll ever have in his life.

   “I hate you so much for even thinking you could ever lose me!”

They’ve got eyes on them now, Eddie can feel it, but he doesn’t care. Can’t, not when Jeff moves closer, taking one of Eddie’s hands to place it on his chest, right above his heart.

   “It hurts. It fucking hurts. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say, just sniffs and blinks away the tears blurring his vision.

   “It’ll take some time for me to... get over this. But you and me, we’re bound for life, man. So don’t you ever think you’re getting rid of me. You hear me, asshole?”

Jeff smiles at him and even though there’s still sadness in his eyes, Eddie can feel that he means it.

   “Uh... sorry to interrupt but, um, they said you’re up next so I-“

When Eddie turns to the voice coming from behind, he finds Steve standing there, hands in his pocket, nervously looking to the side.

   “I’ll be down there somewhere. Have- have fun.”

Steve’s about to turn around, ready to step away but Eddie can't let him go like that, so he stops him.

   “Baby, wait!”

He looks back at Jeff, hoping, praying to find what he’s searching for in the other man’s eyes.

   “Go on, your boyfriend looks like he’s waiting for a kiss. Would be rude to leave him hanging.”

   “Are you gonna be mad at me if I do?” Eddie’s not asking for permission to kiss his boyfriend, not really. But he’s willing to tone it down around Jeff if that’s what it takes.

Jeff scoffs, lets go of Eddie’s hand and takes a step back.

   “So mad. But I’ll get to have you all to myself for the next 40 minutes so I guess it’s fine,” he jokes and it feels like a peace offering. Like maybe it’s the first step to better, before hopefully they can go back to how things were when everything was good, not complicated.

   “I love you,” Eddie says again just because.

   “Love you too, man. Now go take care of your man and then let’s get this fucking show started.”

Eddie nods, taking another moment to look at his best friend before walking over to Steve.

   “Everything good with you and Jeff?” Steve asks quietly as Eddie wraps his arms around his middle to pull him close.

   “I think it will be, yeah.”

Eddie's glad he never made a secret out of his past with Jeff, couldn’t bear withholding something so crucial from Steve. He needed him to know that no matter what, Jeff will always play an important role in his life. That if Steve wanted to be with him, he’d have to accept that there will always be a place in his heart that’s occupied by someone else.

Steve throws a look over Eddie’s shoulder and smiles to himself before leaning in to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

   “Is that all?” Eddie asks when his boyfriend pulls away, leaving him longing for more.

   “For now,” Steve confirms with a wink, “Your friends are waiting.”

With that, he wanders off into the crowd and Eddie, for the first time in weeks, feels a weight lift off his shoulders and heart.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated.

Maybe it just needs time and trust and mutual understanding.

He’s willing to try, willing to do everything to make this work

Because what he’s definitely not willing to do, is to give up one love for another.

[amyispxnk]

OK I went through a LOT of emotions during this chapter.

"Hi," he whispered to her after her naps. "Did you sleep well? Huh, pretty girl? C'mere."

She made tiny, thoughtful expressions like she was really listening to him. Her little hands were always reaching, always curious. Right now, she was watching the lights with those big brown eyes, mesmerized by the slow shift of the shadows on the ceiling, her mouth parting slightly in wonder. Her fingers curled absently in his shirt, barely grasping, like she just liked knowing he was there.

Before he could stop himself, he pressed another kiss to the side of her head, then another and another, half a laugh escaping him when she wriggled in delight, her little fists stretching open, her eyes squeezing shut like she could feel the warmth of it sinking in.

omg this is too fucking cute I'm gonna explode actually

Joel almost laughed, because—yeah. Yeah, he’d drop dead before refusing that. “‘Course,” he said, voice low but certain. .....

...Her fingers brushed the edge of the desk, and her knuckles paled with how tightly she gripped it. “You’re welcome home anytime, Joel. My door’s always open for you.”

"Maya loves you so much."

I SCREAMED SO LOUD. MY HAPPY FAMILY IS COMING TOGETHER

The door was open again. And that was the thing about doors.

They worked both ways.

SCREAMINGG crying throwing up the writinggg omg

...But then she spotted him.

Her entire little body bucked, like the excitement was too much for her tiny limbs to contain. A bright, panting laugh bubbled from her mouth, and her hands curled, fists flailing like wanted to launch herself toward her.

Joel sighed. That was it. No walking away now.

HE LOVES HER SM AND SHE JUST FUCKING ADORES HIM AND UGHHHH HES SUCH A DAD AND IM CRYING AGAIN

And goddamn him, but he loved it. Loved the small breaths puffing against his collarbone. Loved the way she looked up at him, slow and sleepy, tapping her tiny knuckles against him like she was checking to make sure he was still there. Loved that he didn't have to think about anything, not feel like the whole world was closing in.

Bawling this is so sweet

The kid he’d sort of raised, playing with the baby he was yet to.

WHAT IF I JUST FUCKING DIED.

“It’s… good, y’know? You having this nice thing.” She waved a vague hand toward the baby, toward Leela. “You don't usually let yourself have nice things. Something that’s not just me.”

Losing my mind. I love him sm this is so sweet please nothing bad ever happen to any of them ever thank yyou

This chapter is one of the best fics I've ever read like EVER. omg.

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part iii)

summary: Joel’s delicate attachment to Leela and baby Maya deepens along with—her resistance, his denial, and the slow, inevitable way he’s always finding his way back to them. As they navigate a freak accident, Ellie sees it. He does too. Almost.

a/n: ah-woohooooo more of Joel being a thickheaded numpty, so enjoy! I would love to hear all your unhinged, lovely thoughts!

It had been a quiet few weeks for Joel.

Not the kind of quiet he liked—the stillness of early mornings, with the wind rustling the trees and a guitar strumming in his hands. No, this was the one that came after a storm, when the air was dense with the scent of rain and the world felt... upside down. Unsettled. The kind of quiet where the damage had already been done, and all that was left was to pick through the wreckage.

The kind of quiet that made a man think too much. It pressed into him, heavy and suffocating.

Since that night in the car, since he’d seen her unravel in real time, the tacit MO had changed. On more welcome news, Mal had stopped coming around. No thanks to him, of course.

Joel saw him through the window the first morning he returned to Leela's place. Mal was coming up the path with the same easy stride, hands in his pockets like he had a right to be there. God, just once, he wanted to knock the teeth off that goddamned kid.

Joel set down his hammer and exhaled through his nose. Bless Tommy for leaving the fun part to him. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stepped out onto the porch before the kid could even knock. The heavy door groaned on its hinges behind him, and he let it.

Mal spotted him and gave a lazy wave, stepping forward. “Hey, man. I’m just here to—”

Joel shifted in front of him. Not aggressive. Just there. An immense wall of quiet warning.

Mal stopped short, blinking up at him.

Joel wasn’t even trying to stand taller, but he didn’t need to. He just crossed his arms over his chest, let his shoulders square out naturally, let his stance say everything. He wasn’t fucking moving.

The kid hesitated, confusion flickering across his face. “Uh—is there a problem?”

“I’ll take it from here,” Joel said, voice even.

Mal frowned. “What?”

“I said, whatever it is, I got it.”

There was a pause. A moment where Joel could see the gears turning in Mal’s head, where the kid was piecing things together a little too slow for his liking.

“Okay, but Tommy said—”

“Yeah, well.” Joel leaned forward, just enough to be felt. Watched Mal’s jaw tighten, and watched him shift back on instinct. “Not anymore.”

That finally landed. Mal thankfully rocked back on his heels and rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced past Joel, toward the house, then back, brows knitting together, trying to make sense of what was going on. What he'd done wrong.

"Uh... do you want help, at least?" he offered, cautious.

Joel let out a slow breath, something close to a laugh—if you could call it that. There was nothing warm in it. "You run along now."

Mal lingered for another second, like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. And like a kid being told off, he tucked his tail and left.

Joel didn’t bother to watch him go. Just turned on his heel, grabbed the door, and went back inside. “Fuckin' pest,” he grumbled under his breath.

The house was quiet—only the soft creak of the stairs, followed by the sound of careful, steady footsteps.

He looked up and saw Leela was making her way down, one hand carefully bracing against the railing. She was in sweats and an oversized sweater, her hair pulled into a low-hanging bun. There was something different about her face today—sharper, cleaner, blanker maybe. Or maybe he was just seeing her in a better light now.

She caught him staring. "Was that Mal?"

Joel simply lied, "No."

She pressed her lips together. Not quite disappointment, not quite relief. Something in between. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Maybe later.”

Joel hooked a thumb through the loop of his tool belt, retrieving the hammer he’d slung there. He twirled it once, catching the handle in his palm.

“Don't worry about it. He’s a busy guy,” he said, keeping his voice light as he crossed her on the staircase. “Lots of shit to fix around town.”

More importantly, Leela didn’t ask why or how. Soon enough, she stopped looking for Mal. Didn’t even question when Joel started showing up every day instead with his old tool belt slung over his shoulder, standing at her door like it was the most unassuming thing in the world. She just looked at him—one glance, one unreadable flicker of those dark, tired eyes—and then moved on like it didn’t matter. Like he wasn’t there at all. Stiffing him, essentially.

And Joel knew that kind of distance. This gaping rupture, widened between people when something sore and hideous had been exposed. When someone had seen too much; known too much. Leela knew she’d overstepped, and now she was pulling back.

Joel knew that feeling. He’d done it plenty himself. That instinct to retreat, to pull the shutters down, to make yourself small. Hell, he’d lived it. Had become it.

So he let it happen. He let her pretend again. Didn't push, didn't say anything. He simply worked.

The nursery was coming together, slowly but surely. The pendant lights were fixed, casting warm pools of gold over the room. The shelves stood straighter, stocked with whatever Maria had been sneaking in—baby books, folded blankets, onesies, wooden toys. And the old fuchsia rug he’d found in Leela’s storage? It tied the whole damn thing together, like a relic of a forgotten life, all lived-in and warm for the baby girl.

Joel stood in the centre of it all, Maya cradled in his arms, rocking slightly on his heels. Not that she could appreciate any of this yet. A safe space of her own.

He had never been the kind of man who cooed at babies either. Hadn’t been that way when Sarah was small, hadn’t been that way in the years since. There was something about them—so soft, so fragile—that made him cautious, like he had to hold back, keep himself in check.

Maya made it easier.

"Hi," he whispered to her after her naps. "Did you sleep well? Huh, pretty girl? C'mere."

She made tiny, thoughtful expressions like she was really listening to him. Her little hands were always reaching, always curious. Right now, she was watching the lights with those big brown eyes, mesmerized by the slow shift of the shadows on the ceiling, her mouth parting slightly in wonder. Her fingers curled absently in his shirt, barely grasping, like she just liked knowing he was there.

She’d been a fussy one lately—tired, restless, wanting to be held more often than not. Lonely. And with a mama like Leela, who drifted too easily and got lost too deep in her own head, Joel figured it wasn’t a bad idea to show her around. Give her something new to look at.

“What do you think, baby girl?” he murmured, shifting her closer, his palm smoothing down her tiny back. “Did I do okay or what?”

Maya blinked up at him, her whole body stilling for a second before she let out a soft, breathy coo.

Joel grinned. “Yeah?” he chuckled. “That a yes?”

She wiggled in his hold, that gummy little smile coming alive, kicking lightly against his ribs, and Joel felt himself exhale—deep, easy, something loosening inside him. She liked it. The nursery. The lights. Him. Maybe none of it mattered in that little head of hers, but she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t fussing. She was looking at him like she trusted him, and God help him, but he wanted to deserve that.

He took her toward the shelves, kneeling carefully with her in one arm, balancing his weight as he pointed to the row of paint cans. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s pick a colour. What’s it gonna be, huh?” He tilted them slightly, exposing the faded labels. “We got white. Some kinda blue. Green.”

Maya reacted immediately, tiny fist stretching out, fingers grazing toward the muted green.

Joel huffed a small laugh. “Yeah? That your favorite?”

Her fingers brushed the side of the can, fascinated by the cool metal, a quiet coo slipping from her lips.

Joel hesitated for a second, then gave in. He really couldn't help himself. At that moment, he just had to. Slowly, carefully, he shifted her closer, lowering his head and pressing a kiss to the soft crown of her unsteady little head.

She smelled faint and sweet as always, like baby powder and fresh linens, and he let himself linger for a second longer than he should have, feeling the heat of her through his shirt, the tiny weight of her against his chest.

Maya wiggled in response, not in protest, but excitement, legs kicking slightly.

Joel exhaled, something breaking loose inside him.

Before he could stop himself, he pressed another kiss to the side of her head, then another and another, half a laugh escaping him when she wriggled in delight, her little fists stretching open, her eyes squeezing shut like she could feel the warmth of it sinking in.

Maybe she could. Maybe she knew, in that small, primal way babies knew things, that Joel was someone safe. That he wouldn’t let her fall. That he really fucking loved her.

A rustle at the doorway made him glance up from a kiss. Leela stood there, her hand lightly braced against the frame, watching him.

Joel was caught off guard, leaning away from Maya a bit, settling her lower against his chest. “Hey,” he greeted, voice low. “Just givin’ her the lay of the land.”

Leela’s expression didn’t change. She only flashed a tight, fleeting smile before stepping forward, arms extending toward Maya. “You wanna take a bath with mama?”

Maya twisted in his hold, cooing eagerly now, little hands reaching for her mother. Even after everything, her mother was still her favourite person.

Joel let her go, careful as he passed her over to Leela. Their hands brushed, warm skin against warm skin, and he ignored the way it lingered, how her fingers barely curled in his before she took Maya into her arms.

“She’s been good,” Joel muttered.

Leela nodded, running a gentle palm over Maya’s back. “There’s lunch downstairs if you’re hungry.”

Joel studied her for a beat, his fingers brushing idly against his tool belt. “…Did you eat something?”

She hesitated. Too long. Then nodded, slow.

He didn’t call her on the lie. Instead, he nodded back, watching as she turned on her heel, shifting Maya closer against her shoulder. She left him with another tight, fleeting smile before disappearing down the hall.

Joel breathed out a sigh, glancing back at the half-finished room. Maya’s soft, content coos still lingered in the air. The green paint sat on the shelf, waiting.

And for some damn reason, he felt lonelier than he had in a long, long time.

It had taken him eleven days. Too long for a man like him. But he hadn’t rushed at all. He should’ve, but he didn’t. Had he been the same old Joel—good ol’ Texas Joel—this would’ve been a job done in a heartbeat. A blink, and he’d be out of her way. He wouldn’t have noticed things. Wouldn’t have lingered like a moron.

Maybe it was because of the way Leela barely spoke to him anymore. Or that she wouldn’t look him in the eye when she checked on his progress in clipped words and hums, wouldn’t even glance his way when she passed Maya to him like clockwork, a silent, wordless thing between them.

Maybe because when she leaves him standing at the porch at the end of the day, the door closing shut in his face, it didn’t feel like closing a chapter. It felt like a fucking wall going up.

Joel found her in the kitchen that evening, standing by the counter, wrist-deep in soapy water. It was late, Maya was snoozing her little head off upstairs, the house dim except for the overhead light humming low above them.

She didn’t stagger when he entered, didn’t look at him either. Just kept scrubbing the hell out of a plate, though he was pretty sure it was already clean. He dawdled near the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing.

He should’ve left. Should’ve let the silence settle. But he couldn't just leave it alone.

Instead, he cleared his throat and stepped forward, leaning a hip against the counter. “Y’know, you got a dishwasher. It's half the effort,” he pointed out.

Leela gave a small huff. “Electricity’s scarce.”

Joel snorted. “So is water, darlin’.”

She finally glanced at him, just a flicker, then back to the sink.

He tapped his fingers against the counter, searching for something—anything—to keep her in this moment with him. “Made good progress today,” he said. “Maya... she tried to turn on her side. The nursery; well, I just need to fix up that dresser and—”

“Look, thank you. But I’m really tired, Joel.”

She said it without looking at him, her voice level, no bite to it. Just a statement. A locked door. He should’ve expected it, should’ve shrugged it off and moved on. Instead, something about the words, directed at him, sat wrong inside him. All that hurt-people-hurt-people-drivel that Maria used to say came back to bite him in the ass.

He hesitated, shifting his weight onto his feet. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I should get going.”

She said nothing. Just shut off the faucet, dried her hands on a towel, and walked past him, close enough that the damp heat of her skin lingered for half a second longer than it should have. And despite fighting the urge to glance back at her as she left the room, he watched her disappear down the hall.

Joel stood outside her door for a long moment, which he had conscientiously locked, staring at the chipped paint of the doorframe, jaw clenching. His eyes flicked to the porch swing. It swayed slightly in the cold breeze.

Was it juvenile to think maybe she’d prefer his company? Was it fucking brainless of him to crave somewhere to belong? A purpose? Was he meant to die alone in a strange house and surrounded by empty whiskey bottles? Maybe. Probably. But hell if he didn’t wish it anyway.

Joel didn’t want to admit it—not directly, not even to himself—but he wanted to talk to her. Not about anything in particular. Not about that night in the Maranello, or how her little, breathy laugh was possibly the best thing to hear after those roars and clicks of the world beyond, or why she’d started looking at him instead of through him.

He just wanted something. Because before, there had been something. It wasn’t like talking to most people, where you had to pick your words apart before they even left your mouth, where you had to navigate bullshit small talk or forced pleasantries. With Leela, it had been... easy. Unspoken. A warm kind of quiet, the kind where he didn’t have to think too much, where he could just be.

He'll admit it, just this once—he liked that about her. He liked that a moment didn’t have to be forced. That he didn’t have to overthink, that they had a rhythm, a delicate system between them, one that made sense even if neither of them ever put words to it.

But now?

Now, she barely looked at him. Nowadays, when she passed Maya to him, it wasn’t with that quiet, knowing ease or a friendly grin, no matter how tired it had been—it was mechanical, transactional, like handing over a set of keys. Like a reminder that he wasn’t supposed to be here, and he didn’t know what to call that. Didn’t like the way it made his instincts turn over, uneasy, in his chest.

All that lingering had finally paid off, and Joel had found his way in. He wasn’t going to show it, of course—wasn’t gonna give himself away like some fool—but damn if he wasn’t relieved.

After days of unending cold shoulders, after all that stiff distance, this was the first real opening he’d gotten. An excuse. A way to talk to her without forcing it.

He had been fixing a flickering wall lamp that had been bugging him for some time now, in the second-floor hallway, standing on a step stool when—

CRASH.

The whole house plunged into darkness. The light he’d been working on blinked out, along with the rest of them, and then—a groan. A pained, breathy, hitched groan from below. His entire body tensed before his brain caught up.

Then came the wailing. Maya.

Joel’s heart stammered, caught between two instincts. The damn near gutting sound of the baby girl's frightened cries and that groan—that voice—he'd distinctly heard from the basement.

Fuck. His feet moved before his mind did. He leapt off the stool, tools cluttering to the floor, ignoring the protesting ache in his knees as he tore down the hall to Maya’s room. She was red-faced, eyes squeezed shut, fists curled as she screamed, trembling from the shock.

"Hey, hey, Maya," Joel hushed, scooping her up into his arms, and pulling her against his chest. "S'okay, sweetheart. I got you. I got you."

He shushed her, palm stroking warm circles over her back, bouncing her lightly in his arms. His heartbeat was loud, hammering in his ears, drowning everything out but the damn groan still hanging in his mind.

Leela.

She was down there, in that cursed basement, alone. And that sound had been awful.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing his lips to Maya’s head before pulling back. More for himself rather than her.

“I'm right here, baby. Nothin’ to be scared of.” His voice was steady—measured—but his hands weren’t. His grip on her was a little too tight. They trembled a little.

Maya sniffled, her cries quieting just enough to slow his pulse, and he took that as his chance. Keeping her tucked to his chest, he made his way down the stairs, near flying, boots thudding against the wood.

His breath hitched as he reached the basement door. “Hey, you down here?” he called, shoving it open with his shoulder, jogging down to the dim space below.

Then he saw her.

Leela was slumped against the wall, obvious that she had been tossed into it, her silhouette barely lit by the glare of an emergency lamp in the corner. She was gripping her shoulder fiercely, rubbing it like she was trying to erase the pain. Her fingers dug in hard.

The remnants of her little "science project" upgrade lay scattered around her. Loose wires, metal scraps, a circuit board still humming with life. The main plug socket was connected. Was she fucking stupid? There was a baby upstairs, and she was ready to risk her home for that dumbass machine.

And her face—Fuck. She had gone pale. Eyes squeezed shut. Her chest rose and fell like she was working through an intense wave of pain.

“Christ.” The word came out more like a breath than anything. Joel took a step forward, but when his eyes landed on the tangled wires, something burned under his ribs.

“The hell do you think you’re doin’?” His voice came out rougher than intended, fear clawing at his throat, disguising itself as frustration.

Leela’s eyes fluttered open, hazy but sharp. “I’m okay. I’ll be fine.” She held up a hand to stop him before he could kneel down beside her. “Just a bit of bruising. Maya first.”

Joel clenched his jaw.

She was right. Damn it, he hated that she was right. Maya, now hiccupping soft little breaths against his chest, was the priority.

“Right,” he muttered, though the reluctance in his voice was clear. He cast her one last look, making sure she was still upright, still breathing normal, before turning back up the stairs.

It took ten whole minutes to get Maya settled, and that was a miracle in itself. He'd resorted to pleading under his breath, but she had continued to watch him, eyes wide, refusing to let sleep take her like she knew something was wrong. She was perceptive. Just like her mother.

Finally, finally, her little lashes fluttered shut, her tiny hand still gripping onto his shirt.

Joel exhaled, relief going awash his tension. “Good girl,” he murmured, before unfurling her fingers from his collar, brushing a kiss over them and laying her back down.

Then he was sprinting again. Back down the stairs, faster than he should have been, hand gripping the railing tight.

Leela hadn’t moved much. She was still slumped against the basement wall, her breaths deep and restrained—like she was trying to breathe the pain away.

Joel came down to a crouch by her feet. “Hey.”

“I'm fine, Joel, really,” she assured quietly.

Though, he could tell she was pissed at herself. She hated being like this—vulnerable, hurting, unable to brush it off and acting like it didn’t happen. But Joel saw it. He saw her. How she'd tilted her head against the wall, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.

Leela truly was fine. Bruised, rattled—but fine.

Joel had checked her over once more, ensuring nothing was broken, no serious harm done, and he had to force himself to believe her when she said she’d be okay.

But her hands. Oh, Christ. The dim glow of the emergency lamp cast a dull shine over her skin, and that’s when he noticed—the raw, reddened patches along her fingertips. The unmistakable burn marks where the electricity must’ve bit into her.

"Shit." He exhaled sharply through his nose, scraping a hand down his beard as he stared at her fingers.

She must’ve seen the look on his face because she tucked her hands close to her stomach like she could make them disappear. “Seriously,” she murmured, voice hoarse. “I’ve had worse.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. She wasn’t wrong. And that made something in him burn even hotter.

“C’mon,” he muttered, nodding toward the stairs. “Up.”

Leela hesitated, but the way he stood—the way he waited—made it clear he wasn’t asking. So she sighed and pushed herself upright, and Joel stayed close, arms extended safely around her, watching the way she moved, the way her body reacted.

She didn’t stumble. Didn’t wobble. That was good. No concussion or broken bones. A knot in his chest loosened instantly.

Once they made it back upstairs, Joel had her sit at the kitchen table, lit up from the sunshine filtering through from the afternoon sun. He set a bowl of warm water down in front of her, the steam curling into the space between them. He grabbed a small tin of ointment after a bit of rustling through the cabinets, then a roll of gauze, then paused, eyes flicking to her.

She was watching him. Still. Silent. Waiting.

Joel breathed out, slow and even, then came back over, pulling a chair beside her. He reached for her wrist, gently, carefully, lifting her hands into his own. A silent ask. Permission. Lesson learned from the last time he'd touched her.

Leela tensed for half a second before sighing, letting him take them.

She was trying to play it off like it didn’t hurt. Like it was fine. But as soon as he dipped her fingertips into the warm water, she sucked in a quiet breath through her teeth.

Joel’s grip tightened just a little. He tried to squeeze everything he had felt these past few days into a single word—“Sorry.”

He worked, taking it slow, gently swiping away the dust and grime, watching the way her skin flinched under the heat. His thumbs moved gradually, steadily, like he was afraid to make it worse.

“Y’gotta be more careful,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Damn wires ain’t worth all this. Remember, you’ve got someone countin’ on you.”

Leela let out a soft, tired laugh. “I didn’t know I had a nanny now.”

Joel shot her a look. “You don’t. You got me.”

She blinked at that.

Her lips parted slightly, but whatever she was about to say, she thought better of it. Instead, she let him work, let him take care of her, and trusted his instincts, and that felt like something neither of them was ready to acknowledge just yet.

Once her hands were cleaned, he dried them carefully, mindful of the more sensitive spots, before smoothing ointment over each burnt fingertip.

Leela twitched. “Ow.”

Joel grunted. “Ain’t gonna feel good, but it’ll keep it from blisterin’ too bad.”

He finished wrapping the gauze around her fingers, slow and precise, making sure they weren’t too tight. Leela stared down at her hands when he was done, flexing her fingers slightly, testing the bandages like she wasn’t sure what to make of them. Three fingers on each hand.

Joel blew out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face as he took in the house.

It was quiet. Too damn quiet. God, he hated this. That unnatural kind, where something had been cut short too suddenly—like the whole place had been stunned into silence. The shot-out lights overhead blinked weakly before finally dying out for good, leaving nothing but the cold creeping in from every corner.

It was already setting in. The draft slithered through the cracks in the windows, curling around his ankles, and sinking into the wood beneath his feet. The thermostat had shut off along with the rest of the power, which meant no heat. Not with how damn cold it got out here. Jesus, he'd forgotten to tuck some extra layers around Maya.

His eyes swept the room. A busted power grid. A rattled woman nursing bruises. A two-month-old baby upstairs who didn’t know a damn thing about survival, who didn’t understand that warmth wasn’t something she could just take for granted.

And this woman—this stubborn, frustrating woman—was already trying to stand up like she hadn’t just been thrown into a wall.

"I'll go check it out. Don't worry, Joel, I know what to do," Leela offered, pushing herself up.

Joel shot out a hand, firm, stopping her before she could get any further.

"You ain't fixin’ shit, you hear me?" His voice came out rougher than he intended, but hell if he cared. "Sit your damn ass down. You're stayin' at my place till I get this sorted."

The prospect did not sit well with her. He could see it in the way her jaw clenched, her eyes flicking to the window like she was already searching for another solution.

She shook her head. "I can't—"

"That's not an option."

She looked at him then, her brows drawing together. And he knew what she saw—knew she saw that hard-set determination in his face, the part of him that had already made up his mind.

What she didn’t see—what he’d never let her see—was the way his chest was burning with something too tight, too damn close to fear.

Because he’d walked into cold houses before. Knew what happened when the temperature dropped too low. Had seen bodies frozen stiff in the middle of the night, curled up as if that had been enough to keep them warm. Had seen what happened when people thought they could tough it out. He'd rather never see or smell that ever again.

Now, Leela thought she could tough it out. But he wasn’t about to let her gamble with a baby’s warmth just to prove a damn point. And if she thought this was some kind of negotiation, she was dead wrong. Because he wasn’t giving her a choice.

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself, softening the edges just enough so he wasn’t barking orders at her like some kind of drill sergeant.

“Just for a while,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Till I can fix whatever the hell you fucked up down there.”

Leela didn’t answer right away, lips pressing into a thin line. But she wasn’t stupid.

She glanced up toward the stairs, toward where Maya was still sleeping. Then back at him. Joel could see the exact moment she gave in. Her shoulders slumped as she relented.

He nodded, standing up, already running through what needed to be done. “Good. I'll go bundle up the kid.”

X

Joel hasn't exactly planned to have company. Ever.

Maria and Tommy showed up sometimes. Ellie, too—though not without complaint. She claimed the place smelled like old people and swore visiting would tank her cool factor. But even when they came around, he never let them stay too long. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen, before he was ushering them out the door with a gruff, Alright, get on, and some excuse about needing to be up early. It wasn’t that he didn’t like having people around. It was just—his place wasn’t made for that. He hadn’t made it for that.

It was single floor, nice and compact. He slept on the pullout couch in the living room. Not because he didn’t have that one really sweet bedroom, but because it was easier nowadays—closer to the door, closer to the window that faced the big white house across the street. His sink was a mess of dishes from last night, crusted over and rotting in the stale air. His cabinets weren’t stocked with food so much as they were with whiskey and coffee.

He came home. He ate. He slept. He woke up. Showered. Left. That was it. That was his life. It was enough and to spare.

So when Leela and Maya showed up at his front door, he wasn’t prepared. Not in the slightest.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, stepping aside to let her in. “Come on, then.”

Leela ducked inside first, shaking the cold from her coat, eyes flicking around the place as if she were already judging him for it. And maybe she was. Hell, Joel sure as shit would. Because this—this eyesore—was how she was gonna see him. As some tired, deadbeat old man who hadn’t even tried.

Maya stirred against her chest, her little hands fisting in the collar of Leela’s coat.

Joel cleared his throat and reached for her automatically. He needed his calm here. “C’mere, baby girl.”

She squealed at the sound of his voice, squirming, her small fingers flexing, gripping the fabric of his flannel before she finally settled against him, warm and soft. Joel let out a quiet breath through his nose, a strange kind of tightness unwinding from his ribs. He hadn’t even realized he’d been bracing for something.

“She can stay with me,” Leela said softly, slipping out of her coat.

Joel shook his head. “Nah, you get some rest. You’re takin’ the room down the hall.”

Leela blinked, surprised. “And you?”

Joel busied himself with Maya, playing catch and release with her tiny fists, letting her grab onto his finger before slipping it away. “I’ll be fine. Got the couch.”

She frowned. “But you’ve got that bad back.”

Joel sighed, jaw twitching. “Yes, ma'am. Thanks for noticin’.”

Leela’s mouth quirked slightly, just a little, but enough that it softened something in her expression. “You should take the bed, Joel.”

He hummed, shaking his head, shifting Maya a little higher against his chest. “You just shot into a wall and burned yourself, darlin’. I think you’re entitled to a bed.”

She tilted her head at him, her brow pinching together like she was trying to figure something out.

Joel stared back, more stubborn than apprehensive, his grip tightening just a fraction around Maya’s small body.

He wasn’t sure what it was, that look of hers. But damn if it didn’t make him feel like he was seen in a way he wasn’t used to. Like she was really looking at him—not the grumpy bastard everyone in Jackson thought he was, not the fixer, not the old guy sleeping his way through life—but him.

Joel shifted on his feet, clearing his throat. “Look, you’re takin’ the bed, that’s that. Maya can sleep next to you, so she’ll be closer.”

Leela was still staring at him, quiet for a long beat.

Then eventually she sighed. “Okay.”

It wasn’t much, but it felt like that little something Joel had wanted. Like an inch of the cold between them had finally cracked, let some warmth in.

Look, of course, Joel had always known his house was too damn small. He just hadn’t felt it until now.

There was no privacy to be had, not really. The pullout couch in the living room faced the bedroom door, left cracked open just enough for him to see the gentle rise and fall of Maya’s little body curled against where Leela would sleep later. The bathroom was the only one in the house, meaning if she needed it in the middle of the night, she’d have to walk past him to get there.

Not much space. Not much distance.

So when he heard the soft shuffle of her feet against the wood floor, he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t even have to look up from the guitar in his hands to know she’d wandered further inside, drawn toward the small corner of the living room where he kept his workspace.

It was a cramped setup—a shabby studio table shoved against the wall, two half-finished guitars resting on stands nearby. He’d only just started working on them, but it gave his hands something to do, something to create.

Leela’s fingers grazed over the unfinished wood, her touch featherlight. “I didn’t know you were this talented. A luthier.”

Joel chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “Layin’ it on a bit thick.”

She ignored him, curiosity guiding her hands as she thumbed over the strings. A quiet hum vibrated through the air, not a real note, just a sound. She tilted her head, listening.

“Would you make one for me when you have time to spare?” she asked, glancing up. “I’d love to learn.”

Joel almost laughed, because—yeah. Yeah, he’d drop dead before refusing that. “‘Course,” he said, voice low but certain.

Leela’s eyes found it too easily, drawn in like a moth to an old light. He almost wished he'd hid it away.

The picture that had survived time and death, sat on the corner shelf, tucked between a coil of guitar strings and a worn-out rag, the frame dull with dust he never bothered to wipe away. The glass was cracked, a thin vein running through the top left corner, but it didn’t matter. The image was still there. She was still there.

Sarah, grinning wide, her curls bouncing as she leaned into him, arms slung around his shoulders. Joel remembered that day. He’d taken her out to some shitty little carnival on the edge of town, and let her sucker him into one of those rigged ring toss games. She’d won a stuffed bear—cheated, more like, because the booth worker had taken pity on her—and held onto it the whole night like it was the greatest thing in the world.

She looked happy. They looked happy.

And it hit him—like it always did, like it always would—how long it had been since he’d last heard her voice. Since she’d called him 'Dad!' in that exasperated, teasing way of hers. Since she’d looked at him like he was the safest place she’d ever known.

Leela didn’t say anything. She didn’t even reach for it, didn’t let her gaze linger too long. Just acknowledged it, felt it, then moved past it, like she understood that some ghosts weren’t meant to be disturbed. Let them rest.

Joel swallowed. It wasn’t often that someone gave him that kind of space—left his past untouched, let him sit with it without trying to crack it open.

She leaned back against the edge of the desk, brushing her fingers through her hair again—one of those little habits of hers, nervous and absentminded. The strands were overgrown, frayed at the ends, and he knew she probably didn’t have the time to fix it, or maybe just didn’t care enough to. He should tell Maria to give her a trim.

But, she wasn’t wearing that pearl-buttoned nightdress tonight. This one was blue. Smooth. Loose-fitting. The frilled sleeves barely touched her shoulders, and it wasn’t anything special, not really, but—he liked it. That colour looked pretty on her skin.

The thought settled in his chest like an itch he didn’t know how to scratch.

Leela watched her fingers trail absently over the wood grain of the desk. “I owe you an apology, Joel,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Joel listened and didn’t speak, just let the words settle between them.

“For how I’ve been treating you.” She swallowed, gaze flicking up to him, uncertain but steady. “You’ve only ever helped me, and you're so good with Maya. I know it wasn’t fair of me to just… shut you out.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

But she wasn’t convinced. She hesitated, jaw tensing, lips parting slightly before pressing shut again. There was something she wanted to say like it was dislodged deep, festering, in her chest.

“That night in the car…” She took a breath like it might help balance her. It didn’t. “It wasn't you. I had—before Maya, I was—there was—”

Joel knew that look. The way her throat bobbed, her fingers curling against the desk like she needed something solid to hold onto. Holding herself together. He didn’t let her unravel, just not tonight.

“Stop,” he said, gentle but firm. “You don’t have to explain.”

Leela blinked at him, studying his face, like she was trying to decide if he meant it. So he shrugged, forcing a small, easy grin.

“Perks of havin’ me around. I don’t care for the details.”

A small breath of laughter escaped her. Real, unguarded, softening the edges of her face. He loved to see it on her. “That's a relief.”

Joel leaned forward, rubbing his palm over his knee, the dull ache settling in from the long day.

His voice was lower when he spoke. “It’s just nice to be there, y’know?” He wasn’t good at this—saying shit like this—but it began to get easier with her. “With Maya. And you. There's more purpose than just shooting things beyond the fence.”

Something flickered across Leela’s face.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the desk, and her knuckles paled with how tightly she gripped it. “You’re welcome home anytime, Joel. My door’s always open for you.”

Joel’s chest pulled tight.

He looked at her. And he thought about that damn oak door, how she never locked it, how he’d always given her hell for it in his head. And how, for the first time, it didn’t feel like carelessness.

It felt like trust. Not in this boring town of survivors. But in the neighbour across the street who'd ferreted his way into their lives.

Leela took a slow breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “So, you don’t have to come around just to fix things next time.”

Her voice was softer now. And then—something else. A small, almost shy laugh slipped past her lips, barely there, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say this next part out loud.

“Come to eat. To talk. To see Maya.” A beat. “And me.”

Joel felt it then—the shift. It wasn’t big, wasn’t some grand, earth-shaking thing. But it was there. He felt it.

"Maya loves you so much."

Joel glanced at her, unable to hold back the sympathy. He should’ve just let it sit. Should’ve just nodded, grunted something, and let the conversation move on. But instead, he said, low, “That bothering you?”

Leela hesitated, but only for a second. Then she sighed, rubbing a hand over her neck. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe.”

Joel stayed quiet, watching her.

She let out a quiet, humourless laugh. “It’s just... I don’t feel like her mother. Not really.” Her voice was even, but he could hear the strain underneath, the sharp edge of something she didn’t want to say aloud. “I do everything I’m supposed to. Feed her. Hold her. Change her. But it’s just... a list to get through.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “I thought it would be different. I know it's such an awful thing to say.”

Joel felt that like a punch to the gut. He knew what she meant. Knew how goddamn isolating it could be—to go through the motions, do the right thing, and still feel like you’re on the outside looking in.

“She’s yours, darlin',” he said after a moment. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing—at making sense of feelings, at giving comfort. He was trying. “That’s what matters. Sometimes it's not a magic switch, you can't just flip it on and feel it. Sometimes, you grow to love someone. Over time, energy, effort.”

Leela scoffed, quiet, barely there. “That all it takes?”

“No,” Joel admitted. “But it’s good enough.”

She finally looked at him then, something cautious in her expression, something raw. He didn’t push. Didn’t try to say anything else. Just let the silence stretch, easy and open, not asking for more than she was willing to give.

Leela swallowed, nodding slightly, like she was tucking the words away, considering them.

The space between them, once weighed down by hesitation, by careful sidesteps and unspoken rules, felt… lighter. Like the tension that had settled into the cracks between their words was finally easing, letting some warmth slip through.

And that? That did something to him.

His throat worked around something unspoken, and he rolled his shoulders back, shifting from feet to feet, like he could physically shake whatever the hell was loose inside him. The words that wanted to come didn’t.

Instead, he settled on something simpler. Something safer.

“You should get some rest.”

Leela’s gaze lingered, searching, like she was trying to read something in his face. Then she nodded, flashing a grin. “Sure,” she murmured. “Goodnight, Joel.”

Joel held her gaze for a moment longer. His fingers flexed at his sides, a familiar itch settling in his chest, the kind that always came when he stood in doorways when someone was walking away and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow or stay put.

He watched her retreat into the room, disappear behind the cracked door, and stand there for a moment before finally turning away.

The door was open again. And that was the thing about doors.

They worked both ways.

X

While on the road, Joel had spent years sleeping in places that barely counted as beds. Hard ground. Rusted truck seats. Creaking, sagging mattresses in abandoned buildings where one wrong turn meant waking up dead. Even now, safe inside these walls, inside this town where people thought fences and routine were enough to keep the bad out, behind homes with locked doors—well, should have locked doors—he never truly slept deep.

Always on alert. Always half-ready. Even in the comfort of a home he could call his.

Joel lay on the couch, stiff as the thing itself, staring into the rough fabric. He wasn’t asleep—he never really was—but he kept his back turned anyway. It felt like the right thing to do, a courtesy or some form of privacy in a house too damn small to actually have any.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. Long enough for the warmth of the fire to ebb. Long enough to hear the wind pick up outside, rattling at the windows. Long enough to wonder if Leela had finally managed to fall asleep.

He exhaled through his nose and, without really thinking about it, rolled over onto his side, eyes shifting toward the bedroom.

Leela was out cold.

Her hair had been pulled back into a loose braid, but strands had escaped, curling softly against her cheek. One hand dangled into the mattress as if she’d fallen asleep patting Maya and never quite finished. He could see the slow rise and fall of her chest, deep and steady, her body given over to exhaustion.

Joel frowned as his eyes drifted lower. The blanket had slipped, barely covering her waist, her legs left bare to the chill of the night. One knee peeked out, the curve of it catching the dim, murky light of the bedside lamp. He felt his jaw tighten, his fingers flexing at his side. Wasn’t she cold?

But then his eyes landed on the baby in front of her, and the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding eased right out of him.

Maya was not asleep. Flat on her back, legs kicking sharp, barbed movements, her tiny fingers flexing in the air, opening and closing like she was trying to grab something invisible. Every so often, she let out a soft little coo, her breath light, testing, careful not to wake her mother.

Joel squinted. Lifted his head a little. Maybe she was just shifting in her sleep.

Nope, the kid was fully awake. Big, round eyes blinking up at the ceiling, mouth open in a little round ‘o’ of discovery, her hands reaching for her own damn feet, like she’d only just realized they were attached to her.

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. He could just leave her be. She wasn’t crying. Wasn’t fussing. She'd fall asleep on her own.

But then she spotted him.

Her entire little body bucked, like the excitement was too much for her tiny limbs to contain. A bright, panting laugh bubbled from her mouth, and her hands curled, fists flailing like wanted to launch herself toward her.

Joel sighed. That was it. No walking away now.

Ignoring the slow, persistent cramp in his back, he shifted, pressing his hands into the pullout and pushing himself upright. His knees popped when he stood, and he winced, rolling his shoulders as he made his way into the bedroom. The floor groaned under his feet, but Leela didn’t stir. She was too far gone, too lost to the bruises and the exhaustion pressing her under.

Maya, on the other hand—beamed up at him, wiggling harder, completely unbothered by the late hour, her tiny hands batting at the air.

Joel sighed through his nose and crouched down beside the bed. He held up a finger to his lips. “Ssh, ssh,” he murmured like she had any damn understanding of the concept.

Her fists continued to flail, little feet kicking the air, and he sighed, leaning down to scoop her up. She fit into his arms easily, the way she always did—small and naming the nook to herself, all warm skin and bundled sleepiness. Sleep fired right out of his system.

“You're gonna wake your poor mama,” he whispered to her.

Shifting Maya against his chest, he glanced at Leela again. She hadn’t moved a muscle, fast asleep. But the blanket had slipped low, barely covering her waist, her arms left uncovered to the cold.

Joel hesitated for only a second before leaning over, taking the edge of the comforter and tucking it around her, careful not to wake her. The fabric pooled at her shoulder, and she sighed quietly in her sleep, sinking into the warmth of the bed, but not waking.

Good. She was finally catching up on sleep. When was the last time he'd seen that girl rest? Never. She'd always woken up the earliest, wandering between her papers and blackboards in the living room.

Maya let out a content little hum against his shoulder, and Joel blew out a breath, stepping back out of the bedroom and into the dimly lit living room. He wasn’t going to bother putting her back on the bed. She was too awake for that.

Instead, he plunged back onto the couch, settling into the cushions and adjusting her against his chest. She curled into him easily, her featherlight weight pressing against his ribs. She hummed again, a soft, breathy little thing, and then—one of her fists landed against his sternum with a dull thump.

Joel huffed, peering down at her. “You tryin’ to knock the wind outta me, trouble?”

Maya lifted her head to blink up again, dark eyes round and glassy in the dim light, looking like she had something important to say. Then her fist lifted again, this time smacking more of a lazy pat than anything with real intent.

He narrowed a playful glare on her, shifting her a little higher against him. He poked at her cheek. “We got some problems, or is this just your way of lettin’ me know you’re still awake?”

She didn’t answer—fucking obviously—but she did something close to it. Her mouth rounded in a small, exaggerated ooh, and her fingers fumbled against his shirt before one of them caught onto his.

Joel felt the soft, clumsy pull of her grip, then the unmistakable wet warmth of her mouth closing around the tip of his finger.

He grimaced, but not in any real discomfort. “Great, there you go. You're lucky you're so beautiful.”

Maya suckled lazily, brows furrowing like she was concentrating really hard on the task, and Joel exhaled, letting her gnaw as much as she wanted.

Joel stared at the ceiling, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing slow, careful circles against her back.

She was a happier baby now. Not screaming. Not crying as much. Just there. Comfortable and safe.

He swallowed against the feeling mashing against his ribs. His jaw unclenched, let his head fall back against the couch, eyes slipping shut. And he let out the longest breath known to man.

It had been years—years since he’d felt this weight, this warmth, this need pressed against him. It was a different life, a different world, but somehow, it wasn’t. His body still knew this, still remembered the rhythm of it, the quiet intimacy of a baby trusting him enough to just be here, curled up against his chest, with no fear, no hesitation.

And goddamn him, but he loved it. Loved the small breaths puffing against his collarbone. Loved the way she looked up at him, slow and sleepy, tapping her tiny knuckles against him like she was checking to make sure he was still there. Loved that he didn't have to think about anything, not feel like the whole world was closing in.

Loved this.

He wasn’t thinking about the past. No, he wasn’t. But if he was, he sure as hell wouldn’t admit it.

The sound of the front door unlocking jolted him.

Joel’s eyes snapped open, his entire body tensing for a fight as his hand instinctively curled around Maya’s small back, protective, ready. His other hand curled into a loose fist at his thigh.

The door eased open with a quiet creak, and a familiar silhouette stepped inside.

Ellie.

“Joel?” she whispered, peering at him in confusion.

Joel just stared at her. Not because she was here—she was always stopping by when she damn well pleased—but because for the first time in his life, he was the one who forgot to lock the damn door.

Maya shifted against his chest, making a soft noise, her tiny fingers still curled around his. Joel gave her a small, reassuring bounce as if she’d needed one.

Ellie, meanwhile, was still standing there, taking in the sight of him on the couch, a whole baby in his arms, and the bedroom door cracked open just enough to hint at the woman asleep inside. The pretty neighbour that had Joel all riled up.

Her eyebrows lifted and mouth twitched as she crossed her arms. “This isn’t a hostage situation, right? Am I an accomplice now?”

Joel sent her a flat look. “Whatever gave that away?”

Ellie then continued to stare at him and at Maya.

It was the kind of look Joel had gotten used to over the years, the one where she tried to figure out if she was hallucinating. Because she’d seen Joel Miller do a lot of things—wrangle Clickers, nurse a cold one, fix up a rifle—but sitting on his couch, cradling a whole-ass baby like that? It was a new one. Like unlocking a new character in a video game.

Her lips pressed together, eyes still flicking between him and the kid, and then—she snorted.

“Oh, man,” she whispered, shaking her head, a shit-eating grin spreading over her face. “I wish I had a camera to capture this gold.”

Joel sighed. “Alright, get on with it.”

Grinning, Ellie plopped herself down beside him, the whole couch shaking, immediately leaning in close to peer at Maya. Almost as if she was the first infant she'd seen in her life.

“Hi, baby,” she cooed, voice going all high-pitched and ridiculous. “Hiiii.”

Maya blinked at her, unmoving, her fists curled safely in her mouth, her tiny brows furrowing as if she were trying to figure out just who the hell this new person was.

Ellie wiggled a finger in front of her. “Here. Go on, grab it.”

Maya did not. She just kept staring, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, utterly mystified by the sudden intrusion.

Joel huffed. “Guess she ain’t impressed.”

“Guess she’s got taste, you dick,” Ellie shot back. Then, her face softened, a little smirk curling her lips. “She’s fucking adorable. Look at those eyes, damn.” Joel barely had time to process the warmth that spread through his chest before Ellie tacked on, “So, definitely not yours.”

His scoff came out before he could stop it. “Oh, real funny, kid.”

Ellie chuckled, finally settling back against the couch, still watching Maya like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “How come they’re here?”

Joel didn’t go into the details, never liked to. About Leela’s bruises, about how she’d been too damn stubborn for her own good, about how he’d practically had to drag her in here to sleep in his bed.

Instead, he just muttered, “Blackout. Gonna head back in the morning and check it out.”

Ellie hummed like she knew there was more to it but didn’t feel like prying.

For a while, they just sat there in silence, and Joel simply let himself watch. The room was dim, the fire in the hearth burned low, throwing flickering shadows across the worn wooden floors. The cold pressed against the windows, creeping in through the cracks, but in here, it was warm—quiet, steady. Both in him and around him.

Ellie leaned in closer, her breath puffing softly against Maya’s round little cheek as she wiggled her fingers in front of her face. “What about this? You like this?” she murmured, tapping her tiny nose, and making a series of stupid clicking sounds.

Maya blinked, floored by this, her wide eyes tracking Ellie’s every move like she was watching the most fascinating thing in the world.

It took another few moments, but then—finally—Maya’s tiny fingers reached out, wrapping shyly around Ellie’s outstretched one. Not tight, not possessive, just curious. Testing.

Joel felt that feeling again, twisting deep in his ribs, imperceptive and calm and unnameable. He could get used to that feeling. It plugged every scar, physical and mental, until his shoulders felt ten times lighter.

The kid he’d sort of raised, playing with the baby he was yet to.

And for the first time in a long time, that muddle just… settled. It was late, too late in life for this kind of thing. But hell, cut him some slack.

Joel exhaled slowly, staring into the last of the fire, watching as the embers pulsed and flickered, struggling to stay alive. His hand absently smoothed over Maya’s back, following the slow rise and fall of her breathing, feeling the tiny weight of her against his chest. She was still. Not fussing. Just there.

Ellie shifted beside him, stretching her legs out, resting her arms against her knees. She wasn’t in a hurry to fill the silence. She just sat there, watching him in that way of hers, like she saw more than she let on.

“So,” she finally said, voice casual. “How’re things between you and…?”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Just flicked her chin toward the bedroom.

Leela was still dead to the world, sunk into the kind of sleep that didn’t let you turn over, didn’t let you dream. Her hand had slipped out from beneath the blanket, fingers curled loosely against the mattress. He wondered how long it had been since she’d let herself rest like that, without one ear open for some threat, without her body coiled tight, waiting for the next hang-up.

Joel looked away. He shifted slightly, adjusting Maya, keeping his voice even. “There’s nothing between us.”

Ellie hummed like she wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, no shit.” She stretched her arms behind her head, smirking. “She’s way out of your league.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head. “No argument here.”

He didn’t need Ellie to tell him that. He was thickheaded, but he wasn't blind. Leela was… Leela. Stunning in that exotic way, compassionate as a human, insanely intelligent. And him? What was he exactly, a cut-throat? A fighter? A relentless fucking human who just refused to die? Twenty years ago, a woman like that wouldn’t have given him the time of day, much less a second glance. A girl like her, back in the world before, would’ve had a whole life ahead of her, a whole set of possibilities. Not this. Not him.

And maybe that’s how it should’ve been. Maybe that’s why this didn’t make any sense.

He tensed his grip on Maya and felt the way she instinctively burrowed against him, curling her little fingers into the fabric of his shirt. She cooed again, watching his mouth move to form words.

He could be something for her. If Leela wanted it, he could carve out a space in Maya's life, be her constant, be her safety net. Hell, be this baby girl's father. He would compromise in a blink. That was different. That was right.

But having Leela herself? That was something else entirely. That was dangerous. That was selfish. There were too many ways it could go wrong. Too many ways it would end badly.

Not because of him, or her, or anything either of them did—just because that was the way life went. He wasn’t made for this kind of thing anymore. Wasn’t built for it. He was too damn old, too set in his ways. And even if she—somehow—wanted this, wanted him, what then? How long until he fucked it up? How long until he lost it?

The way he always did.

He swallowed hard. “I’m too old for her,” he managed to mutter.

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You're fucking kidding. The world ended. There is no standard. And you still care about what, an age gap? Brownie points? Jesus, Joel. You've been through too much to care.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just kept his gaze on the fire, jaw tight.

It wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about how it looked or what people would say. Hell, no one would care. He wouldn't care. They were past that kind of bullshit.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t still impossible.

Because Joel knew himself. He knew what it was like to want something real, to care about someone so much it hollowed you out from the inside. And he knew how fast it could all go to hell.

It was about the fact that she still had so much time. That she could still find someone real, someone better. That she deserved more than a haunted, greying man, who could barely sleep through the night, combing through his days, who lived waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

And she deserved better than a man too tired, too worn down by life, to give her more than what little he had left.

Ellie sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Y’know…” she started, then stopped.

Joel glanced at her, brow furrowing slightly.

She didn’t go on right away. Just drummed her fingers against her knee, staring into the fire, her face unreadable. For once, she wasn’t running her mouth, wasn’t making a joke to cut through whatever was settling between them. She was thinking. That alone put him on edge.

Finally, she said, “It’s different. These last few weeks. Even Tommy sees it.”

Joel frowned, not at the words themselves, but at the way she said them—slow, cautious, like she wasn’t just talking to him but trying to make sense of it for herself.

Ellie had always been good at reading him, sometimes better than he wanted. But this—this was different.

She flitted her gaze toward the bedroom, where Leela was still out cold, her body barely stirring under the blankets. Then to Maya, curled up against him, tiny fingers tangled in his shirt, her soft weight pressed into his chest. Finally, she looked back at him.

She didn’t spell it out. Didn’t need to.

Joel swallowed, shifting slightly where he sat, adjusting Maya’s weight in his arms. His hand smoothed down her back, more out of habit than anything else. He glanced toward the bedroom too, toward Leela, who hadn’t moved an inch. Yes, it was different.

But Ellie wasn’t done. She hesitated, rolling something over in her head before finally letting it out.

“It’s… good, y’know? You having this nice thing.” She waved a vague hand toward the baby, toward Leela. “You don't usually let yourself have nice things. Something that’s not just me.”

Joel’s breath caught.

Ellie had always been his reason for waking up in the morning, the one thing keeping him tethered to whatever life he had left. And she knew that. Knew it in the way she carried herself, in the way she fought with tooth and claw to prove she didn’t need him to keep her standing. That he had his own life. But now, sitting there, she wasn’t mocking, wasn’t teasing. She was just… saying it. And she was goddamn right.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just pushing forward because he had to, wasn’t just surviving out of habit. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, waiting for the axe to fall.

He had something to come back to. Something steady. Something small and warm and his, even if he didn’t know what the hell to do with it yet.

He looked down at Maya, at her tiny, trusting weight in his arms, at the way she twitched slightly in her sleep, lips parting around a breath. His hand smoothed over her back again.

Ellie saw the moment it clicked. The way his face shifted, just slightly. She smirked, satisfied. And that her good work here was done.

Then, just like that, she clapped her hands on her knees and stood up. “Well,” she said, voice slipping back into that familiar teasing lilt, “guess I’ll let you get back to your hostage situation.”

Joel rolled his eyes, settling deeper into the couch as Maya nuzzled against his chest. The kid was out cold now, her little fist still tangled in his shirt.

Ellie was already heading for the door when she threw out in a whisper, “Oh—almost forgot. Maria asked me to tell you to bring your girl by the dam sometime this week.” She smirked, holding up air quotes. “Said she’d like ‘inventor insight.’”

His expression deadpanned. “Maria ain’t letting her go anywhere near machines.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Ooh-kay. Controlling much?”

Joel gave her a warning look. “Ellie.”

She dismissed him with a wave. “I’ll just tell her myself.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, already seeing how that would go. If Leela knew Maria was interested, she’d want to help. She’d go, eager to prove herself, eager to be useful. And then she’d get herself hurt again, pushing past whatever limits she had, just like she always did. That wasn’t happening.

“She’s stayin’ away,” he muttered. “She’ll go, then want to help. Overdo it. Get herself hurt or worse.” He gave Ellie a pointed look. “Better not.”

Ellie let out a sharp laugh, all evil intent. “And you’re telling me there’s nothing between you two?”

“Ellie,” he hissed, too fast, too sharp—just as Maya stirred slightly against his chest, her little face scrunching. He froze, holding his breath, waiting to see if she’d wake.

Ellie’s smirk was damn near insufferable.

“Denial,” she sang out, drawing out the word like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all day.

Joel sent her a flat look.

Ellie just wiggled her fingers in a wave and made for the door once more. “Night, old man.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him alone in the quiet house, the fire crackling low in the hearth. Joel exhaled slowly, his hand smoothing absently over Maya’s back again.

Denial. Maybe. He wasn't ruling it out yet.

X

{ taglist 🫶: @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , @isla-finke-blog , @mojaveghst , @millercontracting , @tinawantstobeadoll , @funerals-with-cake , @txlady37 , @inasunlitroom , @clya4 , @callmebyyournick-name , @axshadows , @littlemissoblivious - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

And to those in the reblogs: thank you all so much, and I'd love to keep hearing more!!

@darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams , @bluemusickid }

[xoxoaugust]

look both ways (when you cross my mind)

pt 2. of See You Again

in which: After meeting again, Sae can't stop thinking about you. Wondering if you look both ways when you cross his mind.

an: guys i'm giggling

wc: 1.7k

That night, Sae stayed up for a bit staring at the messages you had exchanged. He couldn't stop thinking about you. You had changed, but your essence lingered like washed out cologne. You were still kind, but guarded; still humble, but confident. You seemed happy, at peace, without him in your life. That's what he thought, but he couldn't be more wrong. Sure, you were happy and at peace, but he would never know about the late nights, wistful dreams plaguing your mind like a disease spreading throughout the corners of your brain. He'd never know the guilt you felt after scolding him so mercilessly, and you'd never know that he'd forgiven you ages ago.

You were both just fools, fools whose biggest weakness would be communication, just longing for each other endlessly.

You stared at the ceiling of your half decorated apartment. By half decorated, you meant nearly empty. Aside from the necessary furniture and appliances, you had maybe a few pictures of friends and family on your walls. You glanced at the photo of you and Rin at his high school graduation , the one Sae wasn't there for.

Part of you resented Sae, the way he treated Rin after Spain was uncalled for. But part of you could never even attempt to hate him. Maybe you resented him to protect yourself, protecting your heart from the only person you'd ever give it to. Not wanting to be left like scraps, you shut off any and all communication.

The morning after, you woke up with a throbbing headache. Thinking too hard about the last couple days. You got up and got the day started with the little cafe just down the block. You walked with your shoulder bag full of your notebooks, your laptop, your pens and pencils, and headphones nestled comfortably on your head.

Walking in, you greet the little old lady who owned the cafe, and the girl around your age who worked there. You had befriended her after finding out she went to the same university as you. Her name was Rumi, she was a kind, and pretty girl with a longing to be a fashion designer.

"[Name]! It's nice to see you again! The usual?"

You stared at the menu, before looking back at her.

"Can I have my regular matcha, but can I have a smoothie bowl instead? You can pick the flavor, I trust you". You beamed.

She rung you up and handed you the matcha before running off the make your bowl.

As you sat down at your table, you thought about Sae. Would he come to see if you were here? Or would he just not bother?

"This is about that guy, right?" Rumi smiled playfully.

You looked up at her, meeting her eyes as she sat down in front of you.

"Yeah, he's cute, I could tell he was into you. He's not my type but you and him, my god a match made in heaven." She sighed charmingly.

"I don't like him, he's just and old neighbor of mine that happened to be here, no big deal." You said trying to cover the heat crawling up to your face.

Rumi looked at you like you had grown another head.

"Are you kidding me? [Name] , that boy is so in love with you. I've seen him around so many times, he always justs gets his drink and meal then sits at the corner table for like five minutes and then leaves. He doesn't talk to anyone, and he hasn't until you showed up."

You couldn't help the childish upturn of the corners of your mouth. You had spent so much of your childhood longing for Sae to reciprocate the puppy love feelings you had, but it never happened. Now, these feelings left a sickeningly bittersweet memory to relive in your mind.

You zoned out until the bell on the door rang. The person walked into the shop quietly, it was none other than Sae Itoshi.

Rumi looked at you smugly before getting up to take his order.

He ordered his regular unsweetened matcha and a fruit bowl. He walks over to where he usually sits, internally giving himself a high five because he was counting on you being there. Instead of sitting at the table next to it, he sat down right in front of you.

You looked up, baffled. You couldn’t tell if you were excited, or appalled at his audacity. Probably both if you’re being honest.

“Hi Sae, is there something you need or…?”

He simply took a sip of his drink before meeting your gaze and replying.

“I just wanted to sit here, if it’s bothering you I can move.” Said blankly, most likely in good faith but his tone wasn’t helping.

You smiled to yourself, same old Sae.

“You can sit here, just don’t be annoying.” You said, sarcastically.

You two sat in comfortable silence for maybe half an hour, before you broke the silence.

“How have you been? Haven’t heard from you in quite some time.”

He looked up, and you couldn’t help but think about how freaking cute he still is.

“We saw each other like yesterday, I’m the same as I was I guess.”

You sigh, he’s still painfully oblivious, and socially inept.

“You know that’s not what I meant, how has Spain treated you so far? Anything I should look out for?”

You asked even though you had already been here before, you just needed conversation starters.

He paused to think. He knew that your question was most likely hand in hand by how he acted towards you and Rin when he went back to Japan for the first time.

“Not really, it’s pretty nice here. It does make you pretty homesick though.”

Well that caught your attention.

“Did you get homesick after coming here?” You asked out of genuine curiosity.

“I did, it was bad for a while. I missed you and Rin, I missed my parents. I missed the food too, eventually it stopped.”

You felt a pit in your stomach, it must’ve been so hard to be in a whole different country by yourself at the age of 13. You felt your heart soften.

“You could’ve called me y’know, Rin and I would’ve dropped everything just to talk to you more often.”

“I did call”

“Yeah maybe twice!” You laughed.

God that laugh, he could never get enough of it. He missed your smile the most, of course he missed your company, but he could stare at that smile for hours and never get tired of it.

“We should stay in touch.” You proposed, hopefully might I add.

“We have each other’s numbers right?” He said monotonously.

“I mean like hang out, like we used to.” You said softly.

“Okay, where do you want to go?”

You looked at your watch. “Right now?”

Sae looked confused.

“Yeah, I don’t have practice tonight, we can go somewhere if you’d like.”

You thought about it, it had been maybe a year and a half since you’ve been to Spain. You managed to get a scholarship, but you never told Sae about it. Maybe the place has changed a lot since you left.

“You should give a tour, like what’s new here?”

He nodded before getting up to help you pack your things. Ever so the gentleman.

You grabbed your matcha before glancing back at Rumi, who was giggling and mouthing ‘I told you so’.

As you walked around the area Sae brought you to, you could help but feel nostalgic. I mean taking away the fact that Rin wasn’t here, you felt like the young girl would walk around with Sae all the time.

He would point out his favorite places in the small shopping center. His favorite bookstore, favorite restaurants, favorite clothing stores that he would go to maybe every 6 months. You were listening, partially. You kept looking at him, probably with heart eyes.

You finally settled near the park, until, you felt a drop of water hit your arm.

It was raining, and the downpour was picking up.

Sae grabbed your arm and pulled you to the nearest shade.

“My place is around here, if you’re okay with it we can head over there and wait until the rain slows down.”

You nodded and he grabbed your hand before dashing towards the building. You felt the heat creep up to your face before the two of you slowed down to enter the lobby.

He grabbed his keycard and scanned the elevator lock, walking inside with your hand still in his. When you got situated into the elevator, you let go of his hand, trying to warm yourself up by rubbing your arms.

He glanced over at you once before removing his jacket and offering it to you by holding it out in your direction.

"Sae I appreciate it but i'm okay, you don't need to give me your jacket." You smiled, still shivering.

"I want to, we're about to get there anyways, wear it until we get there so you don't feel cold."

You hesitantly took his jacket and placed it over your shoulders.

He kept glancing over to see you wearing his jacket, god he thought you looked adorable.

The elevator dinged and you walked out of the elevator, still wearing his jacket. He guided you to the massive door and opened it with his card. You couldn't believe your eyes, his penthouse was actually huge. It was so Sae, clean and tidy, everything was in it's place, though it felt lonely, there was a warm feeling about it. You took off his jacket and placed it on the coat hanger right next to the door before exploring the main area.

"Sae you cannot be serious right now. Who needs a bar in their house? Do you even drink?"

"Not really, there's coffee machines too if you want some."

You rolled your eyes so loudly.

The main room was beautiful, clean cream colored leather couches with red and maroon decorative pillows placed neatly in each corner, glass coffee tables and a fireplace. It was the typical millionaire side residence.

"Do you want something to drink? We have two hours to kill."

Your eyes bulged out of your head. TWO HOURS?!

"Uh i'll have anything, I don't mind."

He nodded before getting to work. You couldn't lie, he looked really good right now. His athletic long sleeve shirt pushed up to his forearms and his hair slightly damp.

As good as he looked, you did not know what to do, how were you going to stay here for two whole hours? You prayed there was a merciful god to strike you down this instant.

xoxo, august

an: sorry this feels so rushed, but I want to turn this into a series. I really like the idea of each Tyler lyric being a new chapter, so stay tuned !

[gravedwe11er]

Echoes through the cosmos

The final part of my Mecha AU coswave fic is done! It took me a while, but here it is. Parts one and two can be found here, and I hope you enjoy!

AU by @keferon and the base idea came from my friend @cosmique-oddity

Things are changing for Cosmos, in more ways than one. It doesn't have to be a bad thing.

“Greetings, little watcher,” comes from his headphones, completely out of nowhere, and Cosmos nearly stumbles on the treadmill.

“Good morning, big watcher,” he teases back, and blames the beginning of a blush spreading across his face on the exercise.

A staticky crackle carries through the tiny speakers. “Designation: Soundwave.” says the mech firmly, and Cosmos can’t help but burst into laughter.

Things have been better lately. That first bit of honesty seems to have opened the floodgates, and Soundwave’s voice is now a near-constant companion in his ear. The mech still prefers texting or using his vocal modulator, but every now and then, Cosmos gets to hear the real him, and he treasures every instance accordingly. And if Soundwave’s smooth, almost melodic voice inspires some slightly embarrassing thoughts at times? Well, that’s nobody’s business but his own, really.

“Just returning the favor, Soundwave,” he says, putting emphasis on the name. “It’s only fair to have a nickname for you too, though, wouldn’t you say?”

“Correction: greetings, Cosmos.”

Cosmos snorts. “Alright, alright, I see how it is. But I am going to find a nickname you like eventually, you know. Or, well- at least tolerate.”

“Negative,” comes over the speakers, deadpan as all get out. Cosmos just smiles again, shaking his head, before returning to his exercise.

Yeah, things are good.

-

“Waves.” Cosmos tries, impish grin on his face.

[Designation: Soundwave.]

“Soundy.”

[Negative.]

“Alright, alright,” he says between barely suppressed giggles. “Wavey?”

“No.”

“Sounders!”

The entire screen blacks out. “Wait, no, come back, I’m sorry-“

-

“Do your people have entertainment media? Books, movies, that sort of thing?”

[Affirmative,] appears on a mostly empty screen in front of him- it’s been a calm couple of days, the equipment not registering anything of import and leaving more than enough time for…well, whatever he wants, really. [Written works: currently most commonplace due to prolonged conflict. Holofilms available: old or amateurly produced.]

“Oh! Yeah, that makes sense. Hollywood has slowed down production as well, quite a bit in the past years.” Getting attacked and smashed to smithereens several times over hadn’t helped much. They’ve always recovered though, actors and writers refusing to give up their art, even if their budgets were cut down severely. “What do you like, then? How do you spend your free time?”

[Free time: rare commodity.] Soundwave writes, and he chuckles because right, fair enough. Head communications officer for an army at war, with four kind-of-not-really kids? That’s got to be busy.

Still, though. “I understand, but surely there’s something you enjoy? Got a favorite book, or a poem?”

“Soundwave: partial to music.” A pause. Then- “Would you like to hear some?”

The offer, along with Soundwave’s real voice, make Cosmos’ heart pick up the pace. Alien music! He’s about to hear real, actual music from another planet! Nodding, he turns to the camera behind him and gives the mech a giddy smile.

Soon enough, a gentle melody begins pouring out of his headphones, and- whatever he’s expected, it was not this. The song - or composition, more like - is alien, oddly complex and unbelievably beautiful.

There are no lyrics, he doesn’t think, but the interplay of different instruments still seems to tell a tale as the song progresses, changing and twisting on itself. It makes him think of two people, of a longing he finds so familiar, of warm clasped hands and stolen moments between the cold of melancholy. He sits in his chair, silent and entranced, as the melody goes through a crescendo, a painful conflict, before mellowing and fading out, like a peaceful embrace of two souls, now finally united for good.

When it’s all over, seconds or minutes or hours later, his vision is blurry with unshed tears. At the other end of the call, he could almost swear he feels Soundwave’s presence, watching him, sharing this moment with him.

Cosmos feels warm.

“Thank you,” he whispers into the receiver, wiping at his eyes but smiling, and he feels more than hears Soundwave’s answering hum. “Could you play it again?” he asks after a few minutes, and when the melody fills his ears once more, he simply closes his eyes and lets himself be carried away.

-

“I forgot to ask before, but was that Cybertronian music?”

“Negative,” comes through his headphones. “Composition: created by organic species.”

“Oh!” he wasn’t really expecting that, but then again, maybe it should have. it didn’t sound very, ah, mechanical? “Do you have any more from the composer? Or at least the same people?”

“Soundwave: in possession of one more unfinished melody from composer. Cosmos: interested in listening?”

“Gladly. Why was it not finished, though, do you know? Did something happen to the composer?”

“Affirmative. Species: nearly eradicated by quintesson forces. Creator of piece: deceased.”

Oh. That’s- he doesn’t know what to say. He’d never really given much thought to how other species might have fared against the invasion. Or that they might have actually lost.

“I’d still like to hear it, I think,” he says quietly. There’s nothing he can do for them now, for these aliens he’d never even met, but- he can remember them, at least. Keep a tiny piece of them alive through this.

As the new melody surrounds him with its unearthly tones, Cosmos wonders what Soundwave would keep of humans, if they lose this fight. What Soundwave would keep of him.

-

It dwells on his mind for weeks after, filling his empty hours with maudlin thoughts. He knows by now how unbelievably long a cybertronian’s life is, that his own lifespan is but a speck of dust by comparison, but still. Would the mech keep his face in his memory banks, or the human music playlist he’d made for him? Would he carry a piece of Cosmos with him into the distant stars, keep him close to his spark, or would all they shared be forgotten?

How much does this - whatever they have - matter?

Because it matters to Cosmos. He’s not sure when that happened, but his fascination with the alien mech and enjoyment of his company became- more. Much more. Now, when his soul aches for the presence of another person, it’s not his friends on earth he imagines being held by, or his parents. It’s large silver servos, careful and precise. it’s staring up at a glowing red visor and watching the sun gleam of grey and blue plating. It’s just- Soundwave.

And, well. What is he supposed to do with that?

He knows Soundwave likes him, yes. Enjoys his company, sure, he wouldn’t bother talking with him so frequently otherwise. But is there more to it? Soundwave is a hard person to read, especially with their only method of communication being text and radio. Cosmos had no way to know if he’s like a- a pleasant coworker to the mech, or a true companion, someone actually important.

He doesn’t know, but by god does he hope.

The song they’re listening to comes to an end, bringing Cosmos out of his thoughts. And, yeah, that’s something they do now, listen to music together, looking for things the other might enjoy. That’s… that could mean something, right? Only people who actually care about each other do that, no?

A surprisingly loud, staticky hiss sounds in his ears all of a sudden, and Cosmos flinches. “Soundwave, what-“

“Lost light: arrival impending.”

“Wh- really? When?”

“ETA: thirteen hours local time.”

Oh.

Of course.

It’s just- over the past two months, he’d somehow managed to completely forget about incoming the ship. He’d been so focused on his growing relationship with Soundwave that the knowledge of why the mech was actually here slipped his mind. Now, with reality of the situation staring him in the face, a jittery sort of dread fills his heart.

“Soundwave,” he says, wringing his hands in his lap, “how’s- what’s going to happen now?”

“Negotiation: will begin with human governments. Jazz: will be returned home, accompanied by Prowl.”

This is the first time he’s hearing of this Prowl person, and he will ask later, but- “And what about you? What will you do now?”

“Soundwave: will remain on Earth, join negotiation process.” There’s a pause, then- “I do not wish to cease our interactions, even once my work here is done. If you call, I will always listen, friend Cosmos.”

And- it’s a relief, hearing that. A huge weight falls off of Cosmos’ shoulders, joy making his heart beat overtime, however- things will undeniably change now. Their mostly quiet, familiar routine won’t last once first contact begins in earnest, and they’ll both be busy with their respective work. He’s delighted to hear he won’t lose Soundwave���s voice in his ear, but-

His stay at the station ends in less than two weeks. He won’t get to actually see Soundwave, most likely, not again. Won’t ever be this close to him again, not in person. And that’s- he thinks of the emergency repair space suit shoved in the storage compartment, of the ticking clock, and makes a decision.

“Soundwave? You said you edited yourself out of footage in real time, when you first arrived here, right? Could you do it again?”

“Affirmative. Query: reason for question?”

“I just- there’s something I need to do.”

-

He approaches the station, gliding through the vacuum of space with ease. It’s a tiny thing, as many earth things are- barely bigger than him in root mode. He’s once again reminded of an earth saying, stating that good things come in small packages, and though he’s not fully certain of its original, intended meaning, he finds himself agreeing nonetheless.

Watching the precious, fragile little person climbing out of the hatch with anxious, unpracticed motions, it feels truer than ever before.

The man’s suit is a colorful thing, yellow and green with red accents, his head surrounded by a fragile looking bubble of glass, protecting him from certain death in the cold, airless void. His hair is a bright, cheerful red as well, only outshined by the force of his smile as pushes off the hull of the station and into Soundwave’s waiting servos.

“Hello, little watcher,” he says, leaving the vocoder off and letting his true voice sound through the suit’s speakers.

Somehow, the human’s smile grows wider, and Soundwave feels his spark pulse with fondness. “Hello, Soundwave,” he says softly, blinking up at him with a combination of awe and unbridled joy. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

If it’s anything like what he feels, Soundwave thinks as he brings the man closer, gently pressing his forehelm to the top of Cosmos’ helmet, then he can probably imagine.

[powerfultenderness]

I SWEAR TO GOD, König! IF YOU KEEP REFUSING TO FOLLOW MY OUTLINES, NOTHING WILL EVER GET DONE!!!! 😡😡😡

Do yall wanna know what was supposed to happen for the Valentine's Day fic? He was supposed to be a nasty dirty pathetic stalker who anonymously gifts (also sad) Reader a giant teddy bear with chocolate and flowers.

(18+/MDNI below cut. fem reader.)

and of course the bear has a hidden camera and mic in it. and he was gonna find out that you are sad because you've never had a proper valentine's day gift and are mistaking the anonymous gift as a gift meant for one of the neighbors.

so you get wine drunk while you sit with the bear sitting beside you on your bed watching tv. you give in and open the fancy chocolates first. Your reward for holding onto the gifts so long (why hasn't the stupid guy realized he made a mistake yet?) and you start to read the packaging as you're on your second chocolate. "aphrodisiac sex chocolates. made with aphrodisiac herbs to boost arousal and sensitivity". what a load of bs. still, they taste good so you have another.

it's totally a coincidence that you're feeling horny. it's more the wine and the "holiday" than any effect the chocolate had....

And König frowns as he watches and listens to you mumble about how you wished someone could love you half as much as this guy loved his partner, even if he is stupid and mistakenly sent the gifts to you.

It was no mistake but just when König was about to grab his phone so he could start ordering more gifts for you, you reach over across the bear to set your now empty wine glass on the night stand, your tits right in front of the camera, able to see right down your shirt, and all thoughts leave his mind.

Over the background sound of whatever you were watching he can hear it. The shuffling, your breathing picking up, a little whimper, and even as he's got one hand rubbing at the bulge in his pants, he's cursing himself for not thinking of adding more than one camera. He can see movement but nothing else as your whimpers get louder, as his cock throbs harder.

And then suddenly the camera is looking up at the ceiling. Ah, how clumsy of you, you must have knoc-

He freezes again when he sees you looking down at him, gaze unfocused, and he realizes that you've straddled the bear. He groans and quickly unzips his pants when you start rocking back and forth, little whimpers now moans as you masturbate against the bear. He strokes his leaky cock in time with your movements, moans when he hears your moans, imagines you sitting his lap, rubbing your pretty pussy all over his cock, slicking him up, preparing him and yourself for the stretch of his big cock.

He's grunting out praises for you when you cross your arms and toss your nightshirt over your head and off to the side. Seeing your tits bounce in his face makes his eyes roll back, hips thrusting up, strokes becoming faster as he moans obscenely, the wet fap of his cock in his fist a half decent imitation of what he imagines what it would sound like to fuck you.

A guttural growl rips past his teeth, jaw as tight as it is, when you start to bounce up and down and instead of rocking back and forth. He whines when your hands come up to your grope your own breasts. How he wishes those were his hands, how he wishes to suck and bite and lick and kiss your pretty tits.

One of your hands slides down your body, he wants to follow the trail with his mouth, out of view of the camera. But he knows your rubbing your clit, if he could shut the fuck up he'd be able to hear the wetness against your fingers (it's a good thing he's recording!)

He doesn't let his eyes close or roll back again when you arch your back, your moans crescendoing as your body shakes then stills. He doesn't even realize he's come, moaning loudly and all, until his stomach and lap are painted in his cum. He pants, hand still slowly stroking him, and watches as you come down from your orgasm.

With a little scoff, a laugh at yourself, you drop mostly out of his sight. The camera catches a bit of your mussed hair as you hold the bear close to you.

"Well, I'm not giving you up now, Cuddly bear."

As if he'd let you. As if he didn't think this was you fucking him. If you wanted a big Kuschelbär, he was already yours.

-End-

BUT König doesn't want to be a perv!! 😭🤦‍♀️ Instead he wants to be a gentleman! *sigh*. Listen, König, I'll try to write the fluff piece you are demanding, but it's gonna be late 🙄

also, the title for this would have been Kuschelbär.

[juullllssss]

Selected

prev Part 2

TW: Kidnapping, Manipulation

The next time the door opens another man enters. Were the other was handsome in a rough, boyish way this one is straight up beautiful. More like a model then a kidnapper. Again everyone receives their food portion. For all that it's worth the food is delicious, in another situation you would have been thankful for a home made meal.

The other women don't talk to you, seemingly stuck in their own thoughts but you don't mind that much. Your mind is working overtime, trying to find a way out of this situation. There is not much else to do anyway. For now you are to exhausted to put up a fight. You will try to bid your time. Maybe even gain the trust of one of the men.

The next time both men step in, right behind them another men. First you didn't even register what you saw. In the dim light he appeared like a shadow, he was even taller then the other two men. They step in front of the three of you, opening your chains. And as luck would have it, the man with the mohawk is the one in front of you.

"Ye must 'ave been scared, bonnie, be'ave an we will take care of ya, aye?" You stay silent, looking at him like a prey at a predator, trying to figure out what will happen to you all. His hands are calloused again confirming your suspicion that he must have some kind of job which requires a lot of hard labor.

The men bring you up the stairs. In front of you, you can hear one of the women crying. Maybe the red head, you had heard her before. You had played with the thought of talking to her, she seemed so scared the past days. But her gaze never swayed in your direction. You wondered if someone from your friends was already searching for you. How many days had it been? Was your family worried? Shit you didn't tell anyone where you were going.

It seems the room you were staying in was in reality a basement, connected to a huge house. The men guided you through a kitchen passing into a hallway. Dragging you into the room on the other side, which seemed to be the living room. And there on a big couch sat another men. You were scared of the others before but seeing the man sitting on the couch, waiting for your arrival, did something else to you. You could not make out if you were in awe or stuck in terror. He waited, like a king would wait on his subjects. Gaze firm, with a air around him that screamed authority. He was leaning forward his elbows resting on his thick thighs. The other Men lined you up, you held your breath waiting what would happen next.

The eyes of the older man drifted over the three of you, studying, judging. the red haired women was still crying but not saying anything, not wanting to repeat what happend to the first women. The black haired women was silent, looking down, you could swear her jaw would break if she clenched any harder. Then the man on the couch spoke up. "You must be wondering what you are doing here, i 'm Captain John Price, these are my men, Johnny, Kyle and Simon." He gestured to the men behind you, in the order of their names. "you were picked by us, we wanted.. to know more about you...." He seems to keep his words wage, trailing of in the end. For a moment you think you heard him wrong, what did that even mean? With a quick look to the other women you made up your mind, he told them his and his men names, that must mean something right?

"You are not trafficker's? What does all this mean?" You try to keep your words steady, strong. You nearly apologize when 'Johns' Gaze lands on you. Lucky for you he doesn't seem to take offense to your questions, a small smile on his face. "No, we won't give you away and it means that you will live here for a while... until everything is decided." Again some wage answer in the end. Why did that sound so threatening? But for now it doesn't sound like they would hurt you, well not all of them. With a quick look back you can see this 'Johnny' smiling back at you. Damn if you didn't know what he can do you could be fooled by that killer smile.

John emphasized that nothing would happen as long as you all behaved, promising to take care of every need. Well every need except freedom of course. A 'Hypocrite' floods through your mind at that. This time it is the model 'Kyle' taking you by the arm and guiding you towards the stairs upwards. How big was this house? You tried being discreet while looking around, mapping out the house inside your head. Apparently not discreet enough, a press on your arm makes you look up to Kyle, "Don't even think about it, lovie. Believe me we are faster." His gaze is nearly pleading, mixed with his soft brown eyes it gives you the feeling he was disappointed in you. for a moment you feel guilt bubble in you, before giving yourself a imaginary pinch. Is this what Stockholm Syndrom is?

Your mood is already a lot better after a long, hot shower. Scrubbing the dirt away makes you feel like a brand new women. You could nearly ignore this whole situation, but a knock from your "bodyguard" brings you back. When you step out in your new clothes, Kyles eyes drag over you appreciatively. "Looking good in our clothes, they suit you." Suddenly you had the urge to strip everything of again.

He guides you towards the end of the hallway. With a apologetic smile he turns towards you, "For now you will all stay together, try to get some sleep, must have been a hard time" His words sound so sweet and again you have to remind yourself that this is on of your captors. Then he closes the door behind you. With the sound of a lock you are again captive.