#Each floor is seen as a single community

[reidsbookclub]

An Accidental Marriage

Spencer Reid x fem! reader fluffy fluffy fluffy

Spencer Reid never thought he'd start his morning by nearly choking to death on his beloved coffee. But, then again, he also never thought he’d get accidentally married and find out about it at the same time the rest of the 6th floor at the FBI.

Yet here he was—standing in the BAU’s bullpen, coughing and sputtering as the one person he never expected to see in Virginia stormed into the room and screamed:

"DID YOU KNOW THE MARRIAGE WAS REAL?!"

Everyone seemed to freeze. The usual hum of the FBI’s elite profiling unit went completely silent as every single agent turned to stare at the scene unfolding before them.

Emily Prentiss slowly set down her mug. Luke Alvez raised an eyebrow. Tara Lewis and JJ exchanged glances. Penelope Garcia, the BAU’s self appointed gossip queen, visibly perked up like a cat spotting a canary. And Spencer? Spencer was still choking.

“Marriage?” JJ echoed, tilting her head. “Spence, is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

His childhood best friend—you—stood in front of him, arms crossed, expression half exasperated, half completely bewildered. What were you doing in Virginia? You wen't supposed to finalize your move until next month. Did he get the months wrong? He never got the months wrong but then again thinking about you always did something to his brain, he thought.

“I went to get my license updated, Spencer. My license. And do you know what I found out?” You didn’t wait for him to answer, waving an official-looking paper in front of his face. “I have been legally married for ten years and nobody thought to tell me?”

Spencer finally managed to recover, rubbing his throat before he pushed his glasses up his nose, his mind whirring. “Wait, wait, wait—how is that even possible?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Crash maybe it’s because we signed a legal document at that stupid fair years ago thinking it was a joke when it was actually real!” The moment you called him Crash, the way you had since you were kids (a nickname born from his clumsy nature and his inability to stay upright for long), something clicked in his brain.

The fair. The marriage booth.

The backup plan.

“Oh my God,” Spencer whispered.

“Oh my God is right!” you cried

Penelope practically vibrated in her seat. “Wait, wait, wait—did I just hear correctly? My favorite boy genius has been secretly married for ten years and didn’t know it?! This is better than any rom-com I’ve ever seen!”

Luke smirked. “And you never thought to check?”

“Why would I check? It's Spencer!” Penelope cried

Rossi, who had been listening with an amused expression, leaned back in his chair. “Alright, kids, humor the old man. Start from the beginning.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, and plopped into the nearest chair. Spencer sat beside you, running a hand through his hair.

“Okay,” you started. “Spencer and I grew up together in Vegas. We were best friends. Like, inseparable. Hi, by the way names Y/N and I probably know a lot about all of you.” Spencer nodded. “We met when we were six years old. Statistically, most childhood friendships don’t last into adulthood, but we were an anomaly.”

Emily waved a hand. “Cute, but get to the part where you got married.”

You rolled your eyes, not liking that people didn't like Spencers facts. “When we were kids, we made a pact. If we weren’t married by forty, we’d marry each other. You know, as a backup plan.”

JJ let out a small aw before covering her mouth.

“Then,” Spencer continued, “when we were twenty, we ran into each other while I was visiting my mom in Vegas, Y/N was supposed to be visiting her sister in California but missed her plane. There was a fair at the local community college, and we thought it would be fun to relive our childhood for a day and spend the whole day together like we used to.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “And that’s when we saw it. The stupid marriage booth.”

Luke frowned. “Marriage booth?”

Spencer nodded. “It was part of the fair attractions. A fake wedding setup where couples could take pictures, sign a certificate, and get one of those novelty ‘marriage�� papers. We thought it was funny—like a way to get a head start on our backup plan.”

“Turns out,” you grumbled, “since we were in Vegas, it wasn’t fake at all.” The room went silent. And then Penelope excitedly screamed.

“Oh. My. God.” Penelope clutched her chest like she was about to faint. “That is the most romantic accidental love story I have ever heard.”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not romantic! It was a mistake.”

“I don’t know, kid,” Rossi said with a smirk. “Sounds a lot like fate to me.”

You groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “That’s exactly what the lady at the DMV said when she showed me the proof!”

Tara leaned forward. “And now what?”

You glanced at Spencer. “I guess we get it annulled.”

For some reason, the thought sent an odd pang through Spencer’s chest. Annulled? Why did the thought of getting it annulled make him want to through up?

Emily leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “Or—” she drawled, eyes gleaming mischievously, “you could just stay married.”

“What?” you and Spencer said in unison.

Tara shrugged. “You were childhood best friends. You made a pact to marry each other if you didn’t find anyone else. Maybe this was fate stepping in early.”

“Fate,” Spencer repeated blankly.

“Oh, you cannot annul this,” Penelope gasped. “This is the most romantic accidental love story ever. Think of the story you’ll have for your grandchildren!”

Just as you were beginning to protest, agent Grant Anderson strolled into the bullpen, carrying a stack of case files. His gaze landed on you, and a charming smile spread across his face.

“Well, hello,” he said smoothly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You blinked at him. “Uh, no, I guess we haven’t.”

Anderson’s smile widened. “You must be new. Are you visiting, or is this a permanent thing?”

Spencer, who had been silent for a moment too long, suddenly stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. His jaw clenched, his normally gentle brown eyes darkening with something sharp and territorial. His hand curled around your wrist, firm but not forceful, and then—“My wife,” he said.

And before you could react, before you could process what he just said Spencer Reid—your childhood best friend, the genius who was accidentally your husband, the man you have been in love with since you knew what love was—grabbed your face and kissed you.

The bullpen erupted in cheers. Penelope squealed. JJ gasped. Emily shouted, “Go Reid!” Rossi laughed like this was the best thing he'd seen in years.

Anderson took a step back, holding up his hands. “Well. That answers that question.” When Spencer finally pulled away, you could only stare at him, breathless, heart pounding, lips tingling. “What—what was that?!” you managed. Spencer swallowed, adjusting his tie. “A leap,” he said simply. You blinked. And then, before you could stop yourself, you kissed him back. Tagging some friends because for some reason I can't find my taglist

@samuel-de-champagne-problems @boldlyvoid @milla984 @reidsaurora @reiding-and-writing

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Precious - L.JH

🦆Who: Lee Jihoon (Seventeen) x female reader 🦆What: Angst. Fluff. Nursery school teacher Jihoon. Single parent reader. 🦆Word count: 11.8k 🦆Warnings: Big ol’ misunderstanding, which technically, is intentional but not designed this way. That’ll make sense when you read. Junhui is reader’s best friend and a menace but also the best friend a person could want. Reader has a 4/5-year-old daughter. One-sided pining that isn’t one sided at all, they’re both just kind of stupid and bad at communicating at first. They learn though, don’t worry. 🦆Summary: “Your daughter absolutely adores her nursery school teacher, Mr Lee, and it doesn’t take you long to understand why.”

Masterlist Read the sequel Thinking about: Nursery school teacher L.JH.

A/N- this was originally supposed to be a little under 3k fluff piece about reader’s daughter adoring her nursery teacher and reader quickly understanding why. But I got ever so slightly carried away :))

If you want to know more about a certain nanny featured in this, you can check out the connected story, Thinking about: Nanny K.MG.

It starts with a meltdown.

You’ve only been home twenty minutes and have barely started the prep for dinner when your daughter runs into the kitchen with tears streaming down her chubby, little cheeks and wails of despair falling from her wobbling lips.

“Oh, baby girl, what is it?” You immediately abandon the rice you’ve been rinsing, to wipe your hands on your work trousers, so that they’re mostly dry when you pluck up your distressed child to hold tight and soothe.

It takes almost ten minutes of rocking and murmuring calming words and sounds before your daughter can blubber out an explanation.

“Bubba lost!” She explains, and although it means nothing to pretty much anyone else, you know. Bubba is her comfort plushie, even if it is perhaps the ugliest looking duck plushie you’ve ever seen.

When your best friend had given it to you when you were pregnant with your daughter five years ago, it had really been a joke. But your strange little angel of a child seems to share her pseudo uncle’s sense of humour; the moment she found the duck shoved in your wardrobe at two-years-old, it was love at first sight. Maybe it’s your own fault for naming her after him.

“Oh, Juni,” you coo before pressing a kiss to each splotchy, tear-sticky cheek. “Bubba’s not in your bag?” You ask as you carry her through to the living room, where her school backpack is on the floor with the usual contents tipped out around it from her frantic search for the plushie for her usual post-nursery, unwind snuggle time.

“Lost!” She wails, a fresh set of tears starting up, so you return to bouncing her slightly as you start wandering around the apartment in search of the toy. Though, you know that she takes it to nursery every single day for the post-lunch nap, and you hadn’t received a call from the school about a tearful, tired daughter, so she clearly had it with her at school today.

Once you’ve confirmed that Bubba is not in the apartment, you go back to the kitchen and grab your phone.

“Okay, baby, I need you to calm down so that I can call your school and ask if Bubba is in the classroom, okay?” You say, and it’s something like a miracle how quickly Juni stops making loud noises, even if she’s still sniffling and crying. “Thank you.” You kiss her head then press the dial button beside the school’s number.

Honestly, you aren’t sure anyone will answer; most of the staff, if not all, will surely have already left the building by this point. But to your relief, the ringing cuts off and a friendly voice answers the call, greeting with the school’s name and asking how he can help you.

“Oh, hello, I’m calling to ask if someone could check my daughter’s classroom to see if she left her duck plushie behind?” You wonder politely, while mentally pleading this man to be as kind as he sounds.

“Ah, of course, of course, which class?”

“Little Lambs,” you answer with the cute name of your daughter’s class.

You’re pretty sure that every class in the whole school is named after an animal, though you do know the other two classes for the youngest children are named cutely too: Darling Ducklings for the younger class and Cutie Cubs for the older class.

Juni had been so upset to have missed the chance to be called a Duckling, but you had been working remotely until this school year and hadn’t wanted to be apart from her so soon. At least she’s excited to be in the tiger themed classroom next year, even if she keeps asking if Mr Lee can still be her teacher instead of Mr Kwon.

Not because she dislikes Mr Kwon; she’s said he’s fun and nice, but she adores Mr Lee and talks about him at the most random times. She’s even asked if he can attend her birthday party and you had to deal with a tantrum when you told her that no, her teacher cannot attend a birthday party for a five-year-old. She still asks though.

“Oh! That’s right next to mine! I was just heading that way to see if Mr Lee is heading home yet, so if you just hold on a sec, I’ll go talk to him and we can look.”

“Thank you so much,” you breathe out in relief.

“Of course! Uhh, I don’t know how to put the call on hold so uhm, just wait?”

You laugh softly. “That’s fine, thank you.”

“Okay, great, be right back!”  The phone clatters gently as it’s placed down before you hear the man running away. You find the irony of a teacher running through the school halls amusing; he no doubts spends a good chunk of his day telling the children to walk nicely down the halls.

“B-Bubba?” Juni questions, looking at you with big, red rimmed eyes.

“The teacher is going to ask Mr Lee.”

In an instant, Juni lights up at the mention of her third favourite human, behind only you and your best friend. “Mr Lee!”

It prompts her to start babbling on about her day with the man as if she hadn’t already told you everything on the drive home, but you don’t mind hearing it again. You love seeing her so animated and happy, even with tear stains on her cheeks.

The phone is still held near your ear so when a different voice greets you five minutes later, you’re ready. “Is this Juni’s mother?”

“It is,” you confirm.

“Oh, good. Hi, it’s Mr Lee, Juni’s teacher. I found Bubba amongst the class plushies, so I assume he got put there accidentally. I’m leaving to head home now, so I can drop him off on the way.”

“Oh, you don’t have to; I can come back, it’s not a long drive. I don’t want to bother you, Mr Lee.” Juni squeaks excitedly at the mention of her teacher, making you hold back a fond, little laugh so that the man doesn’t hear it.

“It’s no bother, I know how important Bubba is to her and that you’ve been at work all day yourself. I think it’s on my way anyway, you live near the park with the elephant slide, right? Juni mentions it a lot.”

“Ah, yeah, her uncle takes her there all the time.”

Mr Lee chuckles softly. “Yeah, she says. She really loves him a lot; talks about nothing but him, and you, of course.”

“Funny, she talks about nothing but you at home.”

There’s a moment of silence and you start to wonder if you should’ve kept that to yourself but then his soft, disbelieving voice comes back before you can backtrack and try to apologise for overstepping. “Really? She talks about me?”

“Yeah, she adores you.”

“Oh,” he says on a puff of an awed exhale. “That’s…I didn’t realise any of my students like me that much. That’s really…it means a lot to me to hear, thank you for telling me. I’ll be by in about twenty minutes with Bubba, if that’s okay?”

“Are you sure it’s not too much for you?”

“No, no, not at all. Really. I’m more than happy to do this, I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

“Ah, okay, thank you, Mr Lee, we really appreciate your kindness.”

“You’re both welcome. I’ll see you soon.” The call ends and you lock your phone to place it back on the counter.

“Bubba?” Juni asks.

For a moment, you debate not telling her exactly what is happening because you know how she’ll react, but you also don’t like to hide things from you daughter unless entirely necessary.

So, you take a breath and put her down on the floor before answering. “Mr Lee is bringing him.”

As expected, Juni starts to yell and jump excitedly. You chuckle fondly and get back to preparing dinner, while hoping that she will calm soon enough.

Almost half an hour after ending the call, the doorbell rings and you practically have to tackle your daughter on the couch, so that she doesn’t run off to answer the door.

Usually, she never tries to answer the front door, or even touch it, though you still keep it locked with the chain across just in case; but she’s been bouncing and excitedly prattling on about Mr Lee visiting for half an hour now, so you’re not sure she’ll remember the safety rule.

“Okay, be calm. Remember, he’s just bringing Bubba,” you remind your daughter as you get up and walk to the door with her. Juni nods emphatically in understanding, though you’re not convinced she’s absorbed your words any of the times you’ve said them because she has already said multiple times that she’s going to show Mr Lee her favourite toys.

After peering through the spy hole and finding who you can only assume is Mr Lee when he’s bundled up so well with his scarf wrapped around the bottom of his face as his dark hair half obscuring his eyes as it sticks out from under his beanie, you unlock the door and open it.

“Mr Lee!” Juni shrieks as soon as the door is open enough to see the man in the hall. You notice his eyes curve, chill pinkened cheeks bunching up under his scarf before he pulls it down to tuck thickly under his chin so he can smile at your daughter.

“Hi, Nini, I brought you someone,” he greets, surprising you with the nickname you were unaware anyone, other than you, calls her, but you don’t mind. It somehow sounds even cuter from the man. He crouches down as he pulls his messenger bag around to his front and you spot Bubba’s head sticking out of one side.

“Bubba!” Juni gasps and bounces forward to pat the duck’s scruffy yet soft fur.

“We had a nice walk, and he had fun seeing all the sights on the way, but I think he’s more than ready to be back with you now,” Mr Lee says as he unzips his bag to gently pull out the duck to offer. Juni immediately takes it to hug tight and bury her face in its pale yellow and splotchy grey body.

“What do you say, Juni?” You prompt, tapping Juni’s head gently.

“Thank you, Mr Lee!” Juni all but yells, then launches herself forward to hug the man. Clearly, he’s already used to her abrupt and intense affection as he doesn’t falter in catching her and hugging her back.

The sight of this sweet man with his cute, pink tipped nose and cheeks embracing your daughter and looking genuinely happy to be here and accepting her enthusiastic love, makes your heart flutter.

The only man who has ever shown your daughter love is your best friend, but that’s entirely different; you and Junhui fooled around once as teens and decided it was gross and swore to never touch one another like that again.

Just as you manage to get your heart under control, by reminding yourself that this is your daughter’s teacher; someone who you can’t get involved with even if you wanted to, he looks at you and you’re pelted with the full force of his precious smile. Your stomach somersaults and your heart takes up breakdancing, or at least it feels like it by how it suddenly erratically thumps against your ribs.

“Thank you,” you say, forcing yourself to be normal, even if your voice comes out soft and a little breathy.

Something in Mr Lee’s expression changes, the smile lessens a little but not in an unhappy way, more like a thought is running through his mind as his head tilts ever so slightly. It takes him a second too long to respond. “You’re welcome.”

“Mr Lee, see my toys!” Juni encourages, grappling for the man’s glove clad hand as she backs towards the open door, trying to tug him, but she’s only a tiny four-year-old and he’s a grown adult; he doesn’t even wobble in his crouched form.

“Ah, baby, remember, Mr Lee is on his way home; he only came to drop off Bubba. He can’t come in and see your toys,” you explain.

Juni immediately pouts and looks at you with pleading eyes. “Peas, mama?”

“Please,” you correct gently. She pouts harder.

“How about we have a show and tell soon?” Mr Lee suggests, drawing your daughter’s attention back to him.

“What that?”

“Show and tell is where you bring something in to show the class. You can bring in your favourite toy and show the whole class, so long as your parents let you bring it, of course. You can only bring in something mama says is allowed to come to school, okay, Nini?”

“I bring Hector!”

“No!” You argue quickly, earning another pout from your troublesomely cute daughter. “Hector cannot go to school with you, Juni, that is a firm no.”

“But Hector best toy.”

“Hector is twice the size of you,” you remind.

“Now I’m curious about Hector, I won’t lie,” Mr Lee admits with a little chuckle.

“See Hector!” Juni enthuses, once again tugging the man.

“Juni,” you sigh. “Mr Lee needs to go home.”

“Well, I can spare five minutes to meet Hector, if that’s okay?” He replies, looking at you from where he’s still crouched with one hand in Juni’s and actually holding her instead of just letting her hold onto his much larger hand. Surprisingly, there’s a hint of pleading in his slightly rounded eyes and you’re too stunned by this man actively wanting to indulge your daughter that you just nod dumbly.

“Yay!” Juni squeals and scrambles to walk backward while tugging Mr Lee, who gets up now and lets her. He has to stop though when although Juni can fit past your body, the gap isn’t enough for him.

There’s a moment where you’re face to face and so close that you can feel the chill of the winter still clinging to his clothes, and you just hold eye contact with one another silently as a sudden tension fills the little gap between you.

It’s Juni that breaks the moment, even if she doesn’t realise. “Scusey, mama!” She nudges your leg, prompting you to blink back to reality and step aside to allow the man into the apartment. “Thank you!”

Mr Lee only stops when he realises that he’s wearing winter boots, which are a pain to undo. “Oh, uh, my shoes are a lot to get off,” he admits sheepishly. “I forgot I’m wearing these and not my work shoes, sorry, Nini, can you bring Hector out here, by any chance?”

You eye his boots as you lean against the front door and hear it click to a complete close under your weight.

“Otay, wait here!” Juni agrees and lets go of Mr Lee to scramble off to her bedroom.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, just loud enough for the man and not your daughter to hear.

He turns to look at you, blinking innocently from behind the strands of dark hair in front of his eyes. “Huh?”

“Indulge her; you must have to get home.”

He shrugs. “I’m in no rush. As I said on the phone; I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” He reaches up to try and move his hair out of his face, but between his beanie trapping it and his thick gloves making it hard for him to accurately touch his hair as he can’t really feel it, he just uselessly swipes over his face a few times. It’s oddly endearing.

“Do you want some help?” You offer, pushing off the door and motioning to his hair loosely without trying to get any closer.

“It’s okay-”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” you repeat his own words back at him.

He stares at you dumbly for a second, pink lips parted in surprise before they curl up at one edge as he laughs softly. “Touche. I uh, I’d appreciate the help, I don’t want to take my gloves off because they’re tucked in past my wrists and it’s a pain to tuck them without removing my coat.”

“Past your wrists?” You wonder as you move closer and lift your hands to carefully move the strands of his hair from out of his face, baring his eyes directly to you from only a few feet away. “Where did you get those? That sounds useful.”

“Oh, uhm, I got them abroad. My friend got married at a ski resort for some reason despite not knowing how to ski nor having ever been to a ski resort in his life, but yeah…I bought them in the town there.”

“Bet it was beautiful though.”

“Mm, yeah. Could’ve done without having to wear a suit in the snow for the sake of photos. They had to photoshop the pink from my face; it was very cold.”

You giggle at the thought of Mr Lee standing pink faced in a suit amongst beautiful, snowy mountains and part of you wants to see the original photos, but you know that would be weird to ask.

So instead, you simply finish tucking his hair neatly into his beanie to keep it in place without entirely exposing his forehead and temples to the cold. You’re entirely unaware of the way he’s staring at you in awe; blown away by how precious your giggle is and wondering if he can make you do it again.

“There,” you say when you’re done. “You can see clearly again, Mr Lee.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs as you lower your hands and step back while smiling at him. “You can call me Jihoon when it’s just us,” he blurts in offer.

You almost ask him if he plans to create situations where it’s just the two of you but the familiar sound of Hector’s wheels rolling on the laminate draws both of your attention away from one another and in the direction of Juni’s bedroom. Which is a good thing too, because you’re pretty sure your retort would’ve been an inappropriate flirtation.

“That’s Hector?” Jihoon mutters with wide eyes on the half mechanical, half plush creature on wheels.

To the best of your abilities, all you can describe it as is cyborg Godzilla in need of a better plastic surgeon because it truly is a monstrosity. Once again, it’s something that Junhui gifted to your daughter, and she loves wholeheartedly.

“My best friend is a menace, and he passed it on to her,” you deadpan and count it as a win when Jihoon snorts a laugh in response.

“Like Hector, Mr Lee?” Juni asks once she’s just about managed to stop the remote-controlled lizard creature before it collides with the man.

“He’s very impressive,” Jihoon replies diplomatically and now you’re the one barely catching a laugh in time and instead letting out an almost snort at his answer. He side-eyes you amusedly and presses his lips together to fight his laugh, as evident by the upturned corners of his mouth and crinkles next to his eyes before he looks back at Juni. “But your mama is right; Hector should definitely stay at home.”

“Otay, I shown tell ‘nother toy,” Juni declares simply.

“Show and tell,” Jihoon corrects gently before you get the chance. Juni just nods as if that’s exactly what she had said, making the pair of you smile fondly at her little figure focused on the large remote in her tiny hands to try and turn Hector around. “Hey, can I have a turn?” He requests.

Juni’s head jerks up to look at her teacher before nodding enthusiastically and bouncing over to offer the control while pointing out the joystick and buttons to tell him how to use it.

For a few minutes, you watch as Jihoon squats down in the entrance hall with Juni standing between his knees and her back to his chest in the circle of his arms as they both watch Hector roam around under Jihoon’s direction.

“Roar! Do the roar!” Juni says, in the exact same voice Junhui does to quote the little boy in the fourth Shrek movie.

Jihoon doesn’t manage to catch his laugh in time, and it comes out in a sudden bark before he manages to press his lips together, turning his laughter into strange, sputtered “pffts” that make you laugh silently.

Juni looks over her left shoulder at her teacher with the dirtiest side-eye you have ever seen, and you can’t help it; you burst into laughter, which sets Jihoon off laughing, making him turn his head so he’s not laughing in the child’s face. Now you’re also getting the side-eye from your four-year-old, but you’re doubled over with your hands on your knees and don’t even notice.

It takes the pair of you over a minute to stop laughing, though one look at the other’s laughter-teary eyes sets you both off again. Juni huffs in impatience and takes the controller from her teacher to press the button that makes Hector roar, while you and Jihoon continue to laugh away together.

The trill of your alarm going off in the kitchen is the only reason you manage to collect yourself. “Oh,” you sniffle, wiping under your eyes as you straighten up, a few giggles still slipping past.

“Dinner!” Juni exclaims eagerly and turns to look at Jihoon. “Dinner time, Mr Lee!”

“Ah, I suppose it is. You eat well, okay, and I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” he says as he gets up, wiping the wet marks from his own cheeks.

Juni frowns at him. “Stay dinner.”

“I can’t, that’s your family time. I’ll eat lunch with you tomorrow instead, okay?”

“Pomise?” She asks, lifting her hand, and almost dropping the controller in the process, so she holds it close to her chest, to extend her adorable, little pinkie finger to the man.

“I promise,” he agrees, linking his glove clad pinkie with her tiny one. It’s a precious sight, but not as precious as how your daughter glows with joy then hugs the man before rushing to the kitchen to turn the alarm off, yelling goodbye as she goes.

“I hope you’re a man of honour, Jihoon,” you comment as Jihoon turns to the front door while you open it.

He pauses mid step for a split second before exiting the apartment and turning to look at you with a shy smile. “I am. I’ve never gone back on a promise.”

“Ah, good; I’d hate to have to think badly on you for breaking my daughter’s trust and heart.”

“I won’t ever intentionally hurt her, I promise,” his words are entirely sincere, and you find yourself unable to doubt him, yet you still extend your pinkie to him without breaking eye contact. Jihoon glances at your offered hand and smiles a little before lifting his hand to link his pinkie around yours without hesitation as his gaze returns to your own. “She’s safe with me.”

“I know,” you assure and slowly unhook your pinkie, so he copies, and you both take your hands back.

“Mama!” Juni yells impatiently from the kitchen.

“Is she this loud at school?” You wonder amusedly.

“She’s certainly easy to hear, I can say that much,” Jihoon replies with a chuckle and starts adjusting his scarf to pull over his chin yet keeps his mouth free to talk. “Enjoy your dinner, I’ll uh, see you at drop off tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you then. Have a safe journey home, Jihoon.”

“Thanks.” He shoots you a smile and wavers, swaying in place before pulling his scarf up to cover his mouth, waving goodbye then walks down the hallway.

You wait until he’s out of sight before shutting and locking the door.

Even though Juni is once again calling you from the kitchen, you take a moment to will your fluttering heart to calm before going to join your daughter and hope that you’re not developing a crush on her teacher.

As it turns out; your hoping was in vain.

After that evening, every time you see Jihoon at drop off and pick up for the following two months, he smiles at you and wanders over if he’s not busy with another student or parent, to make small talk in the morning and tell you about Juni’s achievements and quirks of the day in the afternoon.

It’s the most you’ve ever conversed with the man in the handful of months he’s been Juni’s teacher, and as much as you truly love the attention that you’ve noticed he doesn’t go out of his way to other parents, you’ve also noticed something else. The silver band on his ring finger.

Once you notice the wedding ring, you try to not engage in conversation as much. You even send Junhui on pick-ups when you know your hormones are too excitable to remember that you can’t enjoy the attention of the man.

Though there’s only so much you can do when Jihoon approaches you one morning looking more awake than usual, with his eyes sparkling in the early spring sun and excitement stretching his smile wide on his pretty face.

He calls your name in a way that makes other parents look between you suspiciously, yet the man doesn’t notice. “Guess what!”

“Uhm, what?” You ask, awkwardly shuffling your weight from foot to foot and hoping he calms a little, as much as you love seeing him so animated, because it’s drawing attention. More attention than usual due to his clear favouritism towards you and your daughter every morning and afternoon.

“Are you okay?” He suddenly frowns in concern, noticing the way you’re trying to make yourself a little smaller as if that will stop the parents eyeing you. “Are you ill?”

“No, just…I should really get to work.”

“Oh, uhm, okay. Sorry, I probably keep you a lot, huh?” He reaches out towards Juni’s backpack in your hold, your daughter off somewhere with her friends on the playground until morning bell rings to tell them they must go into the class to get ready. “I won’t keep you; I can take Juni in so you can get to work on time.”

“Oh, right, yeah, thanks.” You hand over the bag then step back and look around for your daughter.

You hear her before you see her; squealing happily as she runs around with a little boy you can never remember the name of; you just know that his nanny always brings him to school and picks him up. Even if the nanny looks at him so adoringly you thought for the longest time that he’s the boy’s father, not full-time babysitter.

The pair are running circles around the tall man, who is moving his gaze between the two to watch over them, and the collection of mothers hovering and trying to flirt with him. It’s not an unusual sight at all, even when you know some of the women are married, but at least the nanny never seems to be interested and only replies politely.

“I’ll go say goodbye,” you say, motioning over to your daughter while looking back at Jihoon.

“Of course, I’ll see you at pick up.”

“Oh, uh, I think Junhui is picking her up today. Park trip,” you say, even though you’re very certain Junhui planned to get home on time to conveniently meet his cute neighbour in the car park and hit on her, and maybe even finally ask her on a date. But you know he’ll drop any plan for the sake of your daughter, though you make a mental note to pick up his favourite takeout on your way home from work tonight.

“Ah, I see. Well, have a nice weekend and I’ll see you Monday morning.”

“Yep, see you then,” you agree, then turn and approach your daughter. “Juni!” She immediately comes to a stop and looks at you, but the little boy doesn’t stop in time and collides with her, sending them both to the floor. “Oh, shit,” you whisper and rush over to kneel beside the nanny, who is already cooing over the pair and checking them over.

“We otay!” Juni assures and the little boy looks at her with tears in his eyes and a wobbling lip but noticing her smile, he sniffles, wipes his eyes then grins himself, making you and his nanny chuckle.

“We otay,” he agrees.

“Well, I’m glad you’re both otay,” the nanny says as you both help the children to their feet.

“Mama, can DanDan come my party?” Juni asks, looking at you with her trademark puppy dog eyes.

“Sunday is a bit close notice to ask someone to your party, most parents want more notice,” you point out softly. “I’d have to call his parents, and I don’t have their number.”

“You can take mine,” the nanny offers, drawing your attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a few of the mothers behind him baulk and you assume he’s avoided giving his number to any of them. You feel a little ping of pride in your chest at effortlessly getting the attractive man’s number, even if you truly don’t want it for the reasons they do.

“If you text me the details, I can talk to Danil’s mother about it and pass on your number when she gets home from work. Then she can call you herself. I don’t feel right giving her number to you without her consent.”

“No, no, that’s completely understandable. I’d really appreciate that,” you assure, taking your phone from your pocket to unlock and open a new contact. You hand him the device, so that he can input his details himself and not risk the too-nosey mothers overhearing the digits.

“Where bag, mama?” Juni asks, noticing the lack of her backpack in your grasp.

“Mr Lee took it, I’ve got to get to work now so he’s taking over from me,” you reply.

“Oh, otay. See you later.” She moves over to hug you tight and kiss your cheek noisily, which you return theatrically, making her giggle happily.

“Uncle Jun is going to pick you up today, Nini, okay?”

“Jun-Jun time!” She shrieks happily and starts bouncing around Danil, who watches her with giggles tumbling from his lips. “DanDan come park too?!”

“That’s really not my decision, baby,” you remind as you accept your phone back and notice that the man has saved his number as ‘Danil’s nanny’. You look at him funnily.

“Hm?” He wonders, noticing your expression.

“You didn’t put your name.”

“Oh, well, I just thought that would make more sense, because you only want my number because I’m Danil’s nanny.”

“Well, yeah but it’s a big derogatory, is it not? Just referring to you as nothing more than his nanny; you’re your own person, you know?”

“I know,” he chuckles and smiles at you softly. “I’m Mingyu, I don’t think we’ve ever actually talked before; you’re one of the only mothers who’s never approached me.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you draw a certain kind of attention,” you scoff amusedly and side-eye the lingering mothers, who abruptly look away and fail at playing innocent. Mingyu glances over and giggles quietly as he turns back around. “They don’t much like me. I’ve told them all off for various things; mostly trying to chat up my best friend when he picks up Juni and making him uncomfortable.”

“Best friend? Not partner?”

“Ew, gross!” You fake a gag that makes him laugh.

Suddenly, you realise you’re both still kneeling on the rubber tarmac, even if the kids are running off again, so you get to your feet, brushing off your knees as you go and Mingyu copies, extending to his full height and towering over you.

“Anyway, I’ll text you the details when I get the chance.”

“Mm, okay, I look forward to hearing from you. Between you and me, Danil’s never been invited to a party or anything before. Juni is really his only friend, he sings her praises, seriously, so I’m really happy she wants him there and you’re willing to accept him.”

“Of course, I’m not great with remembering who is who amongst these kids, but I know she’s mentioned him a bunch of times, especially lately, and he sounds like a great kid. I’ll be happy to have him at the party, and you and his parents, if you all want to come. It’s a picnic party, because apparently my child thinks the beginning of March is the perfect time to sit outside when it’s likely to rain. So maybe bring spare clothes and be prepared to abruptly move to my apartment if that happens.”

Mingyu chuckles. “We’ll bring raincoats and towels.”

“Perfect!” You beam and he laughs again. “Alright, I really should go, but nice to officially meet you, Mingyu, talk later.” You start walking backwards and hope you don’t crash into a parent or even worse, a child with your ass.

“You too! Wait, what’s your name?!” You call your name out and he smiles brightly. “Have a good day at work!” You give him a thumbs up then turn and jog off out of the school grounds to get to your car, where it’s parked down the street, and head to work.

In the midst of eating dinner, with Junhui and Juni seeming to silently compete in who can shove the most noodles in the mouths judging by their matching, bulging cheeks, the doorbell rings. You choke on your laughter at the way they both turn their heads towards the hallway with wide eyes and dangling noodles, like a pair of greedy, chubby cheeked dogs.

“I swear it’s like she takes after you more than me,” you comment as you get up after putting your cutlery down. “Never should’ve named her after you.” Junhui just grins at you, so you roll your eyes and leave the kitchen to approach the door.

When you peer through the spyhole, you’re genuinely surprised to find a familiar figure standing on the other side.

Confusedly, you unlock the door and open it just enough to look directly at Jihoon, who once again has his hair in his eyes; though at least now, thanks to the warmer weather, he’s no longer hiding half of his face in a thick scarf, even if his coat is done up all the way to his chin.

“Hi,” he greets a little awkwardly.

“Hi,” you reply and put the latch on the door to step outside and pull the door up so that Juni doesn’t hear her teacher’s voice and excitedly abandon her dinner. “Is something wrong? Did Juni forget Bubba again?”

“No, no, I just asked her to give you a note, but I found it on her desk after class, so I guess she forgot it.”

“A note?”

“Yeah, so uhm, as a teacher I sometimes get invitations to new child-friendly exhibits and stuff before they open to the public; so that I can try things out and give feedback from a teacher’s perspective. And it’s also like free publicity for them because then I can see if it’s worth booking a class trip or something.”

“Right?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard about the new interactive science museum opening like an hour’s drive away?”

“Sounds vaguely familiar.”

Jihoon’s tongue darts out to lick his lips quickly and you kind of hate yourself for tracking the movement with your eyes despite knowing he’s a married man. You rapidly lift your gaze back up and hope he hasn’t noticed.

“I received an invitation last night to the open day on Sunday; I can take up to two children so long as there’s another adult so that’s one adult per child for the open day. And well…I was wondering if you and Juni would like to go with me?”

“What?” You blink at him. “Me and Juni?”

“Yeah. I don’t have any children in my life, just my students, and I thought it’d be nice to get a child’s perspective; so I know if it’s fun and interesting enough for them. And well, I just…I thought of you. And Juni! I mean I thought of Juni and you. Her-her first, of course. As the child.”

“Of course,” you mumble, still looking at him with furrowed eyebrows from your surprise and confusion at the man turning up at your door to ask you and Juni to do something outside of school hours. “Is that something you usually do?”

“Huh?”

“Ask students and their parents to go to these events with you?”

Jihoon’s cheeks prickle a soft pink and his gaze flickers away quickly, then back at you. “No. I just…I don’t really like the other parents, honestly.”

“They’ve noticed.”

“What?”

“You really didn’t see the way they looked at us this morning?”

Jihoon’s expression turns down and pinches a little in confusion. “What do you mean, looked at us?”

“When you called me; multiple parents looked at us suspiciously and it’s not the first time. They often give me dirty looks; like I’m some kind of homewrecker just because you approach me and not anyone else, at least not smiling like you do me.”

“Oh.” Understanding dawns on his expression. “I didn’t realise; I didn’t even think of how it may seem. I just…”

“I think it would be inappropriate and only worsen their suspicions to be seen with you outside of the playground, Mr Lee.”

Jihoon winces. “You can still call me Jihoon.”

“It’s probably for the best I don’t. It’s too familiar to call my daughter’s teacher by his first name.”

“Right.” He chews on his lip as he nods slowly, eyes downcast to look at his own hands as he laces them together tightly in front of himself. “I understand. I’m sorry for overstepping, I didn’t mean to get too familiar and make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable, I’d just rather not have homewrecker pinned to me, you know?”

“You’re not, it’s not like that,” he lifts his head to look at you imploringly. “You’re not a homewrecker.”

“I know; nothing has happened, nor will it. We were just talking. But you probably shouldn’t turn up at my apartment unannounced like this.”

“Ah, yeah, I just…it’s on Sunday so I couldn’t wait until Monday, for obvious reasons.”

“I understand.”

“Well, uhm, I just like…it’s in another town and we can meet there if you want? It could be like coincidence. We don’t have to explore the museum together, just go in together because it’s under my name and all that. Nobody can say anything and it’s not inappropriate to just exist in the same building at other ends.”

“It’s Juni’s birthday party on Sunday.”

“Oh, right,” his eyes widen a little. “I forgot. She tried to invite me, but I said it’d be inappropriate.”

“Yeah, she asked me too, multiple times.” You chuckle a little. “I told you; she loves you.”

“I love her too, in a like…professional teacher way. I love all my students but she’s special. She just has so much love and joy in her that it’s impossible not to favour her, even though I shouldn’t. You’ve done a really good job raising her; I’d be proud if I ever have a child anything like her.”

“Ah, thank you,” you flush softly with the praise. “She’s a good kid.”

“The best.”

There’s a moment here, with your eyes locked and something hanging in the air; it feels anticipatory in a way that brings back the same tender violence as before in your chest.

You want to look away, but you’re stuck in place, unable to turn even though your mind is yelling at you that this is a married man, and you can’t have him the way you yearn to. But your heart beats louder than logic and your apparently fragile morals.

It gets louder still when he takes a half step forward, only stopped by the door pulling open behind you and Junhui’s tall figure looming over you concernedly. Jihoon shuffles back and glances away with something that looks like guilt on his face.

“Mr Lee, what are you doing here?” Junhui asks, putting his arm around your shoulders to pull you back to him.

Being your best friend, Junhui knows all about the feelings you’ve developed for your daughter’s teacher over the past two months of sparkly eyed attention and beautiful smiles. He had slapped your limbs a few times when you confessed to him that you can’t stop thinking about Jihoon, even once you noticed the ring on his finger. Which is half of the reason Junhui has been so willing to do school runs in your place; so that you don’t fall prey to your own heart and become the homewrecker the other parents clearly think you are.

“Just had to discuss something time sensitive but we’re done, so I’ll go now. Have a nice evening. I’ll see you on Monday,” Jihoon replies, giving Junhui a curt smile and one a little lingering to you, before he turns and rushes off down the hall.

“The fuck did he want?” Junhui grunts, tugging you into the apartment and flicking the latch off to securely push the door up and let you lock it back up.

“Just a thing; I’ll explain later, let’s just eat.”

“Mm, alright.”

Junhui is not impressed at all when he learns the information that Jihoon asked you to go with him to the museum, even if Juni was supposed to be the reason for the invitation in the first place.

Your best friend’s disapproval is made more obvious than his rant on Friday night, once Juni was in bed, when you go down to your car on Monday morning with Juni to take her to school and find Junhui sitting on the bonnet of your car chewing on a pastry, which he immediately shares with Juni.

Without him even explaining his presence, he gets in the car with you both to go to the school, munching away and spilling pastry flakes all over the interior, but you’re too silently glad for his presence to berate him. You know he’s only here as a tall, crumb covered buffer in case Jihoon tries to approach you, and you appreciate that a lot.

In the playground as you stand with Junhui and Mingyu, who seem to have become friends since the picnic less than 24 hours ago, you spot Jihoon glancing in your direction multiple times, yet he keeps his distance with a tiny, almost imperceptible frown.

When you leave work the same afternoon, you find Junhui once again sitting on your car, despite the fact he works across the city so had to have left early to get here. Neither of you say a word, even if you want to call him an idiot for ditching work early, but you appreciate your best friend far too much to even pretend to scold him for silently supporting you in your mission to not fall for a married man.

For two straight weeks, Junhui appears every morning and most afternoons for the school run. The only afternoons you don’t leave work to see him waiting are the afternoons where he picks up Juni alone to take for their after-school park trips.

It seems that Junhui is the perfect deterrent because Jihoon doesn’t approach you once in those two weeks.

The only time you talk is when you approached him first to tell him that another child had said things to Juni that makes you think their parents have said something nasty about you in front of the child. So, you wanted to warn Jihoon that Juni will hit the child if they say another bad thing about you, just as Junhui taught her to. “Once can be let go, but twice deserves punishment”, are his exact words and honestly, you don’t even mind that he’s trained her in such a way, with the baby fighting skills to match. It’s taught her to be understanding, while not letting others be endlessly cruel or walk all over her.

Junhui may give your daughter odd habits and interests, but he at least teaches her to have a backbone, and you will forever be grateful to him for that.

Although it’s weird for you to go from being blessed with Jihoon’s direct attention and precious face twice a day for almost two full months, it’s much better for your heart to yearn with the distance than up close.

You had hoped that it will continue and you can gradually get over Jihoon, but a little over two weeks since enforcing the break, your phone rings while you’re in the middle of cooking dinner and the school number appears on your screen.

Somehow, you know it’s Jihoon before even answering. “Hello,” you greet.

“Hi, it’s Ji- uh, Mr Lee,” Jihoon’s familiar voice responds.

“Is something wrong?”

“She hasn’t noticed yet?” He mumbles confusedly.

“Noticed what?”

“Bubba is with me; I found him under my desk, for some reason.”

“Oh,” your tone is confused and without thought, you walk through to the living room, expecting to find Juni on the couch watching her after school cartoons but they’re playing to an empty room.

“Mm, so I thought I should drop him off. Professionally. I know she can’t sleep without him.”

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

“Okay, I’ll uhm see you in twenty minutes then.”

“Yeah, see you then,” you agree distractedly and hang up before stepping into your daughter’s room to find her drawing a picture at her little table. “Nini?”

“Yes, mama?” She replies, looking up at you innocently.

“What are you doing?”

“Draw picture for Mr Lee.”

“You’re drawing a picture for Mr Lee?” She hums and nods her head as she looks back down to her paper and returns to colouring. You approach and peer suspiciously at the drawing of who you know is you, because she always draws you the same way, and what vaguely looks like Jihoon, smiling and holding hands. “Baby, what’s this drawing about?”

“You hold hands and be happy.”

“Right, okay and why are you drawing that?” You crouch down beside her and lean your arms on the table to watch her carefully work on her masterpiece.

“Mr Lee sad.”

“What?” Your face falls and you look at your daughter. “Mr Lee is sad?” She nods. “Why do you say that? Did he tell you he’s sad?”

“No. He smiles little bit now.”

“He smiles less?” She nods. “Oh…” You turn your focus to the picture, not sure what to say.

“Mr Lee smiles with you,” Juni states a few seconds later when she puts her crayon down, signalling she’s finished with her drawing. “So, I make picture to make Mr Lee happy and smile because you are hold hands and happy.”

“Oh.”

“I did good picture, mama?” She asks, looking at you with hope in her eyes. “Mr Lee will be happy?”

“It’s a very good drawing, well done, baby,” you answer, carefully avoiding responding to her second question, and kiss her head.

“Mr Lee be here soon?” She wonders as you get up, making you look at her in alarm. “With Bubba?”

Then, it suddenly makes sense; just why your daughter, who is usually so stuck to her post-nursery routine, isn’t sitting on the couch with Bubba or screaming the place down because her comfort plushie is lost. “Juni, did you hide Bubba under Mr Lee’s desk, so that he’ll have to come here?”

Juni’s eyes slowly widen in the way they always do when she realises that she’s done something wrong and is feeling guilty all of a sudden. Her cheeks pinken slightly and you sigh, knowing that you have your confirmation, even as she remains silent.

“That’s not good, baby; you can’t do things like that, okay?”

“But Mr Lee sad!”

“I know you care about Mr Lee, but he is an adult, and it isn’t anyone’s business but his own. You can’t trick him to come here to give him a picture.”

“And see you.”

“What?”

“You make Mr Lee happy, mama. You no talk anymore, only talk to Mingoo and Uncle Jun and not Mr Lee.”

“Wait, is this why you don’t like Mingyu lately?” You baulk, only now having an explanation to your daughter no longer liking to be near the kind man and always dragging Danil off in the mornings, while you and Junhui talk to Mingyu as you all wait for the doors to open for the children to be let in for the day.

“He steal you tenshun.”

“My attention?” She nods. “Baby, Mingyu hasn’t stolen anything; he’s mine and Uncle Jun’s new friend.”

“Mr Lee friend too! Have to be equal to all friends!” She repeats words that you and Junhui have both told her multiple times in gentle reminder when she talks about one child more than others, just so that she doesn’t leave any of her friends out unintentionally.

“Mr Lee isn’t my friend,” you inform. “He’s your teacher, not my friend.”

The way Juni frowns at you can only be described as painfully lost. “But you smile together. You make him happy; he make you happy. Like friends.”

“Mr Lee doesn’t make me happy.”

“Not now, you no talk because Mingoo,” she huffs.

“It’s not because of Mingyu. Mr Lee is your teacher and has other parents and students to give attention to; I’ve stepped back to let him do that.”

“Well don’t!” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Step not back.”

“Forward is opposite to back.”

“I know! I’m not stupid.”

“I never said-”

“You stupid,” her grumbled words cut you off mid-sentence to gawp at her in astonishment. Never before has your daughter called you stupid.

Even though you shouldn’t take it to heart, knowing she’s just upset and still learning, it stings.

“Excuse me?” You ask, putting your hands on your hips when you manage to gather your wits to retort. She looks at you and upon taking in your firm expression, she immediately looks away again. “You do not talk to me or anyone like that, Juni. That is not a nice thing to say.”

“Mr Lee your friend.”

“Don’t change the subject. This is about you calling me stupid.”

“You be stupid for saying not friend. He is.”

“Juni-”

“No! You be stupid! Mr Lee your friend, and he need you! You make him happy, but you ditch for stupid, stupid, stupid Mingoo!”

“Alright, that’s enough, you need calm down time,” you declare, packing up her art supplies quickly to put back on the shelf, while she watches you with rapidly saddening eyes. “When you’ve calmed down and are ready to apologise for being mean, you can come to me, and we will talk properly.”

“You being mean!” She doubles down and abruptly gets up to storm over to her bed and throw herself on top of, where she start to cry.

As much as you want to soothe your distressed child, you know she needs time alone, and frankly so do you, so you turn and leave her room without another word.

It breaks your heart to return to making dinner as if you can’t hear Juni’s crying turn from angry wails to unhappy sobbing down the hall, but you stay firm and wait for her to be ready and come to you.

By the time the doorbell rings, you can only hear the occasional hiccupped inhale and sniffles when you listen carefully over the noises of making dinner.

When you open the door to Jihoon already standing with Bubba in arms against his chest as if he’s been using the toy as his own comfort plushie, you suddenly see why Juni thinks she needs to trick Jihoon to stop by in an attempt to cheer him up.

The man looks paler than usual, with dark smears under his eyes badly hidden with concealer, which isn’t even his shade, and his lips look bitten half raw. He looks like he needs a hug.

“Oh,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

“Oh? Were-were you expecting someone else?” He asks, looking down the hall with widened eyes as if he expects this mystery visitor to suddenly appear.

“No just…you uh…is it rude to say you don’t look good?” You wince at your own words, but he doesn’t.

Jihoon looks back at you and sighs a little. “It’s the truth.”

“You look like you need a hug, or a strong drink.”

“I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Oh…” He hums vaguely in response and awkwardly looks at the floor between you while tightening his hold on Bubba. “Do…Do you want a hug?” You offer.

Jihoon’s head snaps up to look at you with bulging eyes and a slightly dropped jaw. “Wh-what?”

“A hug? Do you want one?”

“Yes,” he blurts, then shakes his head and steps backwards before you can even try to move closer. “I mean no, no, that’s inappropriate. You’ve made it very clear that you want a strict teacher-parent relationship with me, and I will respect that.”

“I’m offering as a parent, for the sake of my child.”

“Why would hugging me benefit Juni in anyway?” He looks utterly bewildered.

“She hid him under your desk, so you’d have to come here,” you inform, pointing at his chest, where he’s hugging Bubba tight.

Jihoon looks down at the creepy duck, then up at you even more puzzled than previously. “Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s noticed that you’re sad and apparently, I make you happy.”

“Oh…” he mutters and shrinks into himself a little further while no longer making eye contact with you, focusing on Bubba again as he mindlessly strokes his fingers over the fluff. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be obvious.”

“Wait, she’s right?” You baulk. “I thought she was just being a kid.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m the reason you look like this?” You motion to him vaguely, though he doesn’t look away from the duck and just nods in confirmation. “Fuck. Why? This isn’t right, Jihoon. You can’t look this pitiful because I put boundaries that should remain in place so that our lives don’t get fucked up.”

“I wasn’t aware being my friend would fuck up your life but thanks for letting me know,” he grunts and thrusts the duck towards you one handed. “I’ll leave and stop being a bother.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” you assure, naturally taking the toy ready to give back to your daughter. When he tries to lower his empty hand as he turns to leave, you grab it. “This is why. You-” you cut off when you realise that although it’s his left hand you’re grasping, there isn’t a single piece of jewellery under your touch.

Confusedly, you tuck Bubba under your arm to free your own left hand to take his wrist to prevent him from walking away, like you fear he will, when you let go with your right hand to reveal his bare fingers to your sight.

“Where’s your ring?” You mutter and look up to find Jihoon staring at you with wide eyes and frozen in place. “Jihoon?” You prompt when he continues to stare with parted lips.

“H-Huh?” He blinks a few times to try and bring himself back to reality.

“Where’s your ring?”

“Ring? What ring?”

“Your wedding ring.”

“I’m not married,” he mutters, eyebrows pulling together as he too looks at his hand.

“No, no, you are,” you insist while dropping his hand to move Bubba from under your arm to your chest to squeeze slightly as you mind starts to whirl. “You wear a fucking wedding band every day, I saw it earlier. I know you wear one. Jun’s seen it and Juni drew it on her picture! You’re married, Jihoon!”

“Oh,” his eyes slowly widen in understanding. “That’s just a trick.”

“What?”

“Last year, a lot of parents were really inappropriate towards me, so I faked an engagement and came back this year wearing the ring; to stop them bothering me for reasons that aren’t about their children.”

“What?”

“I’m not married, I’m not even seeing anyone. I’m single, like really single,” he emphasises. “I haven’t even been on a date in years.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

An awkward, slightly tense silence comes over the pair of you as you try to stop your mind from spinning and heart racing with hope and a brand-new dance routine.

“That’s why you stopped talking to me?” Jihoon manages to get out in such a quiet voice that you barely hear him over your pulse thudding in your ears. But you hear and look up at him. “You stopped talking to me because you thought I’m married?”

“You wear a ring,” you reason.

“Yeah, but I thought…I just thought that you don’t want to be friends with me, not that you’re…fuck,” he exhales and lifts his hands to put his face in them. “The one person I didn’t want it to work on,” he groans into his palms, making your stomach flip with fresh hope that he means that he might possibly feel the same way you do.

You watch with anticipation dancing amongst your internal organs, while he scrubs his hands over his face with a few strange groans, then abruptly pushes them up into his hair despite his beanie, resulting in knocking it off to the floor, yet he either doesn’t notice somehow, or simply does not care.

Jihoon looks directly at you with his fingers in his hair before dropping his arms and taking a step closer while opening his mouth to say something with a painfully sincere expression on his face, but a sniffled voice from behind you stops him in his tracks.

“Mama?” Immediately, you turn to look at Juni, where she’s standing down the hall looking miserable with her precious little face swollen with sadness. “I-I’m sorry for call you stupid,” she apologises, lip wobbling.

As soon as you lower to your knees, Juni runs over to throw herself into your open arms and clings to you tightly. “I know, baby, I know. Thank you for apologising; I appreciate it a lot.”

“Never call you stupid again,” she promises, even if you know she likely will forget that promise as she grows, especially as a hormonal teenager. Though you won’t hold it against her.

“Thank you.” You kiss her head and hold her tighter as you get to your feet, stuffing Bubba between your chests for her to immediately grab, while you turn to look at Jihoon.

He’s got something tender in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you and your daughter, and you realise that it’s not the first time that he’s looked at you two like this; like the sight of you settles his very soul.

“Do you like lasagne?” You blurt.

Jihoon slowly looks at you instead of watching Juni rub her face into the almost bald patch on Bubba’s belly, where fur is missing from all the times that she’s done exactly this after an emotionally exhausting cry. “What?” He mutters dumbly.

“Lasagne, do you like it? And garlic bread.”

“Uh, ye-yeah,” he confirms with a nod and shuffles on his feet as both of his hands grip the strap of his bag, where it’s crossed over his chest.

“Do you maybe want to join us for dinner? I made too much for just us because I thought Jun would be here, but he went home with an upset stomach from once again eating out of date yogurt because he doesn’t want to waste it. It wasn’t even his yogurt. I don’t know where he got it from.” Admittedly, you’re rambling with sudden nerves at the thought of Jihoon rejecting your invitation, but you can’t stop yourself. “Only if you don’t have plans. Not that I’m assuming you don’t, because you could be very busy and-”

Hearing your name on his tongue for the first time in two weeks cuts you off immediately, lips pressing together as you blink at him with widened eyes. “I don’t have plans. I’d love to have dinner with both of you.”

Juni perks up as your tense posture deflates a little with relief. “Mr Lee eat dinner too?!” She shrieks, then squeaks and leans towards him when he nods in confirmation.

Jihoon smiles, lighting up in that truly precious smile you haven’t seen in weeks as he steps forward to take your daughter from your arms. Juni immediately cuddles up to him and leans her head contently on his shoulder.

You can only watch as you step back to let him into the apartment and shut the door after him. He’s not wearing winter boots now, just trainers, which he easily slips off beside the shoe rack without putting Juni down or removing his caring hold on her.

“I show Mr Lee picture now?” Juni asks and you just nod so she wiggles, prompting the man to put her down.

Jihoon takes the chance to remove his bag and coat to hang on the hooks, then accept her offered hand to toddle after her down the hall to her bedroom as she rabbits on, about you have no idea what, you’re too focused on the sight of the man happily going along with your daughter as if there’s nowhere that he’d rather be.

Though before he disappears into her bedroom, he looks over at you and smiles in a way that makes you believe that perhaps, there’s one other place he’d be just as happy to be.

Although you had assumed Jihoon would make excuses to leave after dinner is over, he doesn’t. He stays to help clean up. He stays to sit on the couch with Juni on his lap to watch far too much TV for a school night. He stays to read Juni a bedtime story with you, both of you sitting either side of her on her double bed that dwarfs her but fits the three of you perfectly. And he stays to return to the couch with you and look at you with a soft, content smile that hasn’t left his features all evening.

“I think she might’ve been right,” you comment after you’ve both just been sitting for a couple of quiet, peaceful minutes curled up facing one another, knees almost touching with the sides of your heads on the back rest.

“About what?”

“I’m stupid.”

Jihoon chokes out a surprised laugh at your words, making you smile. “I think you’re far from stupid but I’m clearly missing something here, so please do elaborate.”

“You look happy now.”

“I feel happy now.”

“Because of me?” You ask, hope tilting your words upwards.

“Yeah, but also your precious daughter. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d want any child I have to be like her.”

“You want children?”

“I never used to.” He shrugs a little.

“When did that change?”

“September, when a ball of love and energy spilled half a cup of dirty water over her own painting and proceeded to laugh like a maniac while splashing her tiny hands in the mess.”

You can’t help but laugh, knowing that he’s talking about Juni’s very first day at nursery, when she came out covered in dried paint and Jihoon had repeatedly apologised to you about the mess.

“Then I met her mother,” he continues, making your gentle laughter trickle away, hearing the softness in his tone. “And instead of getting angry at me or blaming me for the lack of spare clothes in her child’s backpack like other parents have before, she just laughed and said she’d try to remember to pack spare clothes for the next day. And she did. I had to change her daughter the next day when she tripped and fell in a muddy puddle, and when I told her mother, she only asked if her daughter made the most of being in the puddle. Which, she did; that child always makes the most of being a mess and has taught her friends to do the same.”

“Oops,” you offer with a sheepish smile.

Jihoon chuckles and shakes his head. “Even though it means I have to change and dry at least one child a day now, I wouldn’t ever change it. That little girl is the most amazing child. She’s allowed to be a child while still being emotionally intelligent enough to be the most caring and supportive five-year-old I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching. I’m dreading the day I have to watch her move on at the end of the year. I don’t want to let her go.”

“She has that effect,” you confirm with a pleased smile at the thought of how much love there is directed at your daughter, which you hope only grows as she does.

“She gets it from her mother.” Jihoon looks between your bodies to where your hands are clasped together around your knees before he reaches out to touch your hand. His lips twitch up a little further when you release your hold to allow him to take one of your hands into his. “Do you think that perhaps, maybe her mother will give me the chance to prove myself to her? That I’m worthy to be by her side and maybe one day, not any day soon; I know it’ll take a long time to get to that point, but maybe one day, I can perhaps have the honour of being a part of her daughter’s life too outside of school?”

“You really want that?” You whisper. Jihoon nods, still looking at your hand as he traces his thumb over your knuckles, entranced by the divots and bumps. “Please look at me, Jihoon,” you plead as you lift your head. He pauses, takes a breath, then looks up at you slowly. Noticing that you’re no longer leaning against the backrest entirely, he straightens up a little too, to match your position. “I think that she already adores you.”

“The mother or daughter?” He replies and swallows thickly.

“Both of us.”

Jihoon’s eyes start to shimmer with joy. “Really? Y-you mean that?”

“Yeah.”

“I fucking adore you both too,” he replies with a sudden heavy exhale. “I like you so much, more than I ever thought I could like someone and that says something because I was convinced that I was in love with my last girlfriend and wanted to marry her.”

“Are you saying that you like me more than the woman you wanted to marry?” You deadpan.

Jihoon opens and closes his mouth a few times in the perfect fish imitation before his cheeks bloom a beautiful, precious pink and he smiles sheepishly at you. “I guess so?”

“Sounds serious,” you tease.

He chuckles and nods. “It does, huh? At least you know that this isn’t something casual or inconsequential to me. If you’d give me the chance, I’d devote myself to you for the rest of my life. You really are my happiness.”

“That’s…I don’t want to be someone’s only reason for being happy, Jihoon. I want you to have joy outside of me too. I already have one person who is dependent on me, and I refuse to accept another, unless I birth them so-” Jihoon suddenly making a strange, choking type sound, cuts you off, causing you to look at his rapidly reddening cheeks with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, yep. Great! I’m great!” He almost wheezes.

“Liar. What is it?”

“Nothing,” he squeaks and squeezes your hand a little. “So uh, is-is that like…something you’d want?”

“You?”

“Another baby,” he blurts, before hiding his blushing face in his hands. “Ignore me, please.”

“No,” you snort a laugh and shuffle closer to pull his hands down from his face. He lets you, but tilts his head downwards to try and hide, though looks at you through his lashes. You’re pretty sure he isn’t intentionally making himself look so cute, yet he looks utterly adorable. “Let’s just start with a date first, yeah?”

“A date?” You nod. Although he’s still very pink, he lifts his head. “I’d really like that.”

“Me too. But I think we should take it slow; you’re still Juni’s teacher and I don’t want to complicate anything. I know you favour her and I’m not going to stop that, but I don’t want anyone to make assumptions that it’s just because you’re fucking me.”

“Fucking you,” he whispers, eyes going a little dazed, up until you laugh, and then he’s groaning and hiding his face in the cushion of the backrest. “I’m so fucking lame. Please pretend you haven’t seen me being so pathetic, so you don’t lose interest.”

“I don’t think you’re lame or pathetic,” you giggle and reach out to gently wiggle your fingers between his cheek and the fabric until he lets you lead him back upright and facing you. You take a moment to focus on curving your palm against his cheek and then soften as he tilts into your hold as if it’s already nothing more than instinctual to seek out your touch. “I think you’re precious, Lee Jihoon.”

Jihoon takes a stuttered breath in before he curls his hand around your wrist to hold onto you as if he’s afraid you’ll cease to exist if he doesn’t. “Is asking to kiss you going too fast?”

You don’t answer, not verbally at least. You extend your thumb to brush against the edge of his bottom lip, smiling as they part softly before you lean in, and he eagerly mirrors your position to meet you halfway with a simple, yet oh so sweet, kiss.

“I really hope you’ll always think I’m precious enough to remain with you,” he admits in a whisper, lips almost brushing yours as his free hand lifts to cup your face adoringly.

“I’m not worried about that at all,” you assure confidently then tug him back in for another soft kiss.

It’s not a lie either, you’re not at all worried that Jihoon will ever be anything but precious to you; you truly can’t imagine him ever doing a thing to change that particular opinion of yours.

What you are worried about, however, is how your daughter will react to you dating for the first time in her life, especially when it’s Jihoon who you’re dating. You hope that she thinks of him as equally as precious as you do, and she’ll be happy about it.

Though you can’t think of that now; you have a precious man to kiss until your lips are swollen and the pink of his cheeks threatens to become permanent. You’ll let your daughter’s reaction to the news be a problem for future you. You have more immediate matters to focus on, after all.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle

[i-eat-mold]

can you imagine being Nakahara Chuuya, 15 years old? for starters you’re 15 which by itself is a nightmare but whatever. you’re the head of this weird kid gang in the slumps where you grew up and btw you also don’t remember anything that happened before the age of 8. you can manipulate gravity which is pretty cool and you have some friends ish that you have to protect (aka said gang members that are also just kids and early teenagers) because you just have a heart so big that won’t fit inside your ribcage but whatever. and you know how 15yos are they have like their own language and behavior for each of their own little social groups and if you don’t act or talk or whatever that way then you’re like really weird, but whatever.

one day you find this weird kid that is dressed like he walked right out of his own funeral and is also covered in bandages and just won’t fucking shut up. he’s the most annoying *thing* you’ve ever seen even though he’s barely alive. You obviously beat him up right away and then he becomes even weirder. suddenly you’re stuck with the weirdest boy you could have ever imagined. he’s the dumbest person alive, he communicates by staring into your soul with his one(1) empty void of an eye and saying absolutely nothing. he acts like he has never had a single social interaction in his life. he declares his love for you within the same day of meeting him. Btw, you’re stuck with him for the next seven years. Oh, and he lives in a metal container in a dump. Also he has like two friends which you are pretty sure don’t even like him either. one of them barely talks and is somehow even weirder than the boy itself and the other one is an absolute stuck up which you are pretty sure might be a double agent but no one says anything despite how obvious it seems to you. you still aren’t sure whether this boy wants to die or not. he is an absolute machine at playing arcade video games but a completely useless piece of shit at everything else. He rolls on the floor when he’s focused. oh and also he has stated several times that he spends every waking moment thinking of how to make you miserable, and somehow he still would never let you die.

i guess he’s your friend?

[1980shorrorfilm]

hopelessly devoted to you

click here!

pairing…ellie williams x gn!reader

in which…a certain someone remembers your birthday.

before you read…fluff. angst. cutie patootie ellie <3

it was a grueling day. the sky dim from the consistent storming, the rain damping your body and hair, up until you and jesse had taken cover at a moldy gas station. you sat there for an hour, listening to him talk about dina and their separation…their tenth separation? you lost track a while ago.

but you don’t judge, you hummed in agreement to his frustrations and nodded the entire time. you get him, you do. your failed love life could be a ten-minute-long monologue, you think. relationships are hard in the small community of jackson, everyone has their person or keeps to themselves. you prefer to keep to yourself. you don’t necessarily need anyone— not if you can’t have her.

infected that were migrating through had run you out of the gas station, you and jesse dodging branches and heavy rocks throughout the forest as you ran back home. you, of course, tripped over a dead stump and banged your head on nature's floor.

if you were jesse you would have laughed at yourself, but your generous friend could only watch in horror, worry painting his features while he helped you up, practically dragging your stumbling self until you were in the clearing.

every single muscle in your body was aching when you arrived at jackson’s gates, it felt like seeing the gates of heaven itself. you don’t know what time it is, the sky has been dark the entirety of the day, and your head is pounding.

“we should get you to the infirmary, just in case,” jesse tries, however, you are ready to call it a night and worry about your current issues tomorrow. probably a bad idea, sure, but you don’t care that much in the worn out state you’re in. “i’m fine, jesse,” you lie to the man, but the smile you give him is enough for him to back off, “just need a bandage and a very comfortable bed. not one of those cots.”

“you’re stubborn…ellie’s rubbing off on you.”

“shut up,” you jokingly tell him, chewing your bottom lip as your mind goes to ellie. the idea of seeing her sweet face after the day you just had would provide you more comfort than the bed you so desperately yearn for.

to hear her voice, telling you about the day she had, that you know for certain was miles better than yours. and that’s amazing— ellie williams doesn’t deserve a hard day in her life. you would take all of them for her, even if each one felt as cruel as today.

jesse walks you all the way home, an illuminating glow coming from your windows, despite turning the lights off before you had left. or at least, you had thought you did. you say goodbye to jesse, having to promise you will take care of your injury before bed so he would leave.

you open your door with a deep sigh of relief, eager to shred your backpack and soggy clothes, and slip into something comfortable.

you drag your feet down the hall, stopping in place when your shut bedroom door, swings open before you.

“fuck.”

“ellie?” your brows dip, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at the surprise, “what are you doing?”

“i, uh, well,” she scratches the back of her neck, turning around, waiting for you to follow her into your bedroom. you do, mind drifting to the thought of how unkept you left it earlier, not having time to deal with the laundry at the end of your unmade bed. ellie had seen that; you’re embarrassed.

you gulp, stepping inside the room, and the sight you’re met with confuses you. your bed is made. your clothes are gone. instead, there’s a beige teddy bear, one that’s unfamiliar to you, that’s never been in your room before. it’s undeniably cute, even with its left ear ripped and its eye poorly patched back on.

laid against its belly is a large and flat square object wrapped in old newspapers, tiny pieces of duct tape holding it together. where a classic and beautiful ribbon would be, are shoelaces, making a bow. or an attempt at one.

and laid against that, is what appears to be a doodled on piece of paper. you glance at ellie, then your bed, then ellie.

“i…” she begins, the soft expression on her face suddenly hardening when her eyes trail to the single droplet of blood falling from your temple, and down the side of your face.

“what the fuck happened?” ellie takes a few short steps towards you, grabbing your face with her coarse hands, and turning you so she can inspect the area. even when you try to turn your head, she keeps you still.

“gonna tell maria to pair us. i love jesse but—”

“i tripped, ellie, it couldn’t have been prevented,” you cut her off, but her suggestion does make your heart flutter, and you wouldn’t be opposed to it. you’d spend every last second you have in this universe with her.

“you don’t know that,” ellie says, the woman thinking she could do anything to protect you— even simple mistakes you cause yourself. she exits the room for a moment, and you can’t help but walk to the foot of your bed to get a closer look at the objects on it.

you pick up the paper, realizing it’s not just a piece of paper, it’s a card. a makeshift one. and the doodles aren’t just doodles, it’s a dinosaur holding three balloons. three of your favorite colors. happy birthday, it says. birthday…your birthday…it’s your birthday.

it had not crossed your mind once today, this week, or this month. you only thought about it a couple of months back when it was briefly brought up in a conversation. how the community you were born into utilized calendars even if there was nothing to look forward to anymore, and how you almost wish you weren’t informed on the day you were born. there was nothing to celebrate, no one to celebrate with.

ellie was determined to change that, and she did.

you open the card, a paragraph in the center of the paper.

hey y/n, guess what day it is :) if you couldn’t tell by the extremely beautiful dinosaur in a party hat, it’s your day!! happy fucking birthday, y/n. probably doesn’t feel like much of a celebration today. little do you know i celebrate you everyday. don’t tell anyone that. i honestly think i’d die without you so never leave me, yeah? i love you y/n. i could take up this whole page telling you every little thing i love about you but i’m not going to do that because i don't think i could stop. i hope you had a good birthday. if not i hope this helps. love, your ellie.

“sit down,” ellie reenters the room, not noticing the card in your hand, too focused on the medical supplies in hers. when she does, her face heats up, her pale face flashing red. you continue to hold it as you obey her, sitting next to the teddy bear. she waits for you to speak first, and you do the same to her, which causes a moment of silence as she kneels on the floor before you.

you’re taken back, utterly shocked by how fucking precious the girl could be, how good it feels receiving appreciation from her. getting love from her. not the love you have for jesse or dina, something different, something incomparable. she has your heart clutched tightly in her fist.

“thank you, ellie.”

“it’s nothing,” she shrugs, pouring a bottle of water on a bathroom towel, then bringing it to your face. she’s gentle as she wipes the dark red liquid away, dabbing the injury, scanning your face for discomfort so she can stop immediately. she’s definitely going to yell at jesse.

“it’s something,” you tell her, “and it means a lot to me…it really does.”

she halts her movements for a second, the embarrassment that maybe she did too much, vanishing from her body. “yeah?”

“duh,” you laugh slightly, “i didn’t even remember it, ellie. i was too busy having a shitty day. so thank you for making it better.”

ellie smiles slightly, holding back the grin threatening to spread across her face. she continues to clean your injury, knowing she could scold you for not seeking medical attention right away, but she won’t ruin the moment.

she finishes up by placing a clean bandage over the wound, pressing it delicately against your skin, an odd urge to place a kiss on your forehead to signal she was done. she thinks it’s weird, and doesn’t do it.

ellie reaches for the newspaper-wrapped object beside you, taking the card from your hands and replacing it with the gift. “open it.”

“you didn’t have to—” “open it.”

you groan, doing as told, fighting the annoying strong duct tape and peeling the paper off carefully, not knowing what’s beneath it. ellie keeps her green irises steady on your face as you do so, watching your mouth part faintly when you see the uncovered gift. “ellie…”

it’s a vinyl. an old one. one you’d listen to on a cassette tape until it deteriorated, and you had lost access to the heavenly vocals of the band you so greatly adored. ellie’s not familiar with them, but she had told you she would like to be after how highly you had spoken about them.

she hadn’t forgotten that conversation, or that band, and excused herself on patrol to seek out the damn vinyl in every music shop. she didn’t know it would be so hard, but even if she did, she would search again and again and again. it’s not only a gift, it is a reflection of ellie’s admiration of you.

“how— why— i don’t even have a record player,” you point out, eyebrows dipping slightly at the harsh reminder. “so?” she asks like you just said the silliest thing in the world. “i do…we can listen to it together.”

it’s then that you notice her hand on your knee, thumb grazing through the denim of your jeans in a repeated motion. you forget about the throbbing in your head, and you no longer care about the soreness of your body. that, along with the entire world, seems to fade away right now.

it’s not just your heart in her hands. it’s you, your mind, your soul, everything you have is in her palms. everything she tells you makes you feel weightless, like time pauses and you don’t have to worry about a single thing. just her. nothing else. just ellie. no one else.

“i love you.”

ellie smiles, “love you too.”

“no, ellie, i…” you hesitate, sucking in the air and then exhaling. your eyes are on the birthday card next to you, the vinyl in your hands, and then her widened pupils. you realize then, that you don’t need to repeat yourself, you don’t need to emphasize it. ellie gets it. your hands are trembling, and she holds them. but something is wrong.

the moment stretches on endlessly, watching a shadow of sadness flicker over her beautiful features. without her saying a word, that she has yet to do, you understand. she won’t say it back. not in the sense that you wish for her to.

“i…dina came to me…after her and jesse…she…” ellie’s quiet voice drifts off, sparing you the details of the night dina first showed up at her door, a repeated pattern until they finally shared an intimate moment that led to a short-lived kiss.

something you missed, because you weren’t searching for hints they had something. something you crave. her head is down, “i’m sorry.”

your confession now hangs heavy over both of you. you feel sick. you feel dumb. and yet, you force a small, understanding smile. “it’s okay.”

the words feel hollow. ellie feels like shit. she’s never cried in front of you, and she’s fighting back the tears that so desperately want to fall right now. she hadn’t meant for this to happen. she hadn’t met to fall in love with her best friend, all while her other friend was falling for her.

she could’ve waited— she would’ve waited. but it happened so fast, and ellie had made a decision already.

“i’m um…really tired,” you chuckle, trying to ease the tension, but it somehow makes it worse.

“y/n—” “do you mind if we call it a night?”

“you hit your head pretty bad,” ellie says, the sorrow tone of her voice now mixing with worry, “you should stay up.”

“you’re not my doctor, ellie,” you immediately catch the snappy tone you give her the moment the sentence leaves your mouth, biting your tongue in response. ellie doesn’t point it out nor make an argument out of it. she is the most understanding with you. even if the context is her simply looking out for you. you fold in your lips, still holding the gift, ellie finally standing up.

she doesn’t know what to say. at all. she could say sorry a million times but eventually they will mean nothing to you. she doesn’t even know if they do now. “i uh…i’ll leave you alone.”

the worst words you could ever hear from the person you love the most in the world. of course, part of you wants her out of sight after the humiliation you just walked yourself into, but the other part of you wants to go with her, play the vinyl she had gifted you, and lay together in her bed as her finger taps in rhythm to the music on your thigh. but you can’t do that. not when her bed is reserved for someone else.

you barely nod, “okay.”

she gulps, hesitantly walking to your bedroom door, the one she was so happy to walk into just an hour prior. there’s guilt in each step she takes, her cheeks hot and mouth dry. she stops in your doorway, tugging at her bottom lip with her sharp teeth, glancing back at you.

whatever she was prepared to say, dies on her tongue, swallowing it down and opting for something else.

“happy birthday, y/n.”

then she’s gone. and you’re left alone with a teddy bear; a permanent reminder of this night. happy birthday to you.

[slimybeth69]

Part 2- Cave In

Series Masterlist | Part 1

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

content warnings: Reader (no descriptions besides having hair that can be pulled) is in a weird mindset; hears voices, talks to herself. non-con/dub-con (if you're looking for enthusiastic consent, ya wont find it here) smut, cock-warming, unprotected P in V, creampies, oral (m&f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, pussy and peen pronouns, alcohol consumption (altered mental state). Joel wears a shock collar and other various horrible things that would keep him in check-- and he doesn't fucking like it.

Reader warning- flashbacks of readers graphic and sad past!!!

While it looks real pretty, this is a Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. If ya do and then come complaining to me that you ate a dead dove-- I'm gonna fight you. I warned you!

Joel’s mind drifts off to the days and nights he spent teaching Ellie how to play guitar– watching her learn, grow more confident in the way she held the instrument. Then hearing her play her first song is one of his favorite memories. He wonders what her, Dina and JJ are doing right now. 

He wonders if Tommy and Ellie are looking for him– Joel can’t imagine they wouldn’t be. Not after what they did in Seattle a couple years ago. His daughter and his younger brother would come looking for him, and eventually they’d find him- and rescue him.

The three of them- Joel right alongside them, would kill you in the process, he’d make sure of it. 

That’s all he can think about– being rescued and watching you die as you wrap a second layer of duct tape around the oven mitts on his hands. 

As much as Joel hates you, he can’t deny that you’re resourceful. 

With the shock collar still around his neck, and now, two pairs of oven mitts secured to each of his fists, Joel watches you untie his arms from the chair. 

He is stiff, and misses the fucking sun. Joel just wants to the feel the warmth on his face- but he can’t really even think about that now, he’s thinking of all the ways he’s going to fucking knock you out the minute you crawl into his lap. 

He’ll knock the shock collar remote out of your hand, headbutt you– a real one, he’ll go right for your nose and try and break it– then he will wrap his big strong arms around you, and squeeze until he can feel your ribs snap.

He’s got it all planned out- until he hears the sound of more duct tape ripping, and he wonders what part of him you’re going to tape next. 

Joel watches in horror as you tape the remote to your palm, your thumb gingerly laid across the button that would shock Joel probably into next week. You wrap the tape until Joel can barely see the remote anymore. 

You’re more resourceful than he thought, and that’s terrifying. Joel is almost sixty years old– he’s being outsmarted by some insane woman who lives in a mall in what now is the woods outside of Jackson. 

How did you get here? Where’s the rest of your group or community? Joel hasn’t seen a single other person since he got here, and he hasn’t seen or heard you interact or say you had to go meet up with anyone since he’s been here. 

There is no way you’re surviving out here all on your own on peanut butter, raspberries and whiskey. 

“Let me go,” his voice croaks. “C’mon. Y’don’t really wanna do this.” He’s pleading. He hasn’t fully begged yet, not pathetically– which is what you must want to hear. You wanna hear Joel– the big strong man cry and whine and beg for you to let him go. 

You drop the roll of tape on the floor beside your feet, “Got some rules ya’ gotta follow, Mister.” You ignore Joel, taking an inched step towards him. “Number one is ya’ don’t hit. You don’t hit– I don’t zap ya'. Sound fair?" You don't wait for him to reply. "Good. Glad we're on the same page.”

Joel rolls his eyes and is immediately met with an intense muscle spasm throughout the entire right side of his face, and down his neck. It spreads out over his shoulder and through part of his chest. 

It lasts for only a split second, but it leaves Joel panting, his brow already beaded in sweat from just that short electric shock. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ– don’t fuckin’--" he starts to warn you with a stern tone and narrow eyes– but he’s greeted by your wet, stare only inches from his. 

Your mouth opens and closes once, twice… three times before any sound comes out. “Stop makin’ me hurt you,” you whine, one single tear falling from the corner of your eye. “I really don’t like hurtin’ ya’-- I don’t wanna do it, so don’t give me reason to, right?” 

Joel glares at you while deep down inside him somewhere his heart twists slightly. 

Awww, look it’er cryin’. Cute lil puppy, alone, out here in the woods–

Joel blinks twice as you crawl into his lap, your soft, warm body pressing against his tentatively, as if you were waiting for him to start fighting you off, to start screaming and shouting at you. 

He wants to so badly, he wants to feel his forehead connect with the bridge of your nose as hard as it can– but it’s like you hypnotized him when you curled up on his lap. 

“Now ya’ wrap your arms ‘round me,” you breathe against Joel’s neck. 

Joel fucking sighs at the feeling, almost wishing you press your lips to the spot directly behind his ear.

Go on, move your arms…

Fuck no! Something is seriously wrong with him, he needs to talk to someone besides you. He knows you’re a bad person; a good person wouldn’t do something like this. 

Joel knows that if he puts his arms around you the way you want him to, he might start squeezing, and keep squeezing regardless of the pain from the electric shock. He’d seize up and wouldn’t be able to let you go, even if he wanted.

That might not be a bad thing though, either Joel would kill you, or you would kill him. It would solve his problem either way– and that was fine because he didn’t want to keep living like this. He couldn’t.

It would drive him fucking insane. He already feels like he is going insane the way he wants to kiss your neck, and suck on the spot where your collarbone ends, and your throat begins.  

C’mon, fuckin’ do it. Ya’ know she wants it, give it to her– make her fuckin’ beg for it first…

Oh fuck, Joel knows that is the unstable part of his brain talking– and he has to shut it out. 

You are Joel’s attacker, his fucking captor– the one keeping him from his family, the one he worked so fucking hard to get back. He might never see them again because of you. He’s thinking of all the ways he could hurt you–to hurt you badly, he wants to see you dead– but all those feelings of anger and hatred flee from his brain when you press the most soft, sweetest, barely-there kiss to his jaw. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder. The way you sigh and melt into Joel, molding to him, has his head spinning for a whole new reason, and he’s completely fucking sober this time. 

See big feller, ain’t that hard t’just comply.

Joel realizes only then that he has both of his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him, with his cheek resting on your head. 

She ain’t t’bad, right? Smells nice’n sweet, like a pretty lady.

It’s so hard to hate you and want you dead when your soft, sleepy breaths flits across the skin on his neck. 

“I have more movies–” 

“Anything besides the princess movies- please,” Joel sighs, not removing his cheek from your head. “I can’t do the princess movies again, anything else…”

“Do you like Batman?” The action of you lifting your head off his shoulder is the only reason he pulls away from you. “The cartoons?” 

Joel snorts, and nods his head at you. “I do– me ‘n Tom–” Joel stops himself from sharing too much with you for no reason whatsoever, his eyes dropping to your bare thighs. 

It makes his mouth water when he looks at them, even though they’re bruised to hell, with fresh cuts and old scars adorning your supple, and kissable looking skin. 

He can feel you looking at him, waiting for him to finish what he was about to tell you. His eyes flash up to yours when you question him. 

“Who’s Tom? Whatta’bout him?” 

Joel can see your desperation in your face and eyes–they're wide, still slightly wet with the tears from zapping him moments ago. You must want to know so badly, and he decides to use it to his advantage. 

“Get me some meat– anything– n’ I’ll tell ya’.” Joel can’t help but smirk to himself because this is going to work. 

Your eyes light up, and you lean in real close- the tip of your nose pressed against his. “Promise?” 

Joel nods, his eyes locked on to yours, “Promise.” 

Give’er a lil kiss. 

Joel leans forward to do it, but you pull back with your brows furrowed and a scowl on your face. 

“No. Ya’ punched me last time ya’ did that.” You whisper at him, still frowning. 

“Sorry f’that-” Joel starts but you don’t let him finish. 

Your head shakes from side to side quickly, eyes still wide– untrusting, but desperate for something, he’s seen that look before so many times in so many different sets of eyes. After you scramble out of his lap, finding your footing on the floor beside the chair, you look down at him, still frowning. 

“Sorry don’t mean nothin’- not out here it don’t.”

S’okay, Sug. You’ll be fine– Mister-man’s gonna be real thankful. 

“Well he fuckin’ better! I hate gettin’ shot at, I hate havin’ t’fuckin run real fast- I hate that the place is almost three fuckin’ hours awa–” Your eyes fall onto the horizon where the sun is starting to rise just over the mountains in the distance. “Ain’t even get any fuckin’ sleep–”

Oh Sug, it’ll be worth it, he’s gon’ tell you–

Lies. He’s going to tell you lies, and for what!? You almost got shot–

“I know I almost got shot— You don’t think that I know I almost got shot!?” You’re nearly shouting in the woods. “Now both of yous be fuckin’ quiet– m’tired, and I twisted my fuckin’ ankle–”

And it’s the truth, you did twist your ankle when crossing the stream about a mile back, and thankfully the raiders had stopped following you a while ago, but with all the adrenaline it was easy to keep running. That was, until you slipped on those stupid fucking rocks.

It takes you thirty more minutes to get home, and by the time you do everything hurts, and you just want to go to sleep. Your ankle throbs with every tender step you take.

Taking a deep breath, you plaster on a smile and push open the door. "Honey, I'm home," you call out in a sing-song voice, trying to mask all your exhaustion and this fucking pain that won’t quit.

Mister’s already watching for you as you make your way slowly down the stairs. His eyes narrow as his eyes mill across your frame.

You don't look great. Disheveled, torn clothes, scrapes on your hands and knees from when you fell.

"What happened t’ya?"

Oh he’s worried ‘boutchya! Let him help you, honey.

You wave off his question with a limp hand. "Never mind me,” you toss your backpack on the table, the bottles of whiskey clank around inside noisily as you sit down in the metal chair beside Joel’s recliner. “Gotch’yer meat you wanted to fuckin’ bad.” You say, rolling your eyes.

Mister-man looks you up and down. "Y'look like hell," he says, his eyes tracing over the scratches on your arms and legs.

You ignore his words and his wandering eyes and open up your backpack. “I got jerky,” you pull out two large containers of dried meat and set them on the table. “-got bread ‘n more peanut butter— they had jam this time.”

“Who is ‘they’?” Joel asks, his eyes never leaving you even as his arms and wrists begin to twist gently under the restraints.

Embarrassment floods you, it takes over everything that you are, just like it did when you told him you had been watching him for a while. You know what you did was bad, and you shouldn't be stealing or killing-- but you're only doing it for him!

You look at him, with a hollow feeling in your chest that you can't quite place. "They’s just... people," you say quietly. "They don't matter none."

Joel tilts his head, studying you so intently that makes you want to squirm. "Ya’ hurtin’?" he asks, voice rough like sandpaper grating your ear canal.

“Who is Tom?” You avoid all questions about you, and any issues you have because why burden Mister-man? You're not his problem, you want to give him a worry, burden free life here in the mall with you and Puddin'.

Mister watches you very carefully as you pull a slice of jerky out of the container, he’s practically drooling when you place it as his lips. He groans as he begins to chew, and immediately takes another bite before he’s even swallowed the first.

He doesn’t answer— not even after the entire piece of jerky is gone, so you withhold the next piece.

“Who. Is. Tom?” You shift closer to him and wince when your ankle brushes against the leg of the chair.

"Tom... Tommy is my brother." His voice… there's something almost tender in his tone when he says his brother's name.

It feels like someone it clenching your heart in their fist, and they’re fucking squeezing.

"You're my fucking sister!" His voice is so hoarse, raw and desperate. It doesn't even sound like him anymore. "Don't— please, don't fucking do it, I'm sorry-" "You told me sorrys don't mean nothing anymore— not out here they don't!" You shout back at him, the gun in your hand trembles right along with the rest of your body. "You were supposed to t-take c-care of me! You p-promised mom and dad," you sob, your thumb pulls the hammer of the revolver back and your index finger squeezes the trigger. "Hey, HEY!" He holds both of his hands up, a weak attempt to shield himself from whatever is about to happen. Shoot him, kid. He deserves it after what he put you through. He let those guys— The gun just goes off, you don't even feel yourself pull the trigger. All you see is a fine, red mist explodes from his forehead and the back of his skull— and then everything is quiet, everything is calm. Good job, Sugar. I'm so fucking proud of you.

That was the first time you ever heard the light voice, the sweet voice that says nice things to you.

And m'gonna be here for ya' forever, Sug.

“I know,” you sigh.

Mister blinks at you, “You know Tommy?”

You blink back at him, “No?”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy like the evening air at the end of the summer. Joel watches you, his eyes darting between your face and the jerky still in your hand. “Okay…”

“Did Tommy like Batman?” If Tommy likes or liked Batman or anything about that universe at all, he’s an okay guy in your book.

“He likes Superman,” Joel chuckles when he delivers the news. “I’m the one who likes Batman.”

You audibly gasp, “You like the comics and the cartoons?”

Joel's lips twitch at the corners, almost forming what looks like a smile. "Used to read 'em with Tommy when we was kids. " His eyes fill with sadness.

You lean forward, tilting your head to the side in curiosity. "Why’re y’sad?" you whisper, the pain in your ankle momentarily forgotten.

"I ain’t sad," Mister-man is gruff. "Tommy and I used to collect comics, argued about who was cooler. Obviously Batman, 'cause he ain't got no superpowers. Just pure skill. Tommy thought Superman was better."

“Both of ‘em suck— I just like Harley Quinn,” you nod.

You were going to say more but the very faint sound of clicking ticks in your ears. It’s far enough away that you can get upstairs and drop the metal gate that locks the store up nice and tight.

It’s never fun, and you don’t like having to do it— but thankfully you just made a haul, so you’ll be good for a couple day.

You just hope Puddin’ is okay. Ya' saw him yesterday, but he didn't sleep in the big bed with ya' like he normally would.

“Har—” Mister-man starts, oblivious to the terrors that are lurking just above your head.

“Shhhhhh,” you hold your finger up to your mouth and furrow your eyebrows at him. “Stay quiet ‘n I’ll give ya’ some more jerky, okay?” You whisper almost silently.

He nods and stays quiet because he knows how scary those fucking things are, and he probably doesn’t want to be tied to a chair if one every came around.

Standing up feels like a pack of sparklers— like the ones they used to have at the 4th of July parties when you were a kid, before all this— it feels like those, popping and sizzling up your leg. You have to bite back a moan as your body leans against the table for support. The table skids across the floor noisily as you hold yourself up on it and it makes your blood run cold.

You have to get up those stairs and drop that gate, Sug. Mister is countin’ on you…

It’s like time freezes and all you can picture is poor Mister getting torn apart.

You hesitate listening intently. The clicking grows louder, a sickening, bone-chilling sound that echoes through the abandoned mall. Your twisted ankle throbs, but adrenaline starts pumping through your veins.

“Gotta move, sweetheart.” He must have heard the clicking this time too. Joel’s whispering voice is even and calm even though your chest feels like it could cave in on itself, your ribs feel like they could explode inward towards your lungs like sending shattered bone fragments hurdling towards your delicate, soft insides. “Y’can do it. I know it hurts—”

The metal gate. Everything around you goes silent, and the only thing you can hear is the sound the gate makes when it closes and locks into the floor. You have to get to the metal gate.

You clutch the railing with a white knuckle grip and pull yourself up the stairs two at a time, biting almost completely through your bottom lip, grunting with each painful step.

The clicking is clearer, and closer now that you’re on the same level as the infected, and you can tell there is more than one, and they’re moving fast.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” you hiss as you limp towards the entrance of the store.

As you reach it, you can see the seven infected closing in fast. Your sweet, sweet Puddin’ is hauling ass towards you— the infected right on his little, scaly tail.

“C’mon Pud,” you whine, dropping the gate down for just enough room for him to run through, and possibly let one of the infected in if you weren’t quick enough closing it behind him.. “C’mon Puddin’!”

It’s like your words spur him on and his little legs kick into overdrive. He slips under the metal gate just as the infected slam into it, throwing you off your balance. You’re thrown back at least three feet, and watch in horror as the gate starts to rise on its own.

Move kiddo, come on! Get your ass up and fucking shut that gate!

Your body screams in protest as you scramble across the floor, your twisted ankle sending sharp bolts of pain through your leg.

Puddin' is playing dead right behind you, but you don't have time to think about him right now. He's safe and inside, that's all that matters. The gate keeps rising, inch by torturous inch, and the infected are pushing against it with stupid inhuman strength!

"No, no, no," you mutter, pushing through the pain. The clicking grows louder, more frenzied, as the first infected begins to squeeze its misshapen head underneath the rising gate.

Pulling the knife from your belt in one hand, you bring it down into the skull of the infected trying to slip through, and with the other, your fingers grapple for a hold on the handle of the metal grate.

The infected skull cracks open with a sickeningly wet crunch, dark blood and gray matter splattering across the floor.

Your hand finally grips the smooth metal tightly, even though now your palm is nearly dripping with sweat, and with a grunt that feels like it's being stolen right out of your lungs, you pull down with all the strength you have left inside of you.

The gate comes down with a crash that echoes throughout the mall, the infected on the other side of the gate screech and squeal loudly. Some of them stick their arms through the slots, and their skin peels back like overripe fruit, claws scraping desperately for any piece of you they can reach.

You don't even want to think about how grotesque they are, you flip the lock that secures the gate to the floor as their fingers grapple and scratch deep into your skin. It clicks into place and you finally exhale, not realizing you had been holding your breath.

So fuckin’ proud of you, Sug. Knew you could do it.

The shrieking cries of the infected fill the otherwise silent mall and the confined space you’re now trapped in. You can't help but glance back toward Puddin'—the little white and gray furball who is still playing dead.

“S’okay, we’re safe,” you sigh, letting yourself rest on your elbows and then on your back completely. You stare at the ceiling, and wonder how long the infected will stick around.

The sounds coming from right above Joel has his heart racing, and he’s trying to free himself from his restraints harder and more desperate than ever before.

With a roar of determination, uncaring of the dangers above him, he jerks one arm up and then down. It’s not enough; he can still feel them biting into his skin painfully, creating new rope burns.

“C’mon, c’mon!” he grunts as time stretches into an eternity. The picture of you being shredded by gnawing and gnashing teeth makes his stomach churn.

Just as that thought creeps in, he hears a metallic rattling, but the wailing of the infected are still clear as day.

The clang of metal echoes again, and for a moment, he thinks maybe you did it. Maybe you’ve locked them out. Maybe you just signed yours and his death certificates and locked some of them in the store.

He tries to twist his wrists again, then again, but each movement sends sharp, stinging pain surging up his forearms. “Fuck!” He exclaims loudly.

She’s up there, fightin’ them off all alone—

"I know, dammit.” His jaw is tense and he focuses all of his energy on trying to loosen the ropes enough, or rub them against the metal fame to fray it enough so he can snap them. The strain builds in his muscles, and he can feel the ropes biting deeper, but he can’t stop— the feeling inside him brings him right back to the hospital in Salt Lake when he was looking for Ellie.

He thought he had felt helpless then, he thought he had felt helpless when that girl and her group of friends had trapped him and Tommy in that cabin— but now he knows the true definition of despair. Tied to a chair, listening to you getting torn apart right above him, and then he’ll have to watch those infected come to tear his throat out.

The door to the basement opens slowly, and Joel’s heart almost stops beating completely. Bile rises in his throat at the uneven steps that start down the wooden steps. It’s a slow, clumsy sound accompanied by grunts and pained whimpers.

When your boots come into his line of sight, he exhales loudly. The sight of you, safe and still breathing sends a warmth through Joel’s spine that spreads into the rest of his body and he’s not sure why.

Awe shit, she’s hurtin’ real bad.

Joel fucking knows, he can see it with his own two eyes. You’re limping, worse than you were went you bolted upstairs and now you’re covered in fresh wounds, and blood trickles down your left forearm, wrist and fingertips, leaving little droplets in your wake. Your cradling something dead and furry in your right arm.

“Ya’ get bit?” Joel’s skin prickles as he asks, trying to get a better look at your arm, straining to see in the dim light.

“Naw,” you grunt at him, sitting in the chair you had been sitting in before you had run upstairs. “Just got scratched.”

Joel eyes you, unsure if he can believe you while you extend your left arm and show him the deep gouging scratches carved into your flesh. “S’bad,” Joel murmurs as you press your arm against your dirty jeans. He flinches at the sight, and turns his arms under the ropes.

What’chya wanna do? Hit her or help her?

Both? Joel synchronously wants to do both. He wants to lay you down on the mattress across the room and tend to your wounds. He wants to wash the blood of your skin, and wrap you up— watch your eyes glisten and sparkle as he cares for you. And then Joel would beat your face bloody, and bludgeon your chest in until it caved.

“M’fine,” you offer weakly. “Ain’t the worst that’s ever happened t’me.”

Somewhere deep inside of Joel twists painfully when the inflection in your tone tells him you think that’s true.

“How’s your ankle?” Joel doesn’t bother looking, he knows it’s bad by the way you limped down the stairs.

“Said m’fine,” you grumble, setting the dead animal down on the table very gently next to the shock collar remote.

“What’s that? Fresh meat finally—”

Joel doesn’t even see it coming, your hand moves so fast and the next thing he knows he is being zapped into silence.

“Ain’t fuckin’ fresh meat- you don’t ever speak about Puddin’ that way, ya’ hear me?” You zap Joel the entire time you’re speaking, and he can barely hear you over the screaming between his ears. It’s deafening and blinding, and making him feel fucking stupid.

“Fine fine.” Joel grits out through a jaw clenched so tight he might actually break his teeth.

You flick the remote off and toss it on the table as if it’s too hot to touch any longer. The buzzing in Joel's ears fades slightly, leaving only the thudding of his heart and the rasp of his breathing.

“I fuckin’ hate hurtin’ you,” you sob softly, wrapping your arms around what appears to be an opossum. You pull it closer to you, and nuzzle your face against his fur.

Joel recoils at the sight, but watches as the dead animal comes to life, and gives your cheek a gentle lick. “That’s your pet?” He asks, disbelief dripping off his tongue.

You don’t look at him, or even really acknowledge that you heard him— you just continue to snuggle the animal and cry quietly.

Joel doesn’t really know what to do, he wants to comfort you in a weird way, but he still wants to see you dead? But the thought you dying also scares him a little?

It’s ‘cause you wanna be the one snuggled up next t’her. Jealous of an opossum—

No the fuck he doesn’t! Joel does not want to snuggle up to you, he doesn’t want to feel your warm body pressed against his—

Even though she’d fit perfect right next to ya’. Picture it, ya’ got’chya arms ‘round her ‘n you got your legs all wrapped in hers…

The sight of you, vulnerable and fragile with that small, stupid animal, tugs at his heart in ways he hasn’t experienced in years. He shakes his head violently, as if he could actually dislodge the thoughts spinning in his mind. “You’re fuckin' crazy,” he mutters to himself under his breath.

Your chair scrapes across the floor as you turn quickly to the right so you can face him. Your jaw ticks and one of your eyes twitch. “I ain’t fuckin’ crazy— stop sayin’ that.” You whisper to him. “Why ya’ bein’ so mean? I jus’ saved your life…” Your face twists up like you might start crying again, and your eyes now are still wet with the tears you had been crying moments ago.

“Saved my life?” Joel scoffs through clenched teeth, the remnants of your electric assault still tingling faintly in his fingers and toes. “That’s what y’think you did for me?” He can feel his resolve faltering as the fat, wet tears begin to roll down your cheek, but he forces himself to stay angry. It feels safer— it feels better that way. “More like puttin’ me through hell, darlin’.”

He doesn’t even mean for the word darlin’ to come out of his mouth, he wasn’t even thinking it, at least— he doesn’t remember wanting to cal you darlin’.

But the moment it slips out, he watches your expression change. You wipe at the tears staining your cheeks, smearing dirt and blood across your face. A flicker of something warm and soft ignites in your eyes, like sunlight breaking through dark clouds. “Darlin’…” you echo him, a fractured smile threatening to bloom despite the pain etched across your features.

Joel’s heart sinks, and also bursts with pride all at the same time. You are in fact insane, but he made you stop crying.

Look’it that, she’s almost smilin’ now.

That warmth spreads through him again, against his will—against all logical reason. “I didn’t mean it,” he mutters, not really sure if he did mean it or not. Yet the sight of you still clinging to that opossum, caressing him carefully as he nibbles gently on one of your fingers. The sight draws him in deeper than he would like to admit, but he just wants to clean you up, wrap you in bandages and then let you fall asleep on his lap.

“Didn’t… mean it?” You repeat the words like you don’t understand them, and your smile falters just a bit as you study his face, searching for truth. “Liar,” you smirk at him.

There is a warmth in your crazy eyes that makes Joel want to sink as far into the chair as he possibly can, he wishes he could disappear but he doesn’t. He says, watching you like he’s frozen in place. “Nah, s’just the shock talkin’,” he whispers and nods his head to one side like there would be a video replaying the who ordeal that happened only moments ago. He wishes there was so he could watch it happen over and over, so he could build up the walls around him, keep you the fuck out of his head.

“Yeah…” There is a distance to your tone, like you’re not really there anymore, and you drop your gaze to the opossum nestled in your arms. “Ya’ made me do that though,” you whisper, eyes flicking up to him quickly— they’re darker, a little scary and Joel wishes he could hide inside his own skin.

“Made you?” Joel’s voice rises, anger flaring throughout him like a wildfire in a forest of dead, dry trees. It spreads fast before Joel can control himself.“Y’think I made you do that? You are a crazy fuckin’ bit—”

You zap him again with a jolt that sends white hot sparks crawling up his spine, and sucks the air right out of his lungs.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” you scream and clutch the opossum tighter.

Joel watches as it goes back to playing dead in your arms. He’s about to shout back at you, start a screaming war and hope those infected break through that gate upstairs and kill both of you— but then you whisper something quietly, and Joel almost doesn’t catch it.

“I’m not gunna fuckin’ do that, stop tellin’ me t’kill him.”

Joel’s blood runs cold like ice… who the fuck are you talking to? Or about?

“Are you still hungry?” Your voice is soft, almost sweet now. “I can get you more jerky… I got lots of whiskey—” you say, the fierce anger from moments ago melting away, replaced by a manic eagerness to please him. You reach for your bag again, your arm still bleeding badly— but you’re unfazed by it, or at least doing a good job pretending it doesn’t bother you.

You pull out a glass jar.

“Are those coffee beans?” Joel can barely believe his eyes. His mouth starts to salivate immediately.

You wrinkle your nose at him and shrug your shoulders. “Dunno— they look like some kinda bean— smell all burnt up to shit though,” your nose stays scrunched up as you begin digging around in your bag again.

“Lemme smell,” he can barely contain his excitement as he watches you unscrew the lid to the mason jar. There is a hesitation in your movements when you go to hold the jar under his nose, like you’re trying to figure out his game, the trap he’s set. Your eyes scan all around him, face and body unmoving. “I jus’ wanna smell it— I’ll tell you if it’s coffee or not,” he’s as close to begging for something as he’s ever gotten.

“You like coffee?” You sound so curious, and gingerly place the mouth of the jar under his nose. He takes in a deep inhale and the wonderful, deep and rich aroma of coffee fills his nostrils.

Joel groans loudly, and for a long time as the scent permeates his sinuses, he can almost taste it on his tongue for a fleeting moment.

“Take that as a yes,” you giggle and let him breathe in the smell a little longer. “How do I make it for ya’?” You ask, pulling the jar away and screwing the lid on tight.

“Gotta grind those beans up real fine— then let it brew in some hot water.” Joel explains, watching as you dig around in your bag for more of your loot. "They make special pots for it— percolators."

"Percolators?" You parrot him, tilting your head to one side—

Cute lil puppy.

You fucking are, Joel hates to admit it to himself but even all covered in blood, and muck— looking like you've been to hell and clawed your way back out by the skin of your teeth— your eyes are bright and alert, watching him intently.

"Yeah, keeps the coffee grounds out of your water—" he starts, but you cut him off.

"So you put those crushed up beans… in the water… to just not want them in the water at the end of it all?" You hold up the coffee beans and look at them incredulously, your eyes squinted and narrowed on the glass jar with one eyebrow cocked up slightly.

Joel can't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up at your expression, your face still dirty and tear stained. "Never had coffee before?"

You shake your head at him, and continue rifling through your bag.

The opossum on the table comes alive again now that you're calm and quiet, he pops his little head up and this is when Joel notices the small teal and pink collar around his furry neck. As you pull the rest of the things out of your pack, the little critter starts to lick and clean your wounds.

It makes Joel grimace at the sight of the wild animal trying to help you, take care of you, but again— it tugs at a place inside of him he hasn't dared venture in years.

You're in the small bathroom just off the main room cleaning up in the sink you filled with water from a jug you brought down yesterday. “Ya’ wanna sleep on the bed t’night?” You nod to the mattress pushed up against the wall across the room.

What the fuck?

Mister-man looks just as shocked as the dark voice in your head sounds. “Ya’ gon’ let me sleep comfortably- take these fuckin’ ropes off me?” His voice is bitter and bites at you, makes you furrow your brows at him.

Sug, he’s been tied up for a while now—

For good fucking reason, he’s going to kill her the minute she unties him.

He’s got the dang collar on now, he’s gonna listen to her.

What happens when she falls asleep? Huh? She’s been up going on almost eighteen hours—

How d’ya know how many hours it’s been? She don’t have a watch or a clock!! You don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ ‘bout.

She’s going to fall asleep and the minute she does— he’s going to strangle her.

The image of Mister-man with his hands around your throat makes you do two things— it makes your stomach flip, and it makes your cunt clench.

What the fuck was that?

She likes the idea of Mister-man chokin’ her a lil, dont’chya Sugar?

The heat rises from your chest and up your neck, behind your cheeks. You kinda do want Mister to choke you a little, but not with the intention to kill you!

“What’re you fuckin’ smirkin’ ‘bout over there?” Mister snaps at you.

When you look at yourself in the mirror, you are smirking and just standing in front of the sink frozen in place. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the images of Mister’s big, strong hands around your neck. “Nothin’,” you lie to him, which makes you feel bad— but you can’t tell him that’s what you were thinking about.

Tell him, see what he says…

Will you shut the fuck up—

“I figure you can sleep there ‘n I’ll sleep in the chair t’night— still gon’ have to tie you up, but least you can lay down…”

That’s not really what you want. You want his arms wrapped around you, and your legs all messed up in his. You wanna feel his warm breath on the top of your head because that’s gotta be the best way to fall asleep, feeling someone else’s warm body, feeling their heart beating inside their chest.

Let’s ya’ know they’re really there- ain’t a dream or something you’re imaginin’.

“Why the hell d’ya want me all comfy f’anyway, huh?” he asks, suspicion laced in his tone, but a hint of curiosity glimmers behind his dark brown eyes.

You shake your head and go back to cleaning your arm so you can bandage it. “No, I’m jus’ tryin’ t’be nice. Figur’d you could stretch out if ya’ wanted.”

He watches you, that suspicion still etched into the lines of his face, but the curiosity is unmistakable, swelling in the way his brow furrows deeper and his lips twist just slightly. “Why ya’ tryin’ to be nice?”

“I dunno… don’t want you hatin’ me no more—”

Stop it right now! Shut the fucking door and stop talking to him.

“Why would I ever stop hatin' you?” His voice is low, almost a whisper. Mister-man hones in his gaze on you like a hawk. “You think bein’ nice t’me is gonna make me forget that ya’ tied me up down here?”

You shrug lightly as you wrap a bandage around your arm, feeling the warmth of blood already seeping through the fabric.

Don’t listen to him, Sugar. He don’t mean it.

Sounds like he fuckin’ means it.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” you say softly, finally meeting his stare head-on. “I just wanna feel normal again…”

Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

Yeah Sug, keep that to ya’self.

You feel ashamed, real shame, uncomfortable for sharing too much, and now the voices are agreeing with each other? That’s never a good sign. You’ve done something wrong.

“Normal?” He chuckles, but it feels malicious. “Ain’t nothin’ fuckin’ normal about this, sweetheart.”

“Stop sayin’ that if you don’t fuckin’ mean it!”

His laughter dies down, leaving an awkward silence between you. The room feels smaller, somehow and it feels like Mister-man is right on top of you with judging eyes. “I do mean it,” he replies, softer now but still sharp and angry. “Y’think it’s normal t’be tied up in the basement by some—”

“Some what?” You interrupt him as the anger rises to meet the shame and hold its hand.

Mister stares at you, face unchanging when he speaks. “Some. Crazy. Fuckin’. Bitch.” He enunciates every word. “What is this? Some fuckin’ fairy tale to you? One of your stupid princess movies, huh?”

“They’re not stupid,” you snap back, your voice rising in defiance. “And I’m not crazy. I just…”

“Just what?” he presses, his tone challenging. “What do you want from me?”

Don’t fucking say it.

“I jus’ want ya’ t’like me,” you whisper- feeling small and insignificant. “Want ya’ t’not hurt me again,” you point to your still slightly blackened eye.

His studies you like you’re a problem that he can’t solve— the muscles in his jaw flex, and he pinches his brow together tightly. “Ya’ want me t’like you?” He echoes softly, he says the words like they might unleash an evil into the room.

You nod, feeling like you’re frozen and on fire all at the same time, it makes your stomach churn like you might be sick. The way he’s staring at you make you feel naked and exposed.

“Why?” he asks suddenly, breaking through the silence and makes you flinch.

“You’re handsome,” you let the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them.

He shifts in the chair like you made him uncomfortable, confusion weaving its way into the creases of his hardened and in fact, beautiful face.

“Handsome?” he repeats the word like it's a foreign language, like it’s something he hasn’t heard in ages.

“I sure think so,” you nod again.

Your face is so hot it feels like it’s being held to flames.

Well, this is the most you’ve talked to anyone in a real long time, Sug… it’ll get easier.

You could just stop talking completely and go to sleep. You’re delirious.

No she ain’t. Mister-man is handsome, and she want’s him inside her again real bad.

Your walls clench around absolutely nothing at the thought of his thick, throbbing length plunging inside of you, stretching you to fit around him perfectly. The idea of it happening again makes you dizzy and you can’t help but bite your lip, your face somehow grows hotter than you thought possible.

The look Mister gives you- the half smirk, one raised eyebrow makes you think he can read your mind.“Handsome,” he snorts softly, eyes never leaving you, but now they trail down the curves of your body. “You trynna ‘sit in my lap’ again, sweetheart?” The words come out of his mouth slow like molasses, and that country twang he has sends a shock right to your core.

“Maybe,” you say, voice trembling slightly but unwavering, “maybe if you wanted to, I would.”

His face softens slightly, the anger and suspicion melting away like snow in the sun. He raises an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. "Why would I want that, honey?" he asks, his voice teasing slightly.

“You seemed to want it the other night,” you limp out of the bathroom and sit down in the metal chair beside his recliner.

“I was real drunk,” Mister explains, but his demeanor has changed, he looks relaxed, he’s resting his head on the back of the chair, looking at you through hooded eyes. “Ya’ took advantage of me,” he growls softly, but beckons you over with a nod of his head.

“Ya’ told me t’do it…” you snap. “I ain’t take nothin’. Advantage- I ain’t-- what? You asked me t’do it!”

He sure fuckin’ did ask you! How dare he say that bullshit ass—

I hate to admit it, but… he’s right—

The last thing you ever wanted to do was take something from Mister-man that he didn’t want you to take! It’s the worst feeling in the world- being held down and forced into—

Shhhhh, Sugar. It’s alright, s’all over now. It was just a misunderstanding.

“I ain’t m-mean t’do that,” you say weakly through the lump forming in your throat. “I thought ya’ wanted me t’do it— that’s why ya’ punched me?”

His eyes widen slightly, “I didn’t punch ya’ for that.”

"Then why did ya’ punch me?" Your voice cracks slightly as tears begin welling up in your eyes again; embarrassment filling every cell within your body once more.

“I was gonna try’n leave. Go home—”

“Ya’ lied t’me… said you’d stay,” you whimper, wiping the tears before they can fall.

“Please stop cryin’…” Mister-man's voice is surprisingly gentle as he speaks, and you feel your heart squeeze in response.

You sniffle, trying to regain your composure. "I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t ask me first," you mumble, wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve.

"Why not?" Joel asks softly. 

Look'it that, ya went'n made her cry! For what!? She's just trynna be nice t'ya! Jus' like she said. She wants a lil boyfriend, someone t'snuggle up with at night-- like a normal person!

There isn't anything fucking normal about you, not at all. 

“I ain’t like stuff gettin’ taken from me,” you admit quietly, turning your gaze away from him.

Joel narrowed his eyes, sitting up a bit straighter in his recliner, the leather creaking underneath his weight. "What’ya mean by that?"

“Lets get ready for bed, ‘kay?” You ignore his question and stand up, wincing when you put any weight on your ankle. You hold the remote in your mouth gingerly as you begin untying him from the chair.

****

Joel watches you from the mattress in the corner. You have his hands still bound up in the oven mitts, and now you’ve tossed a rope over a pipe in the ceiling and tied up his elbows so he can move and lay down. Stretch out if he wants to, but he can’t walk more than five or six feet in either direction— and the pipes secured tighter than he had been hoping it would be.

Joel can hear you reading the Batman comic books to yourself and that opossum you keep calling Puddin’, but you haven’t looked or spoken to him since you tied him up an hour or so ago. Just left him with two things: a plastic bottle of water and metal flask with whiskey in it. He was silently thankful when you twisted the lids off without him having to ask.

He knows struck a nerve with his question, but he didn’t really expect you to shut him out completely. He takes a swig from the plastic water bottle.

Ya’ want that sad lil puppy t’come over here, dont’chya?”

He does, oddly enough. You being crazy was better than you giving him the cold shoulder, like he wasn't even there.

He wonders if you read to that stupid animal every night, and if you snuggle with him in the bed you sleep in upstairs. He wonders if you have to drink yourself to sleep every night with how many bottles of whiskey you brought back.

His mind just continues to race.

****

Joel can’t sleep. He thought for sure the minute he put his head down, he’d drift off and sleep better than he has since you tied him up down here, he’s got a blanket and a pillow now but they do nothing to comfort him into closing his eyes.

Call her over, see if she’ll come snuggle up next to you.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into the completely dark room.

“What?” You whisper back to him from the void.

“C’mere— it ain’t fair ya’ gotta sleep in that chair. I know s’uncomfortable.” What the fuck is he doing? He’s not going to willingly allow you into his space, is he?

“M’fine,” you murmur back to him. “Go t’sleep.”

“Can’t sleep— come sit in my lap again,” Joel smirks to himself because fuck, what he would do to feel your warm cunt enveloping him like you were made strictly for him, and him alone. It makes his cock twitch just thinking about it.

Joel holds his breath, waiting for you to respond. Then, finally, you murmur back, your voice barely more than a whisper, “Why would I do that?”

“‘Cause I’m handsome…” Joel teases you, listening to the way the chair creaks as you shift on it. He wishes so badly he could see you. “I know ya’ wanna feel good, I wanna feel good too.”

“Y’just wanna punch me again, try’n escape—”

“Where would I go? Them infected are still up there, I ain’t gettin’ outta here anytime soon,” he’s being honest. He had thought about it, but the idea of having to share a room with your dead body— even if he moved you upstairs, the idea of having to wait around with your corpse until the infected cleared out gave him a bad feeling.

It’s ‘cause you don’t wanna kill ‘er. Ya’ wanna be deep inside that tight, wet, warm perfect hole.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters under his breath. His cock’s fully hard now, and it’s making a tent in the black sweatpants you put on him before bed. He rubs the oven mitt on his hand against the bulge in the fabric and groans loudly.

“What’re you doin’?” You ask from your place in the chair.

“Come find out, sweetheart.” He sighs, leaning against the wall the mattress is pressed up against.

Joel listens to you limp and shuffle towards him in the dark. Your hands hesitantly touch his shins before you crawl onto the bed with him.

“Take ‘em out f’me, baby girl,” he leans into you now that you’re sitting next to him, pushing his nose into your hair. He inhales deeply and takes in the heady scent of your sweat lingering whatever fucking pheromones that are making him just as insane as you.

“Ya’ really want this?”

Joel wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you as close as he can get. “M’sober this time,” he moan quietly into your ear when you push his mitt covered hand, away and slip your hand underneath the waistband. He bucks his hips up into your fist as you begin to stoke him.

“You’re s’warm,” you sigh, turning your head to face him.

Joel wastes no time catching your lips in a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to taste you, savor your flavor. You taste like whiskey and strawberry jam. The smell of cheap bathroom hand soap lingers on your skin from washing up in the sink. All of it makes him feel like hes intoxicated.

“Fuck, y’feel so good,” he growls into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip gently as you pull away. “Take these fuckin’ mitts off me—”

Your hand leaves his pants and the warmth of your body is gone from beside him. “It’s a trick?” You sound hurt in the dark, like Joel’s played some terrible prank on you and you just found out.

“No, no, no-” he’s desperate for your touch. It felt so good, and he wasn’t even thinking about trying to trick you or do anything shifty once you took the mitts off, he wanted to grip you and grope you. Plunge two or three fingers right into your wetness. “No, m’not trynna trick you— I just wanna touch you.”

“S’what you said last time,” you snap at him. He can tell you’re still close, probably still on the mattress. He shifts and tries to get closer to you but he hears your skin drag across the concrete floor.

“Shit,” Joel grumbles. “I know, fuck— I know, but I mean it this time-”

“I don’t believe you.”

Of course you don’t believe him! He socked you right in the eye as hard as he could the last time he didn’t have at least 4 inches of padding on his fists.

“I wanna make y’feel real good, the way y’were makin’ me feel real good just then,” he’s inching towards the sound of you dragging yourself across the floor on his hands and knees slowly. The ropes stop him from going any further while you continue your retreat. “C’mon, baby…”

“Y’just sayin’ that, don’t mean it…” The sound of your body shuffling away from him stops though, and he wonders if he’s got you on the hook with the pet names.

Try it again, Mister.

“Please, honey… I wanna hear y’moan Mister’s name,” he coos to you, hiding from him somewhere in the darkness.

You let out a long, slow, shaky breath before you answer. “What is your name…”

He’s so fucking desperate for some sort of relief that he tells you before he can come up with a fake name— he’s learned the hard way about sharing his real name with strange women. “Joel.”

“Joel…” You whisper back to him. “My very own Mister-J?” You sound excited.

“Mister-J?” Joel cocks his head to one side, but is pushed back onto the mattress by the force of you barreling into him.

“That’s what Harley calls the Joker,” your straddling his waist again and without thinking twice, Joel wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. His forearms brush against the bare skin of your thighs and it makes him groan softly as he pushes you down into his lap.

“Ya' wanna be m'crazy girl? Like Harley Quinn?” Joel chuckles as he nudges his nose against your chin, tilting your head back to expose your neck.

You hesitate, and pull back from him slightly.

“I ain’t gon’ bite you,” he promises, leaning in as much as he can so he can press his lips to the column of your throat.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, sinking into him like you’re melting. “Oh fuck,” it leaves your mouth as a whimper, and Joel’s cock throbs at the sound.

“Like this?” He nips at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and you shiver in his arms. He can’t hide the smile, he doesn’t care to. He loves that he’s capable of making you make those sounds.

You hum an almost silent ‘mhm’, and wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers through the curls at the nape.

Joel has so much more room to move around now that he’s unrestrained, so he rolls his hips up into yours so you can feel what he has to offer. You gasp and arch your back, pushing yourself further onto him. He moans softly, his mitts trailing down your spine and cupping your ass cheeks as best they can. He can feel the heat between your legs growing and he has a nagging thought in his head.

Lay down, let her climb right on top—

Joel shifts and wiggles down onto the mattress so he’s flat on his back, with you still straddling his hips. “Take your lil shorts off,” Joel taps your thigh, and then lifts his hips so he can shove his sweatpants down his legs.

You don’t ask any questions. You roll off of him and Joel feels your shoulder touch his as you lay down to remove your bottoms. You go to crawl back into his lap but he stops you.

“Sit up here,” he grips your hips as best he can with the mitts, and tugs you up to his face.

“What!?” You sound distressed, “Ya’ want me t’do what?”

“Turn around, and sit down,” Joel growls up at you.

You hesitate, the uncertainty clear in your voice. "I-I don't know..."

"C'mon, darlin'," Joel coaxes, his voice low and husky. "Let me taste you. I promise ‘m gonna make you feel so good."

With shaky movements, you turn around and slowly lower yourself over Joel's face.

He inhales deeply, taking in your scent. "That's it," he murmurs encouragingly. "Just like that." Joel can feel the heat radiating from your core as you hover uncertainly above him. He lifts his head, nuzzling his nose against your inner thigh. "Lil lower," he nips at your supple skin.

With a soft whimper, you finally sink down onto his waiting mouth. Joel groans at the first taste of you, his tongue delving between your folds. Your sweet and tangy, a little sweaty and musky— it’s fucking heady and perfect. He can’t get enough.

“Oh fuck,” you shudder as Joel licks a stripe from your clit to your entrance, which is already dripping and Joel feels pride swell in his chest.

Without Joel having to ask, or prompt you in any way, you lean over and take his hard, aching cock in your hand. Joel nearly comes right there when he hears you spit on it noisily and palm your warm saliva around the throbbing, drooling tip.

“Fuuuuck,” Joel moans approvingly before his tongue pushes into your entrance.

"Oh god, Mister," you whimper, your hand still working his cock in long, slow strokes. Then you kitten lick the tip and he has to stop himself from bucking his hips.

Joel's mind goes blank as your warm, wet mouth envelops the head of his cock. He groans against your pussy, the vibrations making you shudder above him. His tongue laps eagerly at your fold, drinking in your arousal as it flows freely.

You bob your head, taking more of his length with each downward motion. Joel's hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust up into the heavenly heat of your mouth. Instead, he focuses on pleasuring you, sucking your clit between his lips and flicking it with his tongue.

You whimper around his cock, grinding your hips down onto his face.

Joel pulls back slightly, his breath hot against your core. "That's it, baby girl. Ride my face," he growls before diving back in, his tongue circling your clit.

You pull away, your hand replacing your mouths ministrations and rest your head on Joel’s hip as you stroke him, never faltering on giving him pleasure. “Please d-don’t stop!” You cry out, your grip tightening around his shaft as you rock your hips. Joel's mitt-covered hands grip your thighs, urging you on.

"Gonna cum for me, darlin'?" he murmurs against your slick folds. "Let me taste it."

Joel feels you tense above him, your thighs quivering as you grind down harder on his face. He doubles his efforts, lapping at your clit with quick, firm strokes of his tongue. Your hand on his cock speeds up, pumping him in time with the rocking of your hips.

"Oh god, oh fuck," you whimper, your voice muffled against his hip. "I'm gonna-- I'm--"

Your words dissolve into a high-pitched moan as you come undone. Joel groans as he feels your pussy pulse against his mouth, a fresh wave of your arousal coating his tongue.

Your sounds, the way your hips continue to rock against his mouth as you unravel has his own release bubbling up to the surface. Joel groans deeply as his own orgasm crashes over him, his hips bucking up involuntarily as he spills into your hand. You stroke him through it, milking every last drop as he shudders beneath you.

Joel's whole body twitches as you clean him and your hand with your tongue, "Taste good," you mumble against his stomach, pressing soft kisses to the trail of hair between his cock and belly button.

Then, with shaky movements, you lift yourself off of Joel's face and turn around to face him. Even in the darkness, he can sense your uncertainty.

"C'mere," Joel murmurs, his voice rough. He reaches out, pulling you down to lay beside him. You settle against his chest, your breath warm on his neck.

“Don’t kill me in my sleep, ‘kay?” You sigh, pressing a kiss to his pulse point.

Joel murmurs something incoherent, already on the verge of falling asleep.

Sorry it was like 45 minutes late (two days early if you look at the master list ok?-- I may have had something to drink.... and of course thanks @pedrospookie for that adorable fucking mood board. I hope you all like this chapter-- it's a little domesticated (i think), but I have more crazy, unhinged antics coming next chapter!)

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories

(omg I think I got everyone but that's so many people, please let me know if I left you off or if you want to be taken out of the tag list!)

[shannonsketches]

Can I just yap to you for a tiny bit how much I love that small, beautiful moment of wordless communication between Bulma and Vegeta in Super Broly movie, when they talk to Trunks on the phone? It's SO perfectly parents-coded. And it's right after Vegeta nags her about weak security in her lab, which indicates he 1. hangs out in there a lot with her, and 2. is worried about her safety when he's not there to protect her. And lets just say that red leather couch that's sitting there has seen a lot of use, lol. 10/10

God I fucking love the Super Broly movie. Not just because it is an excellent animated film even outside of being a Dragon Ball fan, but also because as a fan it's just so focused on the characters and their relationships with themselves and each other, even during the fights!!

And also because I'm a lifelong Vegebul, yes, goddammit, all of that. Thank you for the excuse to spam small detail choices I love.

The board artist, animator, and director made the decision to have Bulma look down at Bulla when Whis posed this question to Vegeta. She knows he was about to go on sabbatical to be with his family before Goku brought Frieza back! She knows why he needs to be stronger!

Look at how cute this boy is. Baby boy. Baby. Happy to talk to mom even when it's not good news. He is so loved and so safe in his house.

Vegeta pausing his berating of the guy who brought Frieza back to life to see what Bulma's call is about.

You know this is a conversation they have every single time he leaves the planet because she's so used to having a super-powered apex predator sleeping next to her she keeps assuming everything will be fine until he gets back, and if that ain't a look that says "Boy do not start with me,"-

The "they were wearing armor like papa's" reaction kills me

Goku being the perfect vehicle for exposition because he's super forgetful about details, and has to have things explained to him, and letting the characters be a part of that reality is always my favorite choice:

Bulma: did u not sense these dudes, mr know-it-all? Vegeta: don't look at me, he's the one who brought Freeza back Bulma and Vegeta: why does he look conf-- oh for fucks sake he doesn't even know what's happening

but without any dialogue at all skldjalks Outstanding

and Bulma collecting herself to not misdirect her frustration at her child,,,I love them

Vegeta being right behind Goku but waiting for Bulma go first, and not just exiting on the same side Whis did to get boots on the ground faster... Great choice for the composition and also to tell you about the character's relationship!!

Stopping next to her instead of trying to get out ahead of Goku, but also--

Not being so overly protective that he can't allow old friends to play.

He moves away from her to engage the enemy and doesn't get near her again until Goku has the floor...and then my favorite bit that I got to point out to a friend who watched this and asks how Bulma survived the ice breaking,

Her hubband,,

He love him wife. Even if she's crazy. Especially 'cause she's crazy.

See... Toei's DBS mistake was painting Bulma as a nag when you know good and goddamn well it's Vegeta "Babysitting Grown Men My Whole Career" IV.

I just know he's the one, "Don't stand that close to the edge." "Don't leave all these wires laying the floor one of you is going to trip." "Pick up your clothes I just cleaned in here." "I don't care if it's the goddamn cat the next one to stuff this kitchen towel into the oven handle instead of folding it over like you found it is going to 1v1 me in the gravity room"

Bonus: My absolute favorite cap from the sub

Fascinating, my love, do go on.

[impala-dreamer]

Skin on Skin

A Supernatural Story

~ While working a case of multiple random deaths in New Jersey, Y/N finds out that the old adage of “be careful what you wish for” isn’t just a saying…~

Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x Reader

6,087 Words

NSFW, Magical Curse, Unconscious and Pain, Sexual Acts of Multiple Varieties, Slight Temporary Death, Swoon-worthy Romance, Oral, All the Sex… | Originally posted to Patreon Nov 2024

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

The contents of Mrs. Claudine Hofstadter's purse were piled in the center of the small round table surrounded by notepads, pens, two old taco wrappers, and a manilla folder containing a copy of her autopsy report. The fourth odd death in Warren County, Mrs. Hofstadter, new Marchant, had perished when her stomach burst after consuming seven pounds of raw horse meat. According to the report, the previous evening, she had snuck onto her neighbor’s ranch and attacked Ember Blitz, the prizewinning racehorse that was revered by the community. Mrs. Hofstadter mounted the steed and bit down into its throat, taking the creature down in under two minutes flat.

She was dead within seven minutes.

While the other three deaths were seemingly unrelated - no animals were harmed in their demises - they were certainly strange. Once Sam Winchester had picked up on the news, the trio piled into the freshly washed 1967 Chevy Impala and headed for the New Jersey mountains.

Now, the brothers Winchester were talking through various theories while Y/N Y/L/N wasted away from boredom at the table. The case wasn’t uninteresting, but she was simply too distracted by exhaustion and bodily tightness to pay attention.

Days on the road trapped in the backseat were cramped and smelly, and nights locked in a single motel room with the manly hunters were more of the same. She had no time alone, no place to escape to for a moment of peace, no moment to rub one out and calm down. She had tried that morning, waking up early and silently sneaking into the shower, but Sam was up moments later, interrupting her private time to grab his running shorts from the bathroom floor.

She was dying from stunted release.

Fading away from lack of attention.

Desperately craving a warm body pressed up against her and roaming hands groping her flesh.

Absently, Y/N fiddled with the objects recovered from Claudine’s purse. The golden butterscotch hard candies called to her, but she knew better than to eat candy from a stranger’s bag. She pushed the sugary temptations aside and sifted through neatly folded, hopefully clean, tissues, and more packets of Equal than she’d ever seen. There wasn’t much else in the pile: a well-worn Revlon lipstick in mauve, two pens, a blue emery board, and a lighter.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Dean gesturing towards her and for a moment, she tuned back in.

“Y/N agrees with me, don’t you?”

Startled, Y/N grabbed the silver lighter from Claudine’s pile and closed it in her palm. Quickly, she cleared her throat and nodded. “Absolutely, I do.”

While she had no idea what she’d agreed with, she knew it was easier always to answer each of them affirmatively or they’d know she hadn’t been listening. Besides, she usually sided with Dean on matters that required wild gesticulation, if not just to annoy Sam.

“See?” Dean turned back to his brother and the younger man groaned.

“Fine. But-”

The lighter was old and its once shining case was dull and dented by years of use. Y/N rubbed her fingertips over the cool metal, tracing the embossed lines and clicking the lid open and shut while keeping her attention on the boys.

Sam was annoyed and he ran his fingers through his hair. The chestnut strands kept to their place, tucked neatly behind his ear and Y/N found herself imagining them falling to tickle her cheek while Sam balanced himself above her in bed. She wondered what his giant hand would feel like trailing down her naked body, what his long fingers would be like tenderly weaving through her hair. It had been too long since anyone had touched her, and Sam was always so kind and flirty and-

Y/N bit her lip and sighed.

The click of the lighter lid closing went unnoticed below the heated conversation.

“All I’m saying is that people eat horse meat all over the world, Dean. It’s not that uncommon.”

Dean leaned back as if disgusted by the idea, which he was. “OK, sure, but they don’t eat enough to kill themselves. Also- gross.”

His freckled face scrunched up adorably and Y/N’s eyes sank into him. His lips were extra pink and shining, and Y/N’s nipples hardened at the thought of his mouth closing around them, kissing his way down her body, tasting her. He was just too sexy and it had been so long since she’d even kissed anyone. She needed to be touched and devoured, and Dean was always looking at her with hungry eyes, teasing her about going to bed and-

Another click of the lighter, another jolt of desire to her clit.

“So what’s with the other guy- Mark-”

“Marcus Whitmore. He was found with a bullet-hole-like wound to the temple, but no evidence of actually being shot.”

“Yeah, what about that guy?”

Y/N was completely zoned out of the conversation, staring dreamily at Dean’s impossibly broad, muscular shoulders and Sam’s tight little ass lost behind slightly baggy jeans. Dean crossed his arms, flexing his biceps, and Y/N squirmed in her chair. Sam tossed his head back, lengthening his thick neck, and Y/N bit back a desperate whine.

She rubbed at the lighter’s wheel, the dull ridges catching in her thumbnail.

“I’m not really seeing a connection here, Dean.”

“Well, something’s fucked up. Explain to me the first victim- that had to be a witch, dude.”

“What kind of spell fills a woman’s stomach with butterflies?”

“If I knew, we wouldn’t be talking about it, we’d be out ganking some bitch.”

Y/N’s body was on fire; her mind wrapped up in explicit scenes starring each man. She struggled to hold in a moan when Sam plopped down on the edge of the closest bed and threw himself back in exasperation. Her eyes followed his long form from feet to forehead and back down, lingering on the perfect line of him.

Tired of arguing, Dean pulled out the chair opposite Y/N and sat down, his long, bowed legs spread wide. Y/N’s eyes flew right to his crotch and her mouth watered as Dean unknowingly tempted her by dragging his palms down his thick thighs.

Her pulse raced. Her cheeks burned. Her pussy throbbed.

She clicked the lighter closed.

God, I need to be touched…

Sam let out a deep breath and she watched the rise and fall, wanting to run her hands over his muscular chest.

She flipped open the lid again.

I haven’t cum in so fucking long…

Dean slouched in his chair and put his head back. She blinked slowly as her pussy dripped, wanting to nibble on his throat and suck a mark by his ear.

She spun the flint wheel.

If I don’t get fucked soon, I’m gonna die.

Suddenly, her hand started to shake and she let out a hard gasp. As she opened her fist, the antique lighter began to glow bright and hot. She dropped it on instinct and a burst of white light flooded the room.

Blinded, the trio lifted their hands to block the light, but it was over before anyone could reason out what was happening.

Sam jumped up from the bed. “What the hell was that!”

Y/N’s stomach churned as panic pushed lust aside. “Um…” Sheepishly, she looked down at the lighter and cringed.

Dean, noticing her expression, grimaced. “What did you do?”

Defenses flared. “Nothing!” she protested. “Why do you always think I did something?”

Annoyed dimples popped above his plump lips and Dean held out his hand, ticking off instances as he spoke. “Spilling the potion in Rochester… Knocking over that safe in Wyoming and letting the demon loose… Taking a peppermint from the witch in-”

Sam stepped between them. “OK Stop! What was that flash?”

Y/N swallowed hard and pointed to the floor. “I think it came from the lighter…”

Calmed but worried, Sam nodded. “And why did it? Do you do something?”

Offended, Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. “Et tu, Brute?”

Redness rose in his cheeks. “You must have done something!”

Y/N stood in a huff. “I have done nothing wrong, ever! Today, at least.” She sighed, feeling a little strange. “I’ve just been sitting here thinking about life and how I…” Her vision blurred but she blinked it away. “Um…” Her head felt funny as if the room was spinning, but she shook it off. “Uh… I was just thinking…” A phantom hand tugged at her legs and she swayed, about to drop. “Oh, fuck-”

Dean was quick to catch her, reaching with strong hands to set her back on her feet. “Y/N, what did you do?”

“I…” The dizziness was almost painful and her legs felt like jelly.

Sam dipped his head to look her in the eyes. “What did you think, Y/N/N? Were you holding the lighter the whole time?”

Her eyelids were fluttering; irises floating upwards. “Y-yeah…”

Still holding her, Dean pressed his palm to her cheek and instantly, she felt better.

Gasping in a deep breath, she smiled. “Oh! I’m ok.” She stood up on her own. “I think I’m better.”

Confused but optimistic, Dean let her go. “You sure?”

Feeling perfectly fine, she left his arms and nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m good.”

The moment his touch was gone, Y/N swayed again. The room was spinning and colors were brightening, nearly blinding her.

Dean grabbed her once more, this time closing his hands around her bare arms.

Skin on skin, she felt fine once more. “I’m good, Dean. Really.”

Pushing away, Y/N moved free of his touch and instantly hit the floor. Her balance vanished and her breaths were slow and strained. As she crumbled, Dean followed.

“Son of a bitch!” He gathered her into his lap and clasped her hand. “What the hell were you thinking about?”

Y/N breathed deeper, feeling a thousand times better. “Just about…” Awkwardness tightened in her gut as she looked up at Sam. “...Your ass.”

The imposing tower of a man blushed.

Dean tensed up and chuckled. “My ass?”

Y/N shook her head. “No. His.”

“Uh…” Shyly, Sam straightened up and tried not to grin. “Thanks?”

Disappointed, Dean groaned. “Yeah, well…” He caught Sam posturing proudly and wagged a finger at him. “You shut up.”

Once again feeling right, Y/N sat up and away from Dean. In a split second she went from well to bad. A terrible pain gripped her stomach and she coughed up a mouthful of hot bile. “Oh God- Dean, I’m…I think I’m dy-”

“Whoa, hey!” Dean pressed his hand to her forehead, feeling for a fever. “Hang on.”

The pain vanished and she swallowed the nasty taste. “This is not fun…”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

The second Dean removed his hand from her head, Y/N lost consciousness, dropping like a stone to the ground.

Sam fell to his knees to help but Dean got there first, scooping her up back into his lap and gently shaking her. He held her cheek and called her name softly.

“Y/N, come on…”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Guys, I think the lighter is cursed.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, no shit.” Shifting, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a well-worn navy bandana, waving it at Sam. “Don’t touch it-”

Sam took the rag and rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to.” Carefully, he wrapped up the magical lighter and placed it back on the table to be examined later.

“I feel horrible,” Y/N muttered, shifting against Dean to sit up a bit.

“I bet.”

He pushed away to give her room and immediately regretted it as her eyes rolled back to white.

“Damn it!”

A hand on the back of her neck brought her back and Y/N groaned. “Don’t.”

Dean flinched, ready to pull away. “I’m sorry- I just-”

Y/N shook her head and grabbed his wrist, holding his hand on her neck. “No. Don’t stop touching me. Please.”

Confusion circled the room, washing over them like a midnight fog.

Sam leaned against the table, looking back and forth between Y/N and the lighter. His eyes narrowed. His brow creased.

“Y/N, what exactly did you think?”

Nerves ran down her arms. “It’s embarrassing.” Carefully, she stood up, Dean’s wrist still clutched in her hand. “I don’t wanna say.” Faced with confession, she forgot her predicament and dropped Dean’s hand. The floor undulated like a tidal wave, knocking her off her feet.

This time, Sam was there, his overheated hands delicately holding her elbows. His touch surged through her and Y/N looked up with a hazy smile.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I think you need to.”

Sighing, she slid her hand down Sam’s massive forearm and slipped her hand into his, holding on. “Well… It’s been a long time since… ya know.” She shrugged at Dean and then up at Sam, hoping they would catch her drift without writing it in the sky. “And… you guys are always around and I…”

Dean climbed to his feet and crossed his arms. “Spill it.”

Y/N screwed her eyes closed tight and grit her teeth. “I thought… ‘If I don’t have sex soon, I’ll die’!”

One eye peeked open at Dean who frowned. “Son of a bitch.”

The other eye joined to find Sam rubbing his free hand down his cheek. “Son of a bitch.”

Y/N chuckled nervously. “Oops?”

Generally speaking, a curse can be broken in one of two ways: kill the witch who cast the spell, or destroy the object that carries the magic.

Since there seemed to be no witch around to dispatch, the hunters turned their attention to the lighter. Looking back through the case files, Sam found two instances where other victims had the antique firestarter in their possession at the time of their death. There was no way to track the origin of the offending trinket or know how it moved from person to person, but it was more than clear that it instigated a deadly game of wordplay with its victims.

Y/N squeezed Dean’s bicep. “So, the second vic, Mark-”

Sam rolled his eyes and carried on preparing the table for a fire. “Marcus. Whitmore.”

“Yeah, that guy. He… Well, I mean, it’s pretty obvious he said something like “I need that like I need a hole in the head!”... right?”

Dean held back a laugh. It wasn’t funny, but it was funny. “Yup.”

“And the first woman- she had butterflies in her stomach. I get that. Also… ew.” Picking up the lighter, Y/N let go of Dean without thinking and began to fall flat on her face as the air left her lungs. Thankfully, Sam reached over and grabbed her hand in time. She smiled gratefully. “But what happened to Claudine?”

“Easy,” Dean said with a smirk. “She was so hungry she could…”

Y/N cringed. “Eat a horse. Got it.”

Dean licked his lips, accentuating his grin. “Hey, Sam says it’s not that bad… I’d try it.”

“I’ve seen you eat a taco off a dirt road.”

He nodded. “And I’d do it again.”

Sam interrupted by clearing his throat and passing Y/N’s hand back to Dean.

Without further discussion or ceremony, the lighter was blessed with salt and ironically, lighter fluid, and set ablaze by a single match struck by Sam.

The trio watched it burn. The metal glowed a bright orange and sparks erupted as the magic was released into the ether forever.

“Well, there’s another one for the books,” Dean commented victoriously.

Y/N sighed happily. “Thanks, guys. And I’m sorry. I promise not to touch anything dangerous again.”

Sam laughed sweetly. “Don’t make promises you won’t keep…”

Turning away from the boys, Y/N threw her free hands up into the air and rejoiced. “I’m free!” She spun once and felt her stomach lurch. “I’m…” Momentum pulled her into another spin and the ugly red-floral wallpaper began to dance a dizzying tango. “I’m…” The third spin had her legs twisting and her knees buckling.

She hit the floor like a heap of useless bones, crumbling down like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Sam reached her first and revived her with a sweep of fingers across her forehead. Y/N gasped and sat up, exhausted and defeated.

“I don’t think it worked.”

Sam sighed. “It didn’t.”

Near tears, she looked between the brothers, desperate to be unburdened by the deadly magic. “What now?”

Sam looked up at Dean who tried his best not to smirk while balling his right hand and placing it over his left palm.

Sam won, and with Y/N’s consent, carried her to the bed farthest from the door.

Dean hung his head, muttering something about rocks and scissors, and set off to take up residence at the bar on the corner while the deed was done.

Nervous and still holding hands, the pair lay together for a long while. The silence was loud but not uncomfortable, as neither knew what to say or how to begin.

Suddenly worried, Y/N turned onto her side to face him. “Ya know, if you don’t want to, I get it.”

“No!” Realizing he answered too quickly, Sam cleared his throat and smiled. “No. I want to. I’ve wanted to forever. I mean… Uh… It’s just a little strange.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm at his confession and pushed her fingers through his. His hand was so much bigger than hers, so much stronger. She looked away shyly, but Sam pulled his hand free and set it upon her cheek, drawing her eyes back to his.

His kiss was hesitant but Y/N urged him on. She hummed against his lips and tipped her head to the side, giving him room to move. He licked into her mouth and a dizziness overtook her, this one just as magical, but so much better. She closed her eyes as her lust grew and rolled onto her back, taking him with her.

It wasn’t easy to undress, and each layer of clothing shed had Y/N nearly passing out again only to wake up safe in Sam’s arms. He was gentle with her, kissing his way down her body, tracing her curves with his hands. His skin was hot, his movements sure. He was stirring her passion and literally keeping her alive.

Sam held himself up on strong arms, hovering over her just as he had in her daydream. He bent to kiss her lips and his hair fell into her eyes, swept over her lips, tickled her cheek. She reached with a careful hand to push it back behind his ear and Sam smiled, touched by the tender gesture.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, hazel eyes hazy and locked on her face.

She burned for him, every inch of skin tingling and calling out for him. Y/N spread her legs around his trim hips and squeezed him between her thighs. He felt her wetness against his cock, the heat coming off of her sex.

She rocked her hips, pressing the tip of him into her pussy.

He sucked in a quick breath and shivered.

“Please, Sam…”

“Are you sure?”

She smiled sweetly and nodded. Sure, they had to do it, but she also wanted it. She wanted to feel all of him deep inside. To experience the magic of Sam Winchester.

“So fucking sure,” she breathed, wrapping her hands around his shoulders and pulling him closer.

He sighed and dipped to kiss her again, slipping his tongue between her lips and drawing out her breath. She moaned into him and dug her fingers into his flesh, needing him more than anything.

Slowly, he pushed inside. Her vision exploded into fantastic clarity. Colors danced, the lights seemed brighter, and the world was right again. She held her breath as Sam jerked his hips, fucking her with long, deep strokes that made each muscle tighten around him.

A deep kiss closed her eyes; a hard thrust made her gasp.

Sam kept her riding the edge of bliss for longer than she thought possible. He moved his body with precision, playing her lust like a musical instrument. She dug her nails into his shoulders and chewed her lip to hold in a chorus of blasphemy that would shock the angels watching above.

“God, you feel amazing,” he moaned.

Shifting between her legs, Sam pushed her left knee up high and the new angle made her eyes roll back. She could feel her pulse raging in her cunt; the pleasure building higher with each thrust.

Sam threw his head back as he quickened his pace. Sweat was beading on his brow and upper lip, glistening on his firm chest. He held her knee up against his side and grunted with each pulse of his hips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum…”

His jaw dropped. His eyes squeezed shut. His body went stiff and then shook as he let go. In the depths of a ragged breath, Sam whispered her name and then fell down, covering her completely and kissing her lips.

“You are incredible.”

Y/N gripped his arm and kissed his shoulder. She sighed happily and snuggled deep against him as he rolled over.

“That was so hot, Sam. Thank you…”

He blushed at her thanks and kissed her again. Once he started, he didn’t want to stop, but exhaustion struck him hard.

“How do you feel?”

Y/N paused for a moment as she took stock of herself and then smiled gratefully. “I think I’m cured!”

“That’s amazing,” Sam said with a sigh. “I’m glad you’re OK.”

“Thanks to you.” Y/N let her eyes trail down to his cock. “And you.”

With bright red cheeks and a shy laugh, Sam turned away and grabbed the blanket from the floor, covering himself. “Be right back.”

Y/N winked as he left and Sam shut the bathroom door.

Staring into the mirror, he took a few calming breaths as his mind replayed what had just happened. He was amazed and excited, shocked and sated. He laughed thinking about how many times nearly dying had brought him closer to someone, and he was glad this time it was Y/N.

Deed done and hands washed, Sam walked back into the bedroom. “That really was something amazing, Y/N,” he mused, reaching for his discarded shorts. “I mean… I guess I can tell you now that I’ve thought about it before… A lot, but…”

Y/N hadn’t answered or looked up. She was turned on her right side, her head softly laid upon the pillow, fast asleep.

Sam pushed his head through his gray tee and smiled at his sleeping beauty. Carefully, he moved to the side of the bed and pulled the sheet up over her shoulder, tucking her in. An overwhelming surge of happiness struck him in the chest and he bent to kiss her soft cheek.

Her skin was cool.

“Y/N?”

Sam shook her shoulder but she didn’t wake.

“Fuck. Y/N!”

He grabbed her face between both hands but she didn’t stir.

“Come on, come on! Wake up!”

Keeping one hand on her cheek, Sam grabbed his phone from the floor and rushed to dial Dean’s number.

The phone rang in his ear and another rang outside of the room.

The lock turned and Dean stuck his head through the door. “You decent?”

Sam huffed and threw his cell down. “Get in here!”

“Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t interrupting grown-up time,” Dean joked, stepping in and shutting the door behind him.

“Dean.”

“How’d it go?”

His answer was found as soon as he shut up and looked over at his brother. Sam was crouched down at the side of the bed with his hands on Y/N’s face and bare arm. She was unmoving beneath the sheet, not even the rise and fall of her chest was visible.

Dean froze.

“What the fuck happened!”

Frantic and confused, Sam shook his head. “I don’t know! We… ya know. And she was fine! I got up to pee and-”

Dean raced to the bed. “And ya killed her!”

“She was fine, Dean!”

Green eyes examined the scene. Y/N was still as in a deep sleep, but the absence of breath told him otherwise. “Do the hand thing! Touch her-”

Tears strained against his eyes and Sam looked up at his brother, desperate for any help. “I am. It’s not working.”

“Fuck. Fuck!”

The wheels turned in Dean’s head and before Sam could say another word, Dean was tugging his jeans down and ripping his shirt off.

“What are you doing?”

Dean shrugged and climbed into bed beside Y/N. “I don’t know, but this can’t hurt.” Naked but for his boxers, he pulled back the sheet and rolled close to her. He covered her in his arms and crushed her face to his chest. He held her there, counting the seconds until he felt her breathe again.

Magically, the air returned and Y/N started shaking beneath him. She struggled to push away and coughed life back into her body.

Dean swallowed hard and rubbed her back. “Jesus, Y/N/N, you scared us.”

“What the fuck happened?” she asked, wide eyes looking between the brothers for an answer.

“Romeo let you die so he could go pee.”

Offended, Sam popped up from the floor. “That’s not what happened, Dean!”

“OK, stop yelling.” Y/N tugged at the thin white sheet and pulled it with her as she sat up. Her body was aching but not in a good way. The lights hurt her eyes, her head was pounding, her chest burned. “I, um… I feel really like- like crap.”

Dean scooted closer, keeping one hand on her. “I know.”

She looked up at Sam. “But why? We… didn’t we?”

He shrugged. “We did. It should have broken the spell.”

Dean bit back most of a smirk. “Did you stick it in properly?”

Despite her swaying pain, Y/N laughed with him.

Sam did not find it funny in the slightest and rubbed at his temples. “I know how to- Damnit, Dean!”

 A true smirk pulled through.

Y/N shivered. “I don't get it. I thought…” The answer smacked her in the face and she cringed. “Oh.”

 Dean leaned in. “Oh?”

Sam narrowed his gaze. “What’s ‘Oh’?”

“Well…”

The brothers sighed in tandem.

“I maybe…”

They hung on her pause.

“I maybe thought something else right before the sex thing and I-”

“Y/N…”

Sam’s disapproval and exhaustion went through her like ice and her defenses rose quickly.

“I didn’t realize the thoughts went together! Hell, I wasn’t planning on this!”

He softened and sat on the edge of the bed by her side. “It’s OK. I’m sorry. Obviously, this wasn’t planned.”

She smiled sadly and tucked her arms around her knees, hiding.

“What exactly did you think before the sex thing?”

Her stomach flipped nervously. “Uh… well…”

 Dean squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Come on, can’t get worse than this.”

 She took a breath and then spelled it out. “I was watching you guys and thinking about how I haven’t exactly had time alone and… well, how I haven’t come in forever and… then the sex thing.”

Silence floated around above them while the pieces fit together.

Dean licked his lip. “Wait…”

Y/N hid her face in her knees.

Sam’s eyes went wide.

“Did you not- come?”

She tried to play it off, to act like it wasn’t a devastating thing for Sam to hear, but it wasn’t great. “I mean… it was really nice, Sam. Like really hot.”

Dean tried to hold on and not laugh out loud. “But he didn’t… You didn’t… finish?”

 Sam growled. “OK, shut up, Dean! It was stressful.”

 The elder cocked a brow. “Did you?”

Standing up, Sam turned away to hide his awkwardness.

“You did!” Dean sucked his teeth in disappointment. “Tisk, tisk, brother. Ladies first. Always.”

Y/N shivered as Dean turned his eyes to her and dragged his fingertips down her arm. “He didn’t do anything wrong, I just didn’t… get there.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Dean shifted onto his knees and looked into her eyes. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

Sam was out the door before Dean had tossed his leg over Y/N’s middle, pinning her to the bed. He grinned and wet his plump bottom lip. “Never leave a boy to do a man’s job.”

Y/N laughed but lost the glee to arousal when Dean dropped down close. He held himself barely an inch away, too far to kiss, but close enough to breathe in. He smelled like crap beer and wing sauce, and suddenly it was the most appetizing scent in the world. She lifted her head and took a taste, kissing him hard and licking deep into his mouth.

Dean’s eyes closed and long lashes brushed the tops of her cheeks. She smiled and drank him in.

“Hi.”

He laughed gently. “Hey. You cool with this?”

“Do I have a choice?” she teased.

“There’s always a choice.”

“You know what I mean.” She turned her face away, embarrassed and unsure.

He chased her. “You wanna know if I’m just doing this to save your life?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

Dean let her linger for a second longer than was kind. He closed his eyes, gathering up the right words.

“I don’t want you to die,” he said finally. “But I also want you to cum on my tongue.”

Her entire body shuddered with need and he savored the look of passion in her eyes. He kissed her softly and she scratched her hand through his short hair making him growl into her mouth.

Never creaking the connection, Dean moved slowly down her naked body, sweeping his lips over each dip and curve, igniting every nerve he touched with tingling fire. He licked at her pulse, blew a gentle breath over her ear, strummed her lips with his thumb.

When his hot mouth closed around her nipple, Y/N arched upwards, as if she was a magnet and he a slab of iron. She curled her arms around his shoulders and dragged her nails down between his shoulder blades. She could feel his shiver and it drove her mad.

“You’re so fucking hot,” she mumbled, shocked when the words came out.

Green eyes looked up and Dean grinned. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes was enough. A flick of his pink tongue forced her back down onto the pillow and Dean slithered down to settle between her thighs. He slid one thick finger through her wetness and then matched it with his thumb, carefully spreading her lips apart.

His breath was slow and hot, and her clit hardened when he held his lips there, not touching but teasing, letting her need grow beyond what she could stand.

“Please…”

Dean pulled away and dropped kiss after kiss to the soft flesh of her inner thigh. She squirmed and lifted her hips, whined when he passed over her pussy again.

“Dean- please…”

He sucked a kiss on her outer lip and Y/N cried out, utterly desperate for him.

Looking up, he licked his lips slowly and Y/N dropped her hand to his head, swept her touch down his temple, curled her fingers around his ear.

“Please,” she begged, near to tears. “I need you.”

Dean moaned under his breath. “You got me.”

Tongue flat against her pussy, Dean lapped at her wetness before sealing his perfectly plump lips around her clit. Sparks pulsed bright white behind her closed eyes as he licked and suckled, devoured her heat. When her legs began to shake, he slid his middle finger into her, his knuckles disappearing as he sank deep inside.

“Fuck!”

She gripped the bed sheet.

His tongue rippled against her clit.

Her eyes rolled back in pure pleasure and she came with a tight-lipped shout, her hips bucking up into Dean’s handsome face.

“Goddamn!”

She panted and wiggled to get away, but Dean refused to let go. If she scooted back, he followed. She squirmed to the left, he pulled her back.

Finally, he pushed his arms beneath her legs, hooked his hands around her hips, and tugged. Trapped, Y/N had no choice but to hold still and let him carry on.

He started slowly, winding the tip of his tongue gently around her pulsing. Y/N sighed happily as her heart rate calmed and her breathing caught up. She stretched her arms out across the bed, enjoying the attention and the feeling when he hummed against her skin.

“You’re… really fucking good at this,” she whispered.

Dean pulled up with a kiss and a wink. “Did you expect anything less?”

Y/N shook her head and lost all thought as he dove back down and picked up speed.

Words were piercing the air. Unintelligible, filthy, cursed words that had to fight through clenched teeth to be heard.

Her toes curled and dug into his back.

His fingers pumped into her, forcing out another orgasm, but Dean wasn’t satisfied. He rubbed deep inside until her shoulders were off the mattress and her breath was stopped in her throat.

Her eyes went wide and he held her gaze as her body convulsed and let go. A hot stream flooded his mouth and the cheap bedding below. Dean drank her down and kept thrusting, eeking out every last drop until she collapsed and whined, pushing at his face to move him away.

“Fuck! I can’t… that’s never happened before-”

Smug and a beautiful mess, Dean climbed back up to frame her from above. His lips were swollen and his jaw ached, but he’d never looked so content.

“You just needed a little help, is all.”

Y/N shook her head and pushed herself up to kiss his glistening mouth. “No. I just needed you…”

It was a while before Sam returned, and thankfully, everyone was clothed and clean when he opened the door.

Y/N was lying on the bed with Dean by her side. His hand was resting on her stomach and she covered it with her own.

Sam took a hesitant step into the room. “How’d it go?”

A grin lit Dean’s face and Sam held up his hand, halting the details.

“Never mind.” He looked to Y/N. “How are you feeling?”

She sighed happily and sat up. “Amazing.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am. I promise.” Pushing Dean away, she leapt up from the bed and stood in front of Sam. “See? No touchy.”

He exhaled in relief. “Good. I’m glad.”

Reaching for his hand, Y/N smiled up at him. “Thank you, Sam. You saved me.” She kissed his hand and his cheeks burned bright.

“Hey!” Dean cleared his throat and looked offended. “I helped.”

Y/N laughed. “Yes. Yes, you did. Thank you, too.”

“So… what now?” Sam asked, still clinging to her hand.

“Now… we move on. Lighter’s destroyed so no danger there.” She smiled sweetly and turned away to grab her laptop. “I’m sure there’s another case lurking just around the corner.”

Sadly, Sam let her fingers slide away.

“Yeah. Probably.”

It wasn’t what he meant, but he didn’t want to get into anything else just yet. Y/N was safe and that’s all that mattered.

Other things, other feelings could be dealt with another day.

As if reading his mind, Dean walked up and clamped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. The brothers passed a look between them, promising never to talk about it, and to be civil in the forthcoming fight for Y/N’s affection.

Light was shining from the screen, lighting up her smile as Y/N looked up at the guys. “I think I got something! Three bodies turned up in the woods about two and a half hours south of here. Buzz online is that it’s the Jersey Devil.”

Dean laughed and turned away. “No such thing.”

“Sure there is!”

Sam shook his head and ran his hand through his hair to right the mess. “Sorry, Y/N. It’s not real.”

Y/N huffed. “So sex curses are real but winged, kangaroo-looking monsters in the forest aren’t. That’s what we’re going with?”

A shrug.

A smile.

A story for another day.

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[cyanidedrinkers]

Omega!Ghost fic?? Maybe??

Concept: Omega!Ghost who worked his ass off to get to his rank Omega!Ghost who refused to be a 'pack Omega' Omega!Ghost who clawed at his scent glands so much his scent is disturbing to others and almost sickening. He finds it hard to keep it under control and has to wear blockers just to keep others from having panic attacks or vomiting when around him. Omega!Ghost who got the name 'Ghost' from how pale people turned when around him. "It's almost as if they've seen a ghost" Alpha!Soap who finds Ghosts scent pleasant and comforting. Alpha!Gaz who's been trying to get close to Ghost and get him to open up since he joined the 141 only to be pushed away and snapped at. Alpha!Price who is the only one that can get close enough to Ghost without being yelled at. Omega!Ghost who has to wear a collar to keep his instincts intact. Due to his damaged scent glands he has to wear a collar made for Feral!Omega's so he doesnt attack anyone he smells. 141 not realizing that Ghost doesnt have a scent gland, or at least a very damaged one, and assumes Ghost just covers his scent up very well. Omega!Ghost being used as a weapon since Roba and who's gotten so used to just being used as a killing machine he's forgotten what it's like to be loved and cared for. The 141 who needs Ghost. It kills them all how distant their Omega is but they respect it and find ways around their brains screaming at them to protect and coddle him. Omega!Ghost who doesnt realize that he needs the others intel it's to late and they've all given up on trying to bond with him. Omega!Ghost who steals things with their scents on it to keep himself company as he nests during heat. Omega!Ghost who watches as the others try to find another Omega to bond too and just cries silently behind his balaclava. Who desperately wants to let them know. Omega!Ghost Simon Riley who wants to scent each and everyone of them. Omega!Ghost who refuses to co-operate with any new Omega they bring in to replace him so they all just leave 141 getting upset with Ghost every single time Simon Riley who, After a fight with the others, Rips off his collar and locks himself in his room. His scent, Pouring out the doors making everyone sick. Simon Riley, Who when found is bloody and crying. His attempt to rip out his scent gland for the second time failing leaving him a cold and bloody mess on his bathroom floor. Omega!Ghost who ends up getting his Scent glands fixed finally realizing how much he needs his pack and, Slowly, Scenting each one of them. Domestic 141 who have long since retired watching as their little pups run around and play fight with each other.

Is this a yay or a nah in the A/B/O COD community??

[mrmustachious]

Part 3 and the final part of the rec list! Don't forget to check out part 1 and part 2 too! Blame tumblr for not allowing me to put it all on the same post! 💕

List below the cut. All warnings, ratings, etc. are inside each fic~~

✨FANDOM RECS [CONT.]✨

Fraught Friendships by RenaHime

This oneshot is set in the aftermath of the episode “Impact”. Always wondered as to why Ridley never featured again after this, so here is my answer.

A Father by rosefields

Scott Tracy has been under a lot of pressure since his mother died. But he can cope, it's not a problem. Jeff know that, his oldest is strong and capable and he doesn't need his father. Right? (Partly Outsider POV)

Up in Flames by @sparkwithinme

Inspired by a small bit of dialog from Inferno.

Reflection by @scribeofred

The city of Kingston. One year ago, an earthquake. Now, fires and explosions. History isn't repeating, but lives still hang in the balance, and the Tracys are a single wrong step away from losing one of their own.

the observable entropy of a closed system by scribeofred

Everyone involved in the operation has their own methods of ensuring absolute secrecy is maintained. This—this is yours.

Pranks and Tempers by @weathergirl8

It was only supposed to be an innocent prank, but Gordon didn't bargain for more.

A Guide to Valentine's Day (and how to exploit it) by @silverstarfics

“John, darling,” Penelope announced brightly. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“No.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Not a romantic date.”

In which John and Penelope pretend to go on a date to make the most of the discounts offered on meals for couples, because Valentine’s Day is about all kinds of love, including the platonic kind.

Five Times Alan Flew Another Thunderbird by silverstarfics

...and the one time he didn't.

Five Times The Floor Was Not Lava by silverstarfics

...and the one time it was.

Out Of This World by silverstarfics

Reality has rules: the supernatural don't exist (but Alan's just seen his brother stabbed by a demon), demon deals aren't real (which is also odd given Alan's accidentally made one), and nightmares exist solely in your head (only he's just dragged his entire family into a hell dimension). Or: Alan learns some truths about the world that he'd rather not have known at all.

The One Where John Gets A Hug by silverstarfics

Spending months by yourself has never been advisable behaviour, and John's never been good at asking people for help. Or: the Tracys learn the magical art of communication, with a load of hugs thrown in for good measure.

The Spider Incident by silverstarfics

It takes a certain kind of bravery to save the world... it takes a different kind of bravery to remove a spider from the shower. Or: there is a spider, and the Tracy boys are disasters.

Tomorrow Never Knows by silverstarfics

Things had not gone according to plan, to say the least. Now they were trapped on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere with no hope of rescue and increasingly slim chances of survival. To make matters worse, the Chaos Crew had shown up. This was not going to be a fun week.

Shattered by @jerriandtheirfanfics

One Tracy brother leaves his feelings bottled up, until the smother hen catches him out. Movie-verse oneshot.

Whatever It Takes by Siocled_poeth

Realisation hit John's gut like one of Gordon's elbows: he'd been kidnapped, and he'd walked right into it.

It didn't seem as though his family were looking for him. His father probably hadn't even noticed he was missing. He had to decide what lengths to go to to get home.

Denied by @thunderstorm-bay

Gordon is frustrated after "Deep Search" and "City Under The Sea".

Enough is Enough by SpaceKat38

Chapter 19 of Whumptober 2022

Just Another Rescue by teddy0bear

No summary.

Buckle by Teobi

She finds him sitting at his father's desk, when everyone else has gone to bed. Add-on to S1E15, 'Relic'. TAG2015

Sunny Side Up by TheRebelFlower

Brandon wants to cook breakfast for Alan, but will his plan fail when it turns out he's not the first one to arrive in the kitchen?

Brother by @mrmustachious

Virgil senses something is up with Alan. It isn't what he thinks it is. Written for Thunderpride 2023 - Trans Men Day

Sleep Under the Fish by mrmustachious

One day, a strange boy appeared on Penelope's beach. And then he disappeared.

Little did she know about the world that lived beneath the sea, and what that one encounter would open her up to.

A Thunderbirds/Luca AU

We'll Always Have Paris by @tikatu

Kyrano takes Tin-Tin on a journey of the heart.

and finally, the penny drops! by @tanushakyrano

This was not how Scott had envisioned having his bisexual awakening, but sometimes that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

Besides, it definitely could have been a whole lot worse, so who's complaining?

give or take a million by transienttumbleweed

Half a dozen years ago, in the lobby of a Wichita hospital, Scott Tracy made a choice.

It was the right choice, in the end, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t … consequences.

It’s fine. He’s handling it. (Present-day AU.)

like to the lark at break of day by transienttumbleweed

John Tracy is not having a good week.

Fortunately, his older brothers have a full tank of gas and no sense of self-preservation. (Present-day AU.)

piece by piece by transienttumbleweed

Six times Tanusha cried because of the Tracys, and one time she couldn’t. (Present-day AU. Can be read independent of the rest of the series.)

I Just Can't Wait To Be Free by @tsarinatorment

When Scott gets stuck, Gordon’s the only one around - too bad he can’t stop laughing.

Late Night Lifting by @whatgaviiformes

Smart doesn't mean weak

Tracy Seaside Orchard and Farm by whatgaviiformes

An alternate universe. Gordon has a successful farm... and seems to have nothing to do with this International Rescue thing.

Turning Circles by whatgaviiformes

It was official. Gordon had a crush on his brother's ice dance partner. Ice Skating AU

Once in a blue moon by @such-a-random-rambler

please, someone, why can I not write anything else! A little John and Virgil together. Now with chapter 2 wohoo!

Seeing Stars by such-a-random-rambler

While John deals with memory loss from a domestic accident, the others rally round

Don't Cough by Whump_and_Whine

John's dying, alone in space as his brothers rush to get to him. He realises they're not going to get to him in time, and contemplates how to die. It's a sad fic, but in my head, John does survive after this, but I've tagged death of character, and suicidal thought in case. If you want more details, read the notes.

Tricky Trust by Whump_and_Whine

John's sick. He needs to be sedated, but that comes with its own problems...

Grudgingly Human by Yarnaholic

Post EOS. Scott faces some old demons while trying to talk down a man standing on a building ledge after a rescue.

La tarte aux pommes d'or by @yarol2075

Scott needs to thank the Mechanic - it really shouldn't be so hard.

PART 3/3 [PART 1] [PART 2]

[heybank]

umm so i wrote a little fic/blurb idk i don't think it's good but it's something that's been stuck in my head for a while with my own little oc named grace but her name is only mentioned a few times so it could totally be ignored and seen as reader.

anyway this is my first ever fic so please be kind to me and if you have suggestions or other fic ideas i'd love to hear them.

not proof read and lowercase intended.

and if you think it's awful please lie to me i'm fragile 😔

deny

you are a lover girl. a hopeless romantic, someone who dreams of finding "the one" and living happily ever after. kie often says you tend to fall in love a little with everyone you meet. you can't help it though, you have so much love in you, it feels like you'll burst at the seams if you don't share it with others.

you think you're in love with your best friend jj maybank. no one understands you the way the wild blond haired boy does. no one can communicate with you with just a single look the way jj does. no one makes your heart beat out of your chest and your tummy flutter the way his dimpled smile does, eyes crinkling at the corners, a slight sunburn on his nose because lord know that boy doesn't use the sunscreen you bought him.

so yeah you're in love with jj maybank but then yesterday a different boy kissed you. pope heyward, your other best friend, genius extraordinaire whom you thought was maybe in love with kie but no- he kissed you and you felt a tingle in your ever beating heart. heat filled your cheeks and your ears became fuzzy. that was a new feeling when it came to pope. it made you excited to explore because as much as you love jj, you don't think the boy would ever return your undying affection because your friendship meant too much.

----

you stood in the threshold of popes bedroom, gasp stuck in your throat, eyes wide and mouth open at the sight before you. you’re not sure how to process what you’re seeing.

before you on the bed that pope kissed you on not even 24 hours ago, is jj maybank, your closest friend, kissing the heyward boy.

so many emotions flow through you at the sight before you.

shock because not once has jj; or pope for that matter mentioned or even hinted that they liked men- or each other. then again, jj has always liked beautiful people and pope is certainly that.

sadness because you and pope had literally just kissed. maybe you were naive to think a simple kiss meant something more to the boy, but it was pope, you don't think there's a mean bone in his body. then again you’ve always been too much of a romantic, too blinded to really see what’s in front of you. blinded by your want and need to be loved that perhaps you create situations in your mind that you interpret as reality? maybe you need to contact your therapist again. you're sounding even more delusional than before.

lastly, you feel jealousy. the angry green monster rumbling around in your tummy, making its way up your throat. you’re not sure what exactly is making you jealous because the image of the two boys kissing is surely confusing. are you jealous because pope is kissing another person who isn’t you? a part of you is jealous because he’s kissing jj. or maybe it’s that jj is kissing pope or that maybe they’re kissing eachother and they're not kissing you? you're not sure at this point. dear diary jealousy is a disease babes, and you are infected.

you must have made a noise because next thing you know, the two boys are pulling apart, a string of spit still connecting them and for a second your love rattled brain is jealous of it. the spit that is, because deep down you’ve always known that you wanted them both… to be the one to connect them. you feel slightly crazy being jealous of spit.

jjs face goes beat red and then flushes pale, like a ghost. he looks terrified and like he might vomit all over the floor in a second.

“grace!” popes panicked voice reaches your ears but they’re still kind of ringing from the shock of seeing your supposedly straight best friends kiss.

in your heartbroken haze you wonder if you're being a bad ally right now. you love the gays you swear! you just never pictured pope and jj as being a part of the gays ™.

you clear your throat, “jb and kie are waiting for us downstairs. we were going out on the boat today, remember?”

you try and say that as gently as possible because jj still looks like he’s going to pass out and pope isn’t much better.

popes hands are shaking as he reaches for you and a part of you wants to pull away but you’re not mean. you’ve never been mean so even if your feelings are hurt you’ll always put your best friends feelings above your own. and it looks like pope needs to touch you. maybe to hold your hand and reassure him you’re really standing there, witnessing something that you probably shouldn’t have.

so many emotions flicker through popes eyes. you can’t really see his blush but you’re sure if you touch his face it would be hotter than the sun.

pope grabs your hands in his shaking ones. you can feel how clammy they are and you hazard a look back to jj who has yet to even move. you’re a little concerned he’s gone into shock.

you let out a soft sigh and smile at the boys, a smile that is mostly genuine.

you squeeze popes hand and make eye contact with the panicked blonde boy on the bed.

“it’s ok jj. i won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.” you speak kindly, as if you’re talking to a scared feral cat.

you only see jj swallow hard. “for what it’s worth, i understand the appeal... wanting to kiss pope and all.” you tease hoping to cut the obvious tension in the room. you feel like you're the one choking now.

jj and pope both let out huffs like they’re afraid to laugh but also relieved you’re not upset.

“you’re not mad?” jj croaks like he still has a frog lodged in his throat. he looks at you with soft wonder, like you’re the best thing in his life. his stare makes your tummy flutter.

“of course not. you guys are my best friends. i only ever want you to be happy!” you reply honestly. jj deserves happiness after the shit life he’s been dealt. he deserves good things and if you have to set aside your feelings in order for him to have good things then by golly you’ll do that.

“grace, about yesterday-“ pope starts off,

“don’t worry buddy, already forgotten.” you cut him off. hopefully saving him the strife of having to apologize to you about the kiss and saving you the embarrassment of him telling you he regrets your kiss. you don't think you could survive hearing that out loud.

you march over to jj still holding popes hand, effectively dragging the boy with you. you throw your arms tightly around jjs neck and after a heartbeat, jj returns your hug. you move your head to look at pope and nod at him, encouraging him to join the hug.

“now c’mon. you know how pissy jb gets when he’s made to wait” you giggle.

you lead the boys out of popes room and home and into the twinkie without giving them an option of saying no.

“finally! i thought y’all died or something. what took so long” john b huffs in exasperation.

“my fault jb!” you quickly chirp so the boys don’t have to panic and think of a lie “pope showed me the new book he got and it’s my favourite and i starting gushing and you know me i can’t shut up and… well i forgot why i went up to get them in the first place” you giggle with a sheepish smile.

“you’re so lucky you’re cute, grace” kie laughs teasingly.

you see pope and jj making eye contact. you have a feeling you might need to play therapist for them soon. pope doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings without beating around the bush and well, jjs favourite thing to do is deny deny deny.

actually, that’s exactly what you’re gonna do too! deny you have feelings for pope. deny you have feelings for jj. deny you ever saw them kiss and deny that them kissing only upset you because you weren’t a part of it. deny that a part of you enjoyed it. deny that your feelings matter in this situation and deny that if given the chance, you’d love to be in between a beautiful jj maybank and pope heyward sandwich.

yep, deny deny deny. this is gonna be a long freaking summer.

[hyperactively-me]

Hear me out for King! Ghost…the kingdom is under attack and (Y/N) is trying to find Simon through the chaos. She finds him in the castle garden, on the ground with the enemy standing over him with their sword raised. The next thing (Y/N) sees is her driving her sword into the enemy’s back, killing them. When she realizes Simon is okay, it dawns on her that she has killed a person…I’ll leave it up to you finish this prompt.

Btw your king! Ghost fic has had me on a chokehold it is SO good

thank you for the compliment :) i'm not fully satisfied with this, so i hope y'all like it lol

(noncanon)

king!ghost x reader -- like you've seen a ghost warnings: physical violence, descriptions of death, injuries/blood, heavy angst; this is NOT canon

How did it end up like this?

How were Kastron's forces overpowered, leading to the castle getting infiltrated and overran by enemy forces?

The first signs of trouble came when the castle guards, stationed at key points, were ambushed from within. Chaos erupted as the enemy struck swiftly and decisively, disabling communication and creating confusion amongst the guards and knights within the palace. Betrayed from within, the castle fell into disarray, and panic spread like a wildfire.

Simon shoves a sword in your hand and forces you into a closet, your fingers trembling around the hilt as Simon's urgent eyes bore into yours. "Remember what you've learned," he says, motioning to the sword in your hand. "And, for the love of God, do not move from this spot."

He presses a fleeting kiss to your lips, then shoots you a final lingering gaze before he slips his skull balaclava over his face.

As the closet door closes behind you, the muffled sounds of chaos outside become amplified in the suffocating darkness. The minutes crawl by like hours as you strain to hear any sign of Simon's return or the advancing enemy forces. The closet offers a stifling refuge, and each passing second intensifies the pounding of your heart. The distant echoes of the struggle outside seem to become more muffled.

A sudden hush falls over the room, and you feel a shiver crawl down your spine. The eerie silence is shattered by the creaking of the closet door as you cautiously open it, the cool air of the corridor rushing in. You twist your sword in your grip, angling it in a way that would let you strike anyone who came across you. You emerge from the closet into a scene of devastation—broken armor scattered across the stone floor, the faint scent of blood lingering in the air.

With trepidation, you move through the corridors, heart racing in your chest. There was no one to be found, not even a single knight.

As you round a corner, you stumble upon a grisly scene—the lifeless bodies of Kastron's guards and enemy fighters, the remnants of a fierce battle. Bile rises in your throat, panic gripping your chest, and you quicken your pace, desperate to find Simon. You don't dare call out for anyone in fear that the enemy will attack you.

Dizziness washes over you as you run down the corridor, stumbling upon the double doors that lead to the gardens. Outside the doors, you can hear yelling and the clashing of swords.

Simon wouldn't want you out here, you know it, but how could you stand by whilst Kastron is being invaded? The need to protect your home was overwhelming, so you stood as straight as you could before stepping outside. You shake your head, steadying your breathing as you push open the doors. The clash of steel and anguished cries intensify as you step outside, your grip on the sword tightening. The scent of crushed flowers and damp earth fills the air as you push open the doors, incongruous to the bloodshed within the castle walls.

No one seems to notice you, too caught up in their personal battles and one-on-one combat.

Your eyes dart between the people fighting, searching desperately for any sign of Simon.

In the midst of the tumult, you spot him, a lone figure fending off multiple adversaries. His movements are swift and purposeful, each strike of his sword fatal.

Until now, you've never seen Simon engaged in battle. Of course, you had heard tales of his skills and prowess before you even got married, but witnessing him in action sends chills down your spine. The stories did not do justice to the raw power and grace with which he moved through the battlefield.

You don't know whether you want to beg him to stop or stay back and observe. His skull balaclava looks even more menacing and deadly than ever.

Simon's blade is deadly, each swing and parry precise, calculated, and unforgiving. Each strike finds its mark, taking down each assailant efficiently, knocking them down one by one. Once he finishes off the hoard of people, he takes a shuddered breath, standing up tall as he surveys his surroundings.

Unbeknownst to him, one person had snuck up behind him, kicking Simon down with a loud thump.

The world seems to freeze for a moment as Simon crumples to the ground, caught off guard by the unexpected attack.

"No," you whisper to yourself, eyes going wide at the person pushing your husband to the ground.

Your heart skips a beat, and instinct propels you forward. The enemy, emboldened by their surprise attack, raises their sword for a final, fatal strike.

Time slows as you charge towards them, the sword in your hand cutting through the air. The enemy, unaware of your presence until now, turns too late to defend themself from your onslaught. Your strike stabs straight through their back, a fatal blow.

The enemy gasps, dropping their sword before they could drive it into Simon's chest. They crumble to the ground, lifeless.

Your action hits you like a tsunami, and you stumble backwards, breathless. The world blurs around you as guilt and horror consumes your senses. He looks up, his eyes registering surprise and relief as he sees you unharmed.

Simon's voice pierces through the chaos as he rasps your name once, twice. You still don't fully register that he's calling for you, saying your name.

The ground beneath your feet feels unsteady, and you gasp for air, caught in the grip of a suffocating terror. You sink to your knees, the reality of what you did crashing over you. Your sword slips from your fingers, clattering on the ground. Your attention finally snaps back to Simon, who is still on the ground, momentarily incapacitated. He's struggling to rise, but determination glints in his eyes.

"Simon," you manage to croak, the taste of bile in your throat. You crawl towards him, desperate to reach him and make sure he's okay.

"I told you to stay in the closet," he manages to say.

But you can't comprehend his words. Panic tightens its grip around your chest, and your vision blurs with tears.

"I had to protect you," you whisper, the words barely audible over the din of the ongoing conflict. But the justification feels hollow, and a heavy weight settles in the pits of your chest.

You reach Simon, your trembling hands desperately searching for any sign of injury. His skin under his armor is battered and bruised, and thin trail of blood escapes from a tiny cut on his forearm, but other than that he's fine. The sight of the trickle of blood sends a surge of naseua through you, and you clutch his arm, as much for your own support as for his.

"Simon, I- I..." you stammer, unable to form words. Your eyes dart from his forehead to the attacker laying lifeless on the grass next to you two. Simon's gaze follows yours, and there's a silent understanding in his eyes.

"We need to move," Simon urges, his voice penetrating the disorienting fog in your mind. He starts to stand up, yanking your arm along with him.

You still don't move, too caught up in the way blood seeps into the earth.

"We have to go," Simon insists, his grip on your arm firm. The touch feels distant and disconnected. The urgency in his eyes is undeniable, and you force yourself to nod, pushing back the emotions that threaten to engulf you.

Simon's grip tightens as he pulls you up from the ground, dragging you by your arm harshly. You glance once more at the fallen enemy, anxiety gripping at your heart.

Together, you and Simon stagger away from the battleground unnoticed, moving through the castle's corridors. Simon's pace is brisk, purposeful, but the tension in his movements is palpable. He's still on high alert, ready to defend himself and you from any potential threats.

As you reach his study, Simon locks the door behind him and releases his grip on your arm. He moves to the bookshelf against the far wall and shoves it aside, grunting as he moves it. Behind the wall is a stone door, heavily fortified. With another aggressive movement, he's able to shove the door open, throwing his shoulder against it.

The hidden door reveals a dimly lit room. Simon motions for you to follow him, and you do so without a word. The air in the room is cool, carrying the scent of damp stone.

Simon leads the way with a determined stride, his jaw set. He pulls his balaclava off, revealing the frustration and concern on his face.

Simon finally turns to you, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he speaks.

"What were you thinking?" Simon's voice is low, his words weighted with disappointment. "I told you to stay in the closet, to keep yourself hidden."

Your eyes dart down, guilt and fear rendering you speechless. The images of the lifeless enemy you just struck down replays in your mind, each moment tormenting your senses. You feel trapped, and panic continues to tighten its grip on your chest.

"I... I couldn't just stay there. I had to do something," you stammer, your voice barely audible, tears now freely flowing down your cheeks.

Simon's gaze doesn't waver, his expression stern. Still, he reaches out to cup your face, swiping away some of your tears with his thumb. "You were meant to stay hidden, not to charge into the middle of the fuckin' battlefield. You put yourself at risk, and you put me at risk. I can't protect you if you don't follow orders."

Numbly, you manage to nod, your eyes finally meeting Simon's.

Guilt gnaws at you, a heavy lump in your throat. The reality of your impulsive actions sinks in, and the consequences unfold in Simon's disapproving eyes. You tremble, unable to shake the vivid images from your mind; the smell of the blood, the way it felt when your sword pierced through the person.

You start to breathe rapidly, the small room closing in on you. Everything feels too big, too much—

Simon's stern expression softens, replaced by genuine concern as he sees the panic taking hold of you. He leads you to a dingy chair in the corner of the room and he crouches in front of you, his hands gently holding yours.

"Easy now, love," Simon murmurs, his voice calm as he breaks through the fog of your panic. "Focus on your breathing. In and out. Slowly."

The panic continues to claw at your throat, choking on your tears and inability to get enough air to your lungs. You follow his lead, trying to match your breaths with his. The rhythmic inhales and exhales provide an anchor, helping to alleviate the panic that threatens to consume you. Slowly, you try to regain control over your breathing, clinging to the physical sensation.

"Thas' it," Simon encourages, his voice low. "In and out. We're safe."

Gradually, the tightness in your chest begins to ease, and the room seems a little less suffocating.

"I know it's a lot to comprehend right now—"

"I killed someone," you whisper, voice shaky and raw, tears welling up in your eyes once more. Simon doesn't move an inch.

His gaze doesn't waver, and he maintains a steady grip on your hands. "I know," he says softly, his voice a comforting anchor in the chaos. "It was self-defense, dove."

"I was trying to protect you," you mutter, your eyes dropping to the ground.

A sigh escapes Simon, and he runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "You had to protect yourself and, by extension, me. It's a brutal reality, but it's the world we find ourselves in right now."

You look up at him, searching for any sign of anger or blame in his eyes, but all you find is understanding. He pulls you into a reassuring embrace, his arms enveloping you as if to shield you from the harshness of the outside world.

"You did what you had to do to protect me," Simon murmurs against your hair. "But, charging into battle like that... it was reckless. I can't lose you."

You swallow thickly, squeezing his hand. Simon's thumb brushes against your knuckles, a gesture of both comfort and concern.

"I trust you, I do. But I need you to trust me," Simon continues.

He pulls away slightly, holding your face gently between his hands. His eyes search yours for assurance, a plea for understanding. "We're in this together, and I need you safe. Promise me, even if things get hard, you'll follow the plan and trust that I'll come for you."

You nod, your voice barely a whisper, "I promise."

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[poopyheadandhoneybunch]

Calebs and MC's first kiss should've been a solo card

I'm gonna preface this that I absolutely LOVE the new banner. It's beautiful, the visuals, the outfits, the event and its game, the music, everything is just perfect. Rafayel's card was the first one I got and watching the story I was so satisfied. I didn't expect the depth and lore additions, I thought all the cards would just be some cute flufff which would've been super fine. But they really made an effort to show Rafayel's and MC's relationship progress, the increased emotional intimacy that we all know they both struggle with and how they both matured in their communication skill. It was a beautiful card with emotional payoff and consistent with all of Rafayel's previous cards and the stage of his and MC's relationship stage. I loved it.

Which - sadly - brings me to Caleb. Caleb's my main and so far I thought that he was beautifully written. His relationship with MC, their bond before the explosion and the following awkwardness, grief, anger and sorrow and also relief and joy of being together again was portrayed in a really mature and realistic and emotionally satisfying way.

We have seen them going from anger and despair and estrangement in homecoming wings to a tentative agreement of wanting to be in each other's lives again in endless summer, of getting to know each other again and coming to terms with these new kind of people they are now in deceptive solitude to addressing Caleb's insistence of keeping MC out of his problems and not wanting to show her weakness in hidden waves. In intertwined gold and exclusive aftertaste they dance around their feelings for each other but are too afraid of voicing things in fear of destroying the fragile bond they have manged to establish again and it's just such a beautiful, bittersweet portrayal of two people who are absolutely obsessed with one another but are held back by their history and current circumstances.

Both the main story and the cards have shown the intense tension that hangs between Caleb and MC. We have seen Caleb holding himself back, afraid of going too far and we have seen how much the guilt of his feelings crushes him down, how conflicted he is about wanting MC in a romantic way. The way he called it a literal sin in lucid dream haunts me.

This boy has wanted to kiss MC since forever and has been pining and yearning and longing in such an intense, heart aching way I have never seen before I think. Really, kudos to the animators and the voice actor because every single card had me on the floor.

And then we have MC, who also had always had feelings for Caleb, it's so obvious when you go through their "old days" cards but our girl is also the most oblivious woman in existence lol. I think that subconsciously and at some point definitely consciously she realized Caleb's intentions but deliberately chose to ignore them out of fear that it might change their entire dynamic. Which obviously it would and MC - let's be real here - LOVES being Caleb's little pipsqueak, she loves how he takes care of her and spoils her. He's the most important person in her life. Her biggest fear is to lose him. So yeah, obviously she is just going to ignore things because she think she would have to reject him and doesn't truly realize that she feels the same for him.

tldr: They are both absolutely terrified to take the next step, TERRIFIED.

Which brings me to their first kiss. A first kiss in the context of a relationship dynamic like that should've been a groundbreaking event for both of them. Not the casual, "no big deal" kiss that we got in Caleb's new card. It just doesn't fit. It doesn't fit their history, it doesn't fit their current stage of their relationship dynamic and it - frankly - also doesn't fit the card's story even.

Caleb's first kiss should've been a solo card. It should've had build up and tension, some catalyst that would've finally make them jump off the metaphorical cliff and finally put the feelings they have for each other front and center, either through a confession before the kiss or some kind of event that triggers the kiss and they talk about what it means afterwards.

They actually could've woven it beautifully into the card itself if they wanted to!! MC finds Caleb's letters, reads through them which makes her realize that she could lose Caleb again every single day and that she should stop wasting time. It makes her realize that her feelings for Caleb go way beyond their brother/sister/family dynamic, that she wants him too. Then, they go on the boat date and MC addresses this. She tells him he's the most important person in her life and that she's doesn't want to waste any more time and kisses him. It can still be gentle and soft like it is shown in the card but it would actually fit their history and context. The kiss, as it is now, happens out of nowhere. It doesn't even get addressed afterwards. The date itself is so awkwardly shuffled into the rest of the card's story, honestly I thought it was a dream at first because it's so abrupt and vague.

Don't get me wrong, I love, LOVE the rest of the card. It's beautiful, it made me actually cry. The angst, the bittersweetness of Caleb having to think about possibly dying every single day and MC being the only thing on his mind, it hurts in such a good way. It really shows how much he loves her, it really added depth to his character and up until the kiss I thought this card is his best so far.

As I was watching, I really hoped that it would go in the way I described earlier or that maybe the whole date is a dream either of MC or of Caleb. (It would've been really sweet actually if it was MC's, it could've been like the first time she was dreaming of kissing Caleb and it could've let to some realizations on our girl's part and also some adorable awkwardness where she now becomes flustered in Caleb's presence and he teases her about it.)

And THEN the next card could've been all about their first kiss, for example.

Ugh, Infold, WHY. it's so disappointing, they really dropped the ball on this in my opinion, all that buildup and tension for nothing, just to provide fanservice for players who complain about Caleb and Sylus not having the same kind of spice content the others have yet? I don't know, have you never heard of narrative consistency? Both Sylus and Caleb are being rushed in my opinion, just to satisfy some part of the player community, to the detriment of their chacters and story. Like, I would gladly wait another couple months for a REAL Caleb kiss if it would mean that it would do him and MC justice.

There still needs an emotional payoff, they have still so much to work through, like?? In Deceptive Solitude they were still figuring things out, barely scratching the surface of their many, many walls and issues between them and now they're already kissing as if they're in an established relationship. It just doesn't make sense. The kiss in the spring card is an established couple kiss, not a first kiss between two people who just a couple months ago saw each other as literal family and also one them though the other was dead. Who were experiencing catholic levels of guilt about their forbidden feelings for each other and who did their best to avoid talking about it for YEARS. This will sound dramatic but it's just WRONG. I want more. THEY deserve more.

I can just hope that this card isn't chronological and this truly wasn't their first kiss and that Infold is actually gonna release a first kiss card where they fully explore what it would mean for Caleb and MC to take that step, the emotional fallout, the impact and how they deal with it.

Oh also: What about Caleb's chip? Isn't the chip supposed to regulate and suppress Caleb's emotions any time they cross the programmed threshold? Are you seriously telling me that Caleb, CALEB!!! didn't almost have a heart attack when MC kissed him? Why wasn't the chip activated? Even the Café heartbeat interaction has that built in but not the actual kiss card? COME ON. I'm sorry but this is incredibly lazy writing and another sign that Infold just didn't think this through. I truly wonder what goes on behind the scenes during the production process because - as I said - it's not always like that.

Which makes it even more disappointing because we KNOW that they can do better, they have so much potential and they can truly deliver beautiful, emotionally impactful stories and characters. I mean we are ALL unhealthily obsessed with every single love interest and that truly says something about their skills.

I don't know, if you've read that far I am truly thankful and salute you. I just needed to put this out in the open somewhere because I love the game and I feel like this time, it really failed, in a way. :(

edited for grammar

[sl33paholics]

A Simple Pack of Lunch

Jack Hanma x reader

Warning(s): Nothing at all. Just wanted to do this quick drabble and continue on the other requests.

The same routine you've been following since meeting the enormous giant.

You'd watch him overwork himself, for god knows how many hours, seeing the jacked man grunt and groan with each time he lifted up those heavy ass weights, with any jab he did to the punching bag, overall hearing...him...being around...him...you could only imagine the things his fists and hands have slammed into.

But one thing for certain, you'd never seen Jack actually take breaks. It was the little things that you noticed first. To your knowledge, from the people who he'd let get close to him, Jack would block out anyone else's presence or even just their presence altogether if it wasn't necessary for him. That's what made his strength, or Jack as a person, so much of a mystery to you and everyone around him.

So you decided to bring something. A pack of lunch.

You wanted to feed him. Why? What did you care? You barely knew Jack. You don't know him at all. But seeing him overwork himself like this, it's not normal behavior to see someone doing. Jack deserved a break. And so you decided to do something for him in return, although he never managed to acknowledge your existence.

You stepped into the room that Jack was usually seen in. The door creaked when you opened it, but no sound came out from within the room. There were a few weights on the floor near the wall, a few empty water bottles next to them, but there were no other signs that anything had happened here recently. Quickly making your move, you took out an index card and a marker, leaving a little note on the boxed food as you placed it on the stepping stool that was next to the weights.

Nothing more than a kind gesture from a stranger. You couldn't stay for long to see witness his reaction as you had plans, so you had to leave.

But this simple act of kindness, you thought, should be enough for him to know that someone cares about him. As if this was the starting point of a red string attaching the both of you without knowing.

From that day forward, you decided to stop by the gym every now and then to leave some food for him to devour. Jack didn't seem interested in it at first, and yet Jack always ate it anyway. Every single time.

It was almost annoying to him to always have an anonymous individual, leaving himself something to eat without pinpointing who it could be. Jack could've easily thrown out the meals you worked hard on preparing, but instead, take a couple of minutes to savor the flavors that were cooked for him. Maybe it was because he felt obligated to do so.

This went on for some time until...the incident. This incident was unexpected, to say the least. One moment, it was raining outside, and you were getting ready to head home from work for the night. The sky seemed grey, the rain pelting relentlessly against the sidewalk. Your hair was wet, too, your clothes dripping with water from the rain that had come down earlier. With the sudden change of weather, you had no jacket or umbrella to cover you, so you were trapped inside until the weather was cleared.

And then, suddenly...this huge monster appeared before you, taking your breath away as it looked like it could squash you in its hands with ease. It was Jack. For the first time, the two of you faced each other rather than communicating through cards. It was a different atmosphere, but Jack was always the same Jack to you.

You weren't able to say anything at the time. You were still in shock that someone like him would acknowledge you. The tension between the both of you was high. You were mentally preparing yourself for what he was about to say or do.

A simple, folded up letter was handed over to you. You hesitated for a moment before taking it and unfolding it. The words, written in Jack's messy scrawl, told you that he appreciated the fact that you were being considerate towards him. That you'd come by and left him food. He was very grateful. In return, he said that he would try and meet up with you again sometime soon. But the part of the letter that caught your attention was the last part of the sentence. "Thank you." He wrote.

You looked up to see the blonde man gone. You were smiling from cheek to cheek, looking so silly in the middle of the entrance. Meet up again soon? On a separate occasion? All that mental anguish was now washed away with relief. After all of this time, Jack was finally showing interest. Although Jack is still a mystery, you couldn’t believe your luck. You were going to be able to spend more time together, to talk more, and maybe...just maybe…expand on this new profound experience.

[songbirdsanctuary]

Short Scar fic

Word count: 1,229

Warnings: None

Scar sat on his bed, coughing into his sleeve. His chest ached with each ragged breath, the burning sensation in his lungs worse than usual. He had been dealing with this cough all day, the weight of exhaustion settling into his bones like a thick fog. His legs were bad enough that he’d needed to rely on his wheelchair more than usual, and now even the effort of shifting slightly on the bed sent pain shooting through him. He knew what this was—knew it was a side effect of the fires he’d been caught in, the smoke that had permanently damaged his lungs. Most days, he managed. But today? Today was worse than normal.

His tired eyes drifted to his nightstand, where his empty glass jar sat. A flicker of frustration passed through him. The jar had once been filled with small, handmade pills—little spheres of honey and lemon that dissolved in warm water, soothing his throat and easing the ache in his chest. He had originally made them himself, but after a while, Stress had taken over. She had a knack for it, refining the process until the pills were better than anything he could make on his own. She had even started selling them, which Scar hadn’t minded—he liked supporting her work, and besides, they were worth every single coin. But he had forgotten to restock, thinking he hadn’t had many bad days lately.

A fresh bout of coughing overtook him, his body curling inward with the force of it. His vision blurred for a moment, black spots dancing in the corners of his sight. He needed something warm, something to ease the burning in his throat. Tea. He could make himself a cup of chamomile—it always helped, at least a little.

Bracing himself, Scar tried to shift onto his wheelchair, his fingers gripping the armrests tightly. His body felt heavy, sluggish, like his limbs had been weighed down with stones. It took more effort than he liked, but finally, he managed to settle into the seat. He took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself before wheeling toward the kitchen.

The journey felt longer than usual, every turn of the wheels an effort. When he finally reached the counter, he reached up for his wooden tea box, where he kept his chamomile mix. But then another violent cough ripped through him, stealing what little strength he had left. His body acted on instinct—he forgot, just for a second, that his legs wouldn’t hold him. That they couldn’t.

He tried to stand.

Instead, his knees buckled instantly, and he crashed to the floor. The sharp impact sent pain shooting through his hip and elbow, but the real problem was the coughing—it wouldn’t stop. His body heaved with each cough, his lungs burning as he gasped for air. The cold kitchen floor pressed against his skin, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the fit away.

For a moment, he just lay there, catching his breath, the empty tea box still sitting on the counter above him—just out of reach.

Scar tried reaching out for his communicator, his fingers fumbling as he stretched toward where it had fallen beside him. His hands were shaking, weak, barely able to grasp the smooth surface of the device. His breaths were ragged, his chest rising and falling in uneven, painful gasps. He had to let out a wheezing cough before he could even attempt to unlock the screen, his vision blurring from the strain.

Typing was harder than he expected. His fingers felt clumsy, uncooperative, like they belonged to someone else. He pressed against the screen, trying to form words, but all he managed was a garbled mess.

<GoodTimeWithScar> Hddfkmo

He stared at it, his brain struggling to process whether that was even remotely close to what he meant to type. It wasn’t. He let out a frustrated breath, his thumb shaking as he tried again.

<Grian> ?

The single message popped up almost immediately, a clear sign that Grian had seen his attempt and was now confused. Scar gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus, forcing himself to try again.

<GoodTimeWithScar> H4l;p

It was slightly more readable, at least. He hoped it was enough. His breathing was getting worse, each inhale feeling like it scraped against raw, damaged lungs. His fingers hovered over the communicator, but he didn’t have the strength to keep typing. His body was trembling too much.

Then, finally—

<Grian> I’m on my way.

Scar let out a slow, shaky breath of relief and let the communicator slip from his grip, his arm falling limply to his side. He curled in on himself slightly, coughing so violently that he could feel the strain in his ribs. It hurt. Everything hurt. Minutes stretched on endlessly, and he wasn’t even sure how much time had passed before a rush of air swept through the room.

Scar barely registered the sound of wings flapping before he felt himself being lifted off the floor. Strong talons gripped him carefully, and a familiar warmth surrounded him as Grian hoisted him up. He was barely aware of being set back into his wheelchair, his body too exhausted to react much beyond a quiet, wheezing breath.

His hands twitched as he weakly pointed toward the counter where his tea supplies were. Grian followed his gesture instantly, moving to start making the tea without a word. The sound of water pouring, the quiet rustling of tea leaves—it was all muffled beneath the ringing in Scar’s ears and the lingering heaviness of his breathing.

Then, suddenly, Grian was gone.

Scar blinked sluggishly, his mind foggy. Where had he gone? Had something happened? He wanted to ask, but he didn’t have the strength to form words. His head lolled slightly against the back of the wheelchair as he fought against the drowsiness weighing him down.

After what felt like both seconds and an eternity, Grian returned, something small and plastic in his hands. Scar squinted at it, his vision still slightly blurred, but the moment Grian popped open the container and plucked out a small, round object, he realized what it was.

His honey-lemon pills. The ones he usually bought from Stress.

Grian, wasting no time, grabbed a mug of warm water and carefully dropped the pill inside. It began to dissolve instantly, the golden swirls of honey mixing into the liquid as the lemon scent filled the air. Scar could only watch, his chest still rising and falling in uneven gasps, as Grian grabbed the steeping tea next.

Carefully, he handed the mug to Scar, but when Scar tried to grip it, his hands shook too violently to hold it on his own. Without hesitation, Grian reached out, steadying both Scar’s hands and the cup as he helped him take a sip. The warmth spread through Scar’s body immediately, soothing his aching throat and sending a flicker of relief through his exhausted limbs.

Scar let out a quiet, shuddering breath. Grian didn’t say anything, didn’t make a joke or tease him like he might have on any other day. He just stayed there, hands steady, waiting until Scar had the strength to hold the cup on his own.

Scar didn’t need to say anything either. Grian understood.

And for the first time that day, Scar felt like maybe—just maybe—he was going to be okay.

[luveline]

Hello!! For the zombie au, I would love to see something (no pressure at all tho - I love you and any of your writing regardless ❤️❤️) where the reader gets overwhelmed at the camp and goes off on her own for a bit, causing Steve to go absolutely insane with worry in the meantime. Totally up to you whether something dangerous actually happens or not. Thanks a ton either way!!

thank you for your request! i didn’t make him as worried as I could’ve potentially so please request again if this isn’t quite what you meant! zombie au steve x fem!reader

There are three different children having tantrums at breakfast. You wince at the sound, hands at your knees and squeezing, looking for relief. You have a headache the size of Mount Everest, in the midst of recovery from a cold that had you weak with fever and aching, and this isn't what you'd pictured when you crawled out of your tent this morning. 

Steve had been snoring, and Robin's newly adopted cat had been restless, climbing up and down your bodies like you were nothing more than lumpy pillows, and combined with your headache it had been a little too much to bear. Rather than wake either of them to amend their problems, you saw no harm in getting up for a walk and a moment's respite in the small communal area of camp near the fire pit. 

The fire hasn't been lit. For a while you'd all operated on nocturnal time, worried your smoke trail would attract the unkind, but it hasn't been a feasible plan to stay that way with so many young children living in the commune. These days you make very small fires when you need to warm food or boil water, and you try to stick to dry wood to minimise the amount of smoke. 

You're not sure what's causing the tantrums, perhaps they're setting each other off, but things are starting to get too much for a second time. Without a friend at your side, it's easy to fall into despair. You're sick without medicine, you've been sleeping on the floor outdoors for weeks and it's making you incredibly sore. The children are here and alone and most of them are orphans now because the unspeakable happened and it keeps on happening. Your life is a tragedy novel, the situation is dismal, and you're not sure life is ever going to get better. 

You stand up and walk for the river. The sound of rushing water will cover everything else, at the least, and there's a tree you can climb with minimal effort, a branch you can perch on that's high enough that nothing can reach you while you're overstimulated and distracted.

Today could be a good day. You need to clear your head first, is all. 

—

Steve frowns at the empty blankets beside him. He'd prefer you didn't leave without waking him, 'cos he won't be able to breathe properly until he knows you're okay. He wishes he lived in a world —that you all did— where you could go wherever you liked without telling him and he wouldn't need to worry. He hates that he needs to know where you are. 

He wiggles his toes in his shoes, trying to wake them up as he stands from the tent and casts his gaze over the camp. There's a little boy crying near the single fold out table they have. A man scoops him up and starts to rub his back, shushing him. A gaggle of girls laugh beside a small fire, camping pans and cans of soup in tongs held over the flames. Dustin and Will are already up, coming back from the river with a bucket between them. 

"Hey," Steve says, jogging up to them. He looks around. "Seen Y/N?" 

"She wasn't by the river," Will says.

"But we caught you guys a fish," Dustin says. 

Steve looks down into the bucket, where a few smaller carp lie dead. "Oh, nice going. You didn't stab them, right?" 

"We're humane," Dustin says. "You have to debone your own. We're not doing all the work." 

Steve pats his shoulder. "Hey, thanks. Just as soon as I find Y/N." 

He doesn't find you soon. You aren't at the campfire. You aren't in the general area surrounding it. You aren't in someone else's tent, and he's sure they all think he's a control freak for checking. 

He tries to calm down. Chances are you needed the bathroom and wanted privacy. He isn't freaking out, he isn't freaking out, really, he's just– he's thinking logistically, because nothing good happens where he can't see you. 

Steve turns in a frantic circle, eyes everywhere, searching for your hair, your big coat. 

He's about to admit defeat and start shouting your name when you chirp up from behind him. "Hey, handsome. Fancy seeing you here."

He turns, sees you all in one piece in your big warm coat, your clean face shimmering with damp. 

"Oh," he says, feeling like he's been punched, "those losers lied to me. You were by the river?" 

You trudge over long grass to nudge him. "Just for a bit. My head was hurting. I saw them catching fish for a while, they're pretty good, but don't blame them, I don't think they knew I was there." 

"Idiots," he says, not meaning it. His head is pounding. "Why, where were you?" 

"Sitting on the 'dangerous' tree branch." 

He takes your shoulders into his hands. He can see you preparing for a kiss, your eyes closing slowly, your chin lifting just a little. Newsflash! You made him worry and now you're climbing up trees. He shakes you gently, and when it doesn't upset you, he shakes you more. You laugh infectiously and let your head loll back and forth. You don't ask him to stop, but he feels bad, and he hugs you rather than scramble your brains any further. 

"You have a conniption?" you ask into his neck. 

"Maybe." 

"Sorry, honey," you say, which is funny and sweet, because it's the name he always gives you. 

He rubs your back. "Hmm. I should give you a speech on not wandering off along and unnecessary risks." 

"Don't do that." 

"No, I'm going to, actually." 

He sits you by the fire and makes breakfast. The speech isn't a speech, really, just an excuse to talk at you, thankful that he still can. You give him all the meatballs from the weird canned spaghetti and he starts to forgive you for the heart attack. You wipe a dab of spaghetti sauce off of his lip with your thumb before giving him a peck, and he forgets what he was talking about in the first place.

[ras-favourite-balor]

[A set of 12 voices come over the shipwide communications.... singing? Other Systems appear to begin to be sabotaged as their "Song" continues]

Knock Knock

Who's There?

Knock Knock

Better Run and Hide

Your Home's Turned Into a House of Glass

Think of the Lives Your Wasting Now

So Throw Out Your Negotiations

Knock Knock

Anybody Answer

Knock Knock

We're Coming Through the Doors

Knock Knock

Your Ceiling and Your Floors

Knock Knock

Should've Given You the Bark

Things are Gonna Get Dark

Don't Choke When Ya Fear Us

Cause We Aren't Smoke

Or Mirrors

Pushing All Your Buttons but Ain't Got Mute

But All You'll Hear Is Silence When We Find You

So

KNOCK KNOCK

Better Ready to Answer

KNOCK KNOCK

Forgetting All Your Manners

KNOCK KNOCK

Barricade Your Doors

KNOCK KNOCK

Your Ceilings and Your Floors

Floating Into Your House

Bringing You a War

//WHEELLOCK\\

Brigand stands on the bridge, gazing out through Shallow Crimson Tide. His single eye is dim, casting a puddle of weak red light around him, as he stares off into the middle distance. Around the room, the bridge crew throw nervous glances at their absent captain. The bridge crew, the loyal few, are all non-corsairs. All are clearly grizzled veterans, marked by time's heavy hand. Their myriad scars exaggerated by the low light of the bridge, long shadowed valleys carved in old skin. Most are augmented in one way or another. There might just be more prosthesis than natural flesh in the room. Most bear tattoos, even if their not visible here. The logos of long dead pirate crews, symbols denoting great deeds and greater violence. One by one, the terminals around the room go dark. Still, Brigand does not react, yet The Black Hand twitches with each downed system:

"We've lost long and short range comms!"

"No more surveillance Cap'n, powers been rerouted t'life support. . ."

"Even hydroponics is dark. . ."

"Engineering bays 1 through 7 have gone silent!"

"Lost contact with medbay."

"Flight capabilities are gone Captain! We're sitting idle now. . ."

"Habitation's lost it's spin, gravity ship wide is on the fritz!"

"Quartermaster Able says they've lost power down in cargo!"

"C.R.E.W. on gunnery 1, 2, and 4 report near complete power loss!"

"Internal weapons systems are offline?!"

"Hangers are locked tight, nothing in or out."

"They've got control of locking corridor doors sir, security couldn't reach them, even with hull cutters, their like fucking gho-"

The Black Hand slams into the nearest wall. The bridge goes near silent, the sound only whirring fans and beeping terminals. Brigand heaves heavy breaths, distorted to sound like some dying, demented pipe organ. Every head turns to gaze upon the captain. . .

And for just a moment the mask has slipped. It is clear in how he stands, slumped and teetering slightly, that the suit is all that holds him upright. Even then, he leans heavily on a support beam, warped by The Black Hand's impact and it's lasting presence. He seems so small in this moment. A man broken by the world, given in to madness and death. Consumed by hate and the influence of that terrible, black appendage. He looks as if he will collapse under the weight of it all, before he stands mostly straight.

He turns to address the bridge. Yet when he speaks, his voice lacks a degree of threat. He is tired, worn down, when was the last time he slept? No one has seen him sleep since donning Shallow Crimson Tide. . .

[BRIGAND} LABYRINTH, TELL ABLE TO BRING OUT THE PIPECLEANERS, SHOOT TO KILL, OVERRIDE SAFETY PROTOCOLS.

He takes a shaking step forward, regaining his composure by the moment. An older man with a snake tattoo coiled about his neck nods and begins hammering away at his keyboard. Most of the terminals are off, less than a dozen remain on. The pale glow lights waiting faces. He looks to a heavily scarred woman, much her face replaced with crude cybernetics.

[BRIGAND} COSSACK! FIRE THE BLINK DRIVE. I DON'T CARE WHERE, SOMEWHERE REMOTE. THEY WON'T LEAVE HERE ALIVE.

The woman nods, connecting a cable from the terminal to a port roughly where her temple should be. The remaining crew are split, those with terminals still active start checking status of remaining systems preemptively, while the rest look expectantly to Brigand, awaiting orders. Brigand eye flares as he bellows through the tinny speakers:

[BRIGAND} OILER! WHATS OUR STATUS WITH MAINTE-

He is cut off by the woman with the metal face, Cossack. Her voice is similar to his own, but more human somehow. The not quite synthetic voice is a jumble of emotions. Foremost is confusion, and concern, followed by fear:

[Cossack]> SIR! I don't know how to tell you this but. . .

Yet there is also humour, a nervous laugh spills out as she pauses.

[BRIGAND} WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LAUGHING AT COSSACK? [Cossack]> The blink drive sir, it-its. . .

She laughs again, disbelief pushing through the digital staccato. Brigand lurches towards her terminal. But he is a giant among hedgerows. The space between control stations is tight and there is no room for him. The eye burns with contempt, settling on Cossack like a searchlight. His voice is worse, peaking the limits of it's distortion as his temper flares.

[BRIGAND} THIS IS NO TIME FOR ANOTHER OF YOUR "JOKES". [Cossack]> The blink drive is gone, sir. Not offline, it's not even present, not even here. Empty air where it should be. . .

The room is silent again for a moment as Cossack's not-voice trails off. All stare at her, faces painted with confusion, with disbelief. She turns away from the gawking crowd and works at her terminal. The rest of the crew converse in hushed tones, those with working terminals start their own checks. After a moment, a flickering hologram is projected above them all. A live feed diagnostic with accompanying 3D wire map.

The room is silenced.

The blink drive is gone.