#Fluff without plot

[deantfwinchester]

Neighborhood Walgreens

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader like always

This one takes place before the other two timeline-wise, I guess - just a few months into knowing each other. No established relationship, and some ridiculous flirting.

Summary: A busy, sick Joel gets a little care from the people in his life - including the neighbor and friend he's been crushing on for the past few months.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff-fluffity-fluff. Bout to get a standing root canal appointment, tbh.

A/N: The bulleted fics are piling up in the notes app, but boy are the well-crafted girlies a bit of a trek. More to come, if the functioning part of my brain has anything to say about it.

Word Count: 5.9k. absolute unit.

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Joel wakes up feeling like shit. He’d felt a bit of a scratch in his throat the night before, but tried to write it off as allergies or something - until he woke himself up coughing before his alarm could even go off. He knows he has a cold the second he tries to breathe through his nose - no dice. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and it’s pounding before he can open his eyes. He shivers when he moves the blankets aside to get up, and each muscle in his body begs him to crawl back into bed.

Ever the trooper, he rises anyway, heading to the bathroom and checking the medicine cabinet to find what he’d feared - no cold medicine. Awesome. Resigning himself to trucking through the day, he blows his nose, pops a couple tylenol, and gets ready. His respiratory system isn’t too fond of the assault, however, and he’s coughing up a lung before he can finish. Today should be fun. He’ll need to stop by the drugstore on his way home. 

Once he’s dressed for the day (trying his best to look alive), Joel trudges down the stairs to see Sarah at the kitchen table, half-eaten bowl of cereal in one hand and a pencil in the other as she finishes the last of her homework. She hears him shuffle in and looks up just as he sniffles, locking eyes right before he can still his features into a facade of rested wellness. The  look on her face tells him he’s not getting away without worrying her, and he hates that. She doesn’t say a word as he makes his way to the coffee pot, she just watches him, only speaking up when he shivers at the mug’s warmth in his hands. The weather’s typical for an early autumn morning, but nowhere near chilly. Though the temperature should drop today with rain in the forecast, Sarah knows her dad and he’s never cold. 

“You know, I could just head next door. I guarantee she’d be happy to drive me,” she says smiling into her textbook, trying to be nonchalant with her concern. She was referring to you, their neighbor of a few months now, who’d given Sarah rides, helped her with homework, or checked in on her when Joel needed. You’d been around since the day you moved in, and neither of them could complain — certainly not Joel. Maybe she was hoping to fluster him a bit as well, suspecting his feelings for you were a bit more than the friendship he insists they are. 

He chokes on his coffee and coughs a little, shaking his head as she closes her book and begins leafing through her notes. Joel’s been worried enough lately that he’s taking advantage of your kindness too much — afraid he’s inconveniencing you and you’re too nice to say no, despite your insistence to help on more than one occasion. Besides, he already feels crappy, the last thing he wants today is for you to see him like this, hardly able to keep himself together. Or worse, to get you sick as well. Absolutely not. He opens his mouth to respond, but she speaks first. “It’s not like she hasn’t before. Maybe just one day? You need…,” she trails off, losing the battle with her expression as her eyebrows knit together and she notes the pallor and exhaustion on his own.

He takes a swig of his coffee hoping it will soothe the growing soreness in his throat before responding, “That’s alright kiddo, I-,” but the words catch in his throat before he can finish, and he cuts himself off coughing harshly into his elbow. Sarah grabs a glass and fills it with water while he coughs, longer than he has all morning, and hands it to him when he catches his breath. The look on her face is challenging now — she knows she won’t win this game, but she’ll still put up a fight. Predictably, Joel continues his previous thought as though unfazed by the fit, though his voice tells another story. “It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to be worryin’ about me, babygirl,” he says hoarsely, waving her off with a sniffle. “You got a science test today, worry about that. You feelin’ ready?,” he asks, subverting talk of both his illness and mentions of you.

Sarah relents with a sigh, “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she says, gesturing to the textbook and notes on the table. He’s more confident than she is, and he smiles brightly at her.

“You’ve got it down, not a doubt in my mind. Now finish getting your stuff together before we’re late. I’ll get the car runnin’,” he says, moving his coffee to a travel thermos before grabbing her lunch from the refrigerator and getting it packed up. She looks back at him hesitantly before leaving the room to gather the last of her school stuff. 

Joel’s got his coffee in hand and Sarah’s lunch in the seat next to him as he waits in the truck. It’s nice enough outside, but he’s still chilly, and wonders if he should run back in and grab a jacket. He forgoes this idea when he realizes Sarah’d put up more of a fight if he did, knowing he’s warm-blooded as all hell, and vocally hot until at least November. Not to mention Tommy’d see right through him the second he shows up to work. No, it’s just early in the morning. The day will warm as the sun climbs to its apex for sure. He’ll be alright. 

While he’s thinking too hard through the fog in his head, Sarah climbs into the car with her backpack on, pulling it off to throw into the seat next to her. But not before she’s placed two additions in the seat between them - a box of tissues and a water bottle. She doesn’t say anything to him, just gives him a knowing look before loading her lunch into her backpack. Joel stills a moment — he’s not surprised by her care, but softens at the gesture. As Sarah shuts the passenger door, Joel wonders how the hell she turned out so sweet, and kisses the top of her head in silent thanks before pushing the truck into drive.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Joel gets to work, his headache has bloomed into pain behind his eyes, leaving him squinting hard in the bright morning sun. He’s also used quite a few tissues since he dropped Sarah off at school. He’s definitely grateful she thought to grab them, but unfortunately, his congestion won’t budge. He’s not naive enough to think he can hide from Tommy, but hopeful that his brother might at least leave him be today. He can muscle through if he’s just working and not being nagged by his brother for hours. He’s sure of it.

—--------------------

Tommy’s not an idiot, but he lets him slide for the first few hours. It’s clear he knows something’s wrong. Joel’s a quiet enough guy, but never this silent, only speaking up when the work demands. He noticed when Joel got out of the truck this morning looking particularly drained - both in face and demeanor - and had checked in as casually as possible, hoping to avoid his brother’s evident and exceptional irritability. Joel, of course, had promptly brushed him off and clammed up for the remainder of the morning. Speaking only when spoken to hadn’t stopped Joel from making noise, though, much to his brother’s dismay. Tommy had seen him all morning, breaking into intermittent fits of coughing he’d attempt to mask beneath the racket of power tools. Tommy’s just about as good at hiding his concern, and Joel catches him looking in his direction in the thick of it on more than one occasion. After which Joel would rip his eyes from his brother’s fretful gaze, hoping to deter him from moving forward to give him a once-over. 

Despite his many efforts otherwise, Tommy knows Joel’s sick - too sick to be working like he is today. It’s when the guys break for lunch around noon and Joel just quietly nurses a bottle of water (which he only has because Sarah made sure of it, no less), that Tommy decides he’s got all the evidence he needs. Tommy sidles up next to his brother who’s leaning against his truck bed, and by the looks of it, allowing it to hold most of his weight, too weary to do so himself. Tommy sighs next to him, and Joel braces for what’s coming.

“You know, we’ve pretty much got it covered over here today, not a lot left to do before we pour anyhow. Probably a good thing, bottom looks like it’s gonna fall out before long,” he says, gesturing to the darkening sky above them. “We can manage for the day if you wanna head on home, maybe take a nap? Hate to tell ya, but you look like hell.” Tommy nudges his brother’s shoulder with his own playfully, attempting to lighten the mood. Joel rolls his eyes at Tommy, sniffing and clearing his throat to talk.

“Nah. ‘S just a cold. I’ll be alright,” Joel says, hoping to end the discussion with his curt response, but failing when his throat catches on the last word. Tommy’s face is etched in worry at the sound of the cough tearing up his brother’s throat. 

While Joel attempts to catch his breath, Tommy takes in the reddened flush on Joel’s otherwise pale face, and the distant glassiness in his eyes. Taking advantage of his distracted state, Tommy places the back of his hand against Joel’s forehead. He’s barely there long enough to get a read on his temp before Joel swats his hand away, but it’s enough. No wonder he’s caught Joel shivering more than once today. 

“Dammit Joel, you know better. We’ve sent guys home for less and you know it,” says Tommy, face twisting in frustration and concern. 

“Tommy it’s fine I-“ Joel attempts to reply, but Tommy cuts him off. 

“Did you even bother to check it before ya left? You know this is a fuckin’ hazard on the job. Damn accident waitin’ to happen,” his tone is grave, but his expression is worried and achingly sincere. Joel pushes the thought from his mind and shapes up - not his little brother’s job, he can take care of himself. 

“No. I’m fine to keep workin. That’s it. We got stuff to do,” Joel says with finality, turning on his heel and promptly returning to his tasks. Tommy’s not happy about it, but he could spend all day arguing with his bullheaded brother, tiring him out more without making any headway. No, he’ll just keep a closer eye on him while they work. That’ll have to do.

—--------------------

It’s when the rain starts coming down a little after two that Tommy hits his limit. Once he notices a couple drops beginning to fall, he looks to Joel, just in time to see his brother shivering when the drops make contact with his overheated skin. That’s enough of that. Tommy stalks over to his brother, whose reaction time is significantly slowed, and Joel turns to look at him a bit dazed. 

“Alright, that’s it. Rain’s coming down, you’re shaking like a fuckin’ leaf. Go home.” It’s Tommy’s turn to remain steadfast in his convictions. Joel looks over at him with tired eyes and Tommy can’t help but soften. 

Only when a few chilled drops hit Joel’s face and neck making him colder than he’s felt all day that he concedes. “Yeah, alright.” It’s clear he doesn’t have the energy to put up a fight, especially when Tommy pats his shoulder comfortingly and he slumps a bit. Joel’s shivering again as Tommy ushers him back toward his truck. 

“We’re heading out soon as we get cleaned up anyway. How ‘bout I pick up Sarah? Just go home and get some sleep?” Tommy asks, hopeful now that his brother’s folding. 

“Okay,” he breathes out, running a hand down his face before trying in vain to rub out the pain behind his eyes. Joel stops just outside the driver’s side door and looks to Tommy to thank him. 

“‘Course. Now head home. I’ll see you in a little bit,” Tommy responds, to which Joel nods, then climbs into the truck. Tommy takes another look back to find his brother sitting in the driver’s seat gathering himself, mildly satisfied with this result 

_____________________________________________________________

For once you actually make your way to the parking lot right after school on a Friday. You're notorious for staying too late, grading, planning, or straight up yapping, but today you’d made a rookie mistake. You’d showed up to work on Day 2 of your period without checking your advil stash. Fuck. 

After a day of cramping, crabbiness, and guilty apologies after being kind of a bitch to your students a couple of times, you head to your car as soon as the bell rings. You’ll stop in the Walgreens around the corner from your neighborhood for a quick supply run, then head home to be comfortably horizontal for the remainder of this fine Friday afternoon.

—--------------------

Truth be told, Joel is relieved to be done for the day by the time Tommy makes him leave. The last of his resolve had crumbled and fallen with the first raindrops and the chill they set in his bones. He turns the heat on in his truck and settles in, letting the air warm him up and willing the pounding in his head to subside just long enough to focus on the road. A few minutes and a bout of coughing later, he finally works up the strength to drive home, only to realize he’s still horrifically unmedicated. Shit. Guess he’s stopping at the drugstore on his way home if he wants even a little relief.

—--------------------

Joel’s standing in the cold and flu aisle of his neighborhood Walgreens, sniffling miserably and squinting heavy-lidded at different cold medicine boxes in each of his hands. He remembers one particular medicine helping at least a bit more than others last time he was sick, but for the life of him he can’t remember which one it was. Dammit, he really just wants to get out of here. He’d much rather keep this cold to himself than be hacking in public, but he needs something if he’s ever gonna stop coughing long enough to get the sleep he desperately needs. 

The tiny white letters on the back of these orange and green boxes are starting to run together, and the pain behind his eyes digs its heels into his frontal lobe. He squeezes his eyes shut and curses a little louder than he realizes, triggering a coughing fit in the middle of the store. Great. Now everyone in the store knows he’s carrying a respiratory plague. He’s sniffling and feeling like a walking germ when he hears his name called.

“Joel?” you call from the end of the aisle, having heard his voice from a few lanes over. Joel turns his head to see - oh no. Jesus. Boy did he wish you weren’t the one seeing him look so gross right now. As you come closer to find him squinting under the clinical brightness of the drugstore, you get a good look at him. He looks… rough. His hair’s a bit damp, and more disheveled than usual - not the fresh, styled damp you see when he leaves the house after a shower, but a clammier mix of sweat and rain. His posture is far from the typical confidence and swagger he typically wields with each step, and is more evidently haggard. You notice his eyes first though, with dark circles and brows creased in confused exhaustion. They’re half-closed too, like he’s fighting to keep them open. 

He tries to open them wider and stand up straighter as you approach, clearing his throat to speak, but he’s coughing again before he can get a word out. He’s shaking with the force of it and you notice his shirt is damp in places as well - must have gotten caught in the rain. Just minutes ago, he’d have been uncomfortable under your scrutiny, but he’s too wrapped up in catching his breath to be embarrassed at this point. You draw nearer with pure concern in your eyes as his coughing subsides, and his resolve melts a bit more.

“Whoa, hey, you okay over there? That sounded painful,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. He notices the fretful tone in your voice — it’s gentler than his brother’s but carries the same intention. 

“Yeah, can’t say it feels great,” Joel says hoarsely before attempting to clear his throat once again, hoping his lungs will cooperate this time. “Can’t seem to remember which of these damn pills will give me a hand though.”

“Didn’t I just see you on Wednesday? When did you start feeling bad?” you ask, leaning against his side to take a closer look at one of the boxes from his hands. Maybe with some details you can help figure something out to get him feeling better, or at least let him rest.

“Last night, I guess. Came on pretty quick. Was workin’ okay this morning, but once the rain started, Tommy sent me packin’.”

“You went to work like this, Joel?! Isn’t that like, dangerous? You could really hurt yourself,” you chastise, rubbing his upper arm comfortingly while staring up at him looking utterly devastated. Christ he may melt into a puddle right here. He’s seen this look before, and though he doesn’t want you close enough to catch this, he doesn’t have the heart to shove you away like he did Tommy. He bothers to look at least a little guilty, and you sigh before continuing: “Bad idea. And you know it. Now, let’s figure this out. You’ve got the cough down for sure - what are your other symptoms?”

Before Joel can respond, he looks down into the small basket hanging over your arm and notices its contents: a box of pads, tampons, a bag of peanut M&Ms, a resealable bag of bite-sized chocolates, sour gummy worms, two different pain medications, and a box of peppermint tea. Pain relief, pads, and candy salad. Caught. This is not a conversation you want to have with Joel — men get weird about periods for some childish reason, and you’re really not in the mood. You glance down and move the basket behind you a bit, ready to brush him off and keep the conversation on him, but when you meet his eyes they’re wider and his brows are furrowed above you, drinking you in.

“You sure you’re feeling alright?,” he asks, gesturing to the contents of your little black basket. His tone mirrors the worry you’ve been bleeding since you turned onto the aisle. You’re taken aback by the question at all, given the obvious nature of today’s dilemma — one most men you know wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. His voice doesn’t waver, and his expression doesn’t falter, or express an ounce of discomfort. It’s interesting, but you’d rather not dwell on it, and laugh him off anyway.

“Oh, yeah. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before of course,” you smile and wave your hand in the air to brush off his concern, but his eyebrows inch closer to one another, and his head tilts slightly to the side. You’re the one growing warm under his perusal now, so you turn the subject back to him. “Anyway, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

Joel stares a moment longer, but begins to rattle off a list of fairly standard cold symptoms. You’re glad it isn’t anything too serious, he’ll probably just feel crappy for a couple of days while his immune system does the heavy lifting. Now to figure out what can be done to make him more comfortable in the meantime. One thing you know for certain after hearing the growing congestion in his voice and the rasp in his throat — he’s gonna need the stronger stuff. You take the boxes from his hands and return them to the shelf. He looks at you perplexed, struggling to sniffle against the congestion that — according to the pained squinting he’s still doing beneath the fluorescent lights — is giving him a hell of a sinus headache, and keeping him from breathing through his nose. Fine as he may be in a few days, at the moment he looks devastatingly uncomfortable. 

“Yeah, this crap on the shelf isn’t gonna work. Let’s get ya some of the stronger stuff,” you say, patting his shoulder before tugging him along to the pharmacy. He doesn’t ask any questions, just quietly follows your lead. Along the way, you explain the useless nature of the phenylephrine in the easy stuff, and how the good stuff requires you to show your ID. You tell him why the drugs with the pseudoephedrine are more helpful, and he nods and snuffles in understanding. Sounds good to him, he’ll let you take the lead on that one. As smart as he knows you are, he more than trusts your judgment.

You approach the counter and begin perusing the options, talking with the pharmacist about what you need, when Joel starts coughing again. You can’t help but rub his back and whisper soft words in comfort when his face twists in pain from the fit wreaking havoc in his chest. As your hand moves in soothing circles across his back, you can feel the heat of his skin through his t-shirt. Shit, he didn’t say anything about a fever. You need to get him home as soon as possible. 

When he’s composed a bit, you wrap up with the pharmacist, and she asks for your ID. You pull yours from your bag and hand it to her, but pause. Should you show her your own? Does she need to see Joel’s too?

“Oh, for sure. Uhm, do you need to see his too, since he’s the patient?” you ask, wanting to get done with this as quickly and smoothly as possible so you can get him out of here. She’s looking at the card in her hand intently and entering your information into the computer, busy with the transaction.

“No ma’am. We don’t need your husband’s ID since you’re the one purchasing,” she responds, not lifting her eyes from the computer. You blush at this, but she doesn’t seem to notice until Joel’s eyes go wide and he chokes, forcing him into another bout of harsh coughing. Jesus, his throat must be torn up. You reach for him with one hand and place your own basket and a few other sick day supplies on the counter with the other before she finalizes the transaction. 

“Thanks for all your help!,” you say a bit frantically as you begin to usher him toward the exit. You walk out of the store in silence, neither one of you looking at the other, each of you trying to keep a nervous smirk at bay. Only when the automatic doors shut behind you do you turn to look at each other and laugh heartily, extremely entertained by the pharmacist’s assumption. The laughter only ceases when it sends Joel coughing again — you need a read on that fever he’s sporting. Once he’s mostly caught his breath, you move closer and place a gentle hand on his forehead, then move it down toward his cheek. Joel closes his eyes and without realizing, leans forward into your soft touch. When your hand leaves his face, his eyes open to find that look again, and he muses that you may make him sweat before the fever gets the chance. 

“You didn’t mention this earlier. Did you know you’re running a fever, Joel?” you ask him, and he looks guilty toward the asphalt. 

“Tommy mighta mentioned somethin’ about it earlier, but I’ll be alright,” he responds, but fails to suppress a shiver when the breeze kicks up. Your heart breaks a little seeing him shaking — how did you miss that earlier? You sigh deeply before telling him you’re hesitant to let him drive home. He insists it’ll be fine, and you understand it’d be more of a hassle to come get his truck later on. You concede since it’s such a short trip back, but you’ll follow him back to your adjacent homes. 

—--------------------

After parking your car in the driveway next to his own, you meet Joel at his truck. You bat his hand away when he attempts to grab the bags from yours, and tell him to go unlock the door. Ever the gentleman, he’s a little perturbed, but follows your instructions anyway. Once you’re both inside the house, you set the items on the table and sit him down next to it before heading for the cabinet and filling a glass with water. After passing him the glass and watching as he slowly sips, you unload the bags, and begin reading the back of the box from the pharmacy. 

“Have you eaten anything today? It’s probably not a great idea to take this on an empty stomach,” you say. He goes a little green at the thought of eating anything before swallowing and huffing a response.

“No, haven’t really felt like it. Don’t think it’d sit well right now, to be honest. I’ll be alright with just the medicine, I bet.” You sigh in response, a little anxious it’ll make him feel worse, but either option could do that at this point. At least the thought of the medicine isn’t nauseating for him at the moment. You’ll let it slide, for now. 

“Fine. But you’ll definitely need to eat something substantial later,” you tell him, giving him a once-over, taking advantage of the single instance he’s below you to get a good look at him. You’re already thinking through take-out options that might help tonight. Another day, you’d make some soup for him — get him full and warm him up. Hell, tomorrow you might. But today you’re exhausted, with the period fatigue and the cramps that won’t let up, you’re definitely ready to get into some more comfy Friday Afternoon Clothes. 

“Alright, you get changed and get comfy on the couch. I’m just gonna run home and get outta these work clothes, then I’ll be right back.” 

“You’ve done plenty already today, darlin’, really. Helped me out more than you know. And I’d hate for you to catch this too,” he explains, looking guiltier than you’d like. You’re plenty aware of the risk here but at the moment you couldn’t care less. You don’t really feel like sitting by yourself in your house right now anyway. No reason both of you should feel crappy alone. 

“Uh, Joel, did you forget that we’re ‘married’ now? I’ll be back in just a minute to check on you,” you insist, smiling at him. He looks at you admonishingly and smiles back, shaking his head. You have no idea how happy that makes him — his stomach flutters at the joke, and it isn’t from his illness. You hesitate on the way out the door, and turn to check with him once again. “If having me hovering is gonna keep you up though, I can totally leave you be. I don’t want to keep you from getting the rest you need.” Your voice and expression are apprehensive, afraid to be a bother. 

He probably doesn’t still his face well enough, and he’s certain you can see desperation in his eyes when he shakes his head. He can’t tell you quite yet, but he’s over the moon you want to stick around. All semblance of nobility is dropped - having you near him could never be unwelcome. “You don’t hover, sweetheart. Nothing about you is bothersome. I’d love the company, actually,” he tells you in earnest.

Your expression settles at the reassurance, and you smile back at him. “Good. I’ll just be a few minutes,” you begin, but your smile turns to a grimace with the last few words as you feel a sharp twisting in your stomach and lower back. Your hand instinctively grips your stomach, hoping to ease the pain. There’s definitely no escaping that one. Joel’s eyes widen, but you cut him off before he can ask if you’re okay. “Yep, I'm gonna get out of these pants and into something loose before my uterus tries to kill me,” you joke, reaching for the knob. 

Joel chuckles in response but he’s frowning a bit. The look from the drugstore is back, and you don’t know what to do with his sympathy. You can’t look long before heading out. 

He hates seeing the pain you’re in, but what upsets him most is the way you brush it off. Like your pain is smaller, or insignificant by comparison — one he wouldn’t draw anyway. It sticks with him more than it probably should, but he can’t seem to shake it. He needs to act, somehow. Once he’s changed, he grabs a few blankets from the closet and the heating pad they keep around for his back and for Sarah’s own cycles. He knows how much it can help her, so he figures it couldn’t hurt to offer, at least. 

He sets up a spot on the couch for you both — a little nest for staring at the tv and, (he hopes), cozying up just a bit for extra comfort. He’s still not hungry, but he microwaves a bag of popcorn and grabs some other assorted salty snacks to join the candy you’d picked up. He’s seen how snacky you can get after school sometimes, and wants to make sure you have an array of options, prepped for any craving. 

You return as he’s placing the last of these items down on the coffee table — he’s rather proud of his little presentation — and sees your hair up and a comfy set of sweats that are just a little too long in the arms and legs. Lord help him, you look fucking adorable. He can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face when you walk toward him. 

“Well don’t you look cozy,” he says with eyes shining at your improved expression. You give him an exaggerated little twirl to show off the baggy outfit you’ve adorned yourself in for this evening’s activities. 

“Damn right! I’m ready for anything now,” you say, stuffing your hands in the pocket of your hoodie. He’s laughing in response before it catches in his throat again and he starts coughing. 

“That makes one of us,” he jokes once he’s caught his breath. 

“Yep, I want you on the couch. Right now. Go ahead and get comfy and I’ll get the medicine. We gotta get you drugged up enough if you’re gonna get any sleep.” You’re ushering him to the couch when you stop in your tracks. When you catch sight of the coffee table snacks and the heating pad set up on one side of the couch, already plugged in and waiting, you nearly tear up. You’re speechless for a moment — no one’s ever done anything like this for you before. This little thoughtful gesture means the world, and you’re not sure what to say. 

“Joel! You didn’t need to do all this. You’re sick, I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you insist, nudging his arm with your own, leaning lightly into his side. 

“Wasn’t hardly anything, darlin’, just some stuff I know helps Sarah when she gets to feelin’ like you do. She likes her snacks salty, and always feels better with this little fire hazard next to ‘er,” he says, gesturing to the heating pad on the couch. His grin turns mischievous before he starts again: “Besides, you said it yourself, we’re ‘married’ now, huh? I oughta know what my wife needs just as well,” he finishes, voice too satisfied, and eyebrows raised in jest. 

You’re giggling when you grab his hand and squeeze it, thanking him. “This goofy little bit we’re doin’ ends the second Sarah and your brother walk through the door, by the way. Not looking to scare her, that’s the last thing I wanna do,” you instruct.

“‘Course, but fuckin’ with Tommy sure woulda been fun,” he says to you, and you laugh in agreement. Once you see he’s settled, you make tea for the both of you, hoping it’ll work magic with the medicine to get him resting comfortably and — with any luck — napping before long. He’ll probably protest, but with a little coaxing, you’ll get it into him. 

When you return with the tea, he takes it from you with both hands, before using one to pull you down on the couch next to him. He’s pulled you a little closer than you may have sat yourself, and he’s pleased when you don’t pull away or readjust. You just grab the heating pad, crank it up, and stick it behind your lower back while leaning forward to grab the medicine. You check his temperature again with the back of your hand while he’s preoccupied taking the medicine you’d doled out to him. He’s a little warmer than he was outside the drug store. 

“Maybe we should get a number on that. Where do you keep your thermometer?” you ask, worry written on your face all over again. You attempt to rise from the couch to go hunting, but he grips your hand again, keeping you in place.

“Nope, nope, it’s fine sweetheart, I promise. You need to get some rest too. Sit,” he directs, his tone leaving no room for discussion. You roll your eyes, but wriggle back against the couch again before pulling a blanket into your lap. Joel fiddles with the cord of the heating pad and readjusts it behind your back, making sure it isn’t folded or sitting uncomfortably against you. You sigh in relief and fall a bit toward him as you settle in, and he inches you way as well. You arbitrarily turn on a movie you’ve both seen, fully aware neither of you will be making it to the end, and snuggle closer. The fevered heat humming beneath his skin is pleasantly warm against you as he settles deeper, and he’s slipping in and out of conversation within minutes. 

_____________________________________________________________

Sarah walks through the door with Tommy in tow while end credits roll across the tv. They head into the den to check on Joel, but conversation falls silent and they stop in their tracks at the sight they discover. You’re sleeping peacefully, legs tucked up under you and head lolled against the back of the couch. Joel’s head has somehow found its way into your lap, and he’s resting warmly on your stomach, no doubt alleviating some of the pain with his warmth and weight. Your hand rests on his shoulder, holding him securely.

Tommy’s face goes slack, but Sarah’s smiling ear to ear, and turns to her uncle, trying to quiet her laughter. He looks at her wide-eyed, but says nothing, and she holds her hand out between them, fingers curling toward her palm.

“Pay up,” she says, way too satisfied for Tommy’s liking, and far too much like her father. He rolls his eyes, and digs his wallet out of his pocket. He really thought his brother would be too chicken to do anything about this — at least for a little while longer.

[samuelsdean]

Who's Your Barber?

request: based on this.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: “you move fast, kid.” he turned to spencer who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “letting Y/N cut your hair without going on a first date.”

genre: fluff

word count: 0.8k

author's notes: hello! i'm back with another spencer reid tooth-rotting fluff without plot. this was based on a request sent to me. i hope you'll love this!

“DO YOU THINK MY HAIR’S TOO LONG?”

You looked up from where you were working on a pile of paperwork from a recent case only to stare at a pouting Spencer.

Cute, you thought.

“Why?” You asked, now facing the man in front of you who was busy fretting over his hair. “Is it bothering you?”

“No, not really.” He mumbled. “I just—I don’t know. I want to keep it this way because it’s always been kind of on the longer side but I also want to try cutting it short.”

A bit shy from his admission, Spencer started fiddling with the hair tie on his wrist, obviously not that comfortable implying that he did care about his looks even for a small bit.

You almost cooed at how adorable he’s being for a grown man.

“Okay,” You prodded him again, wanting to make sure you understood what he was trying to say. “So, you wanna try a new haircut but you’re not sure about it. Well, I can help you with that.”

Spencer looked up from where he was playing with his hair tie and scrunched up his brow in question.

“How?”

You instantly blushed at what you were about to suggest when you noticed Spencer being all for it. The thing about Spencer is that he’s a great listener as much as he likes to talk. Coming from a household where he never got to have a good companion unless his mom was doing okay, Spencer knew what it felt like when no one wanted to listen to whatever it was one has to say. With all your doubts starting to vanish at Spencer’s obvious interest, you shared your thoughts.

“Well,” You decided to share. It’s not like you would recount to him an embarrassing childhood story. That’s a story meant for another day. “I may or may not have worked at my aunt’s salon over the summer back when I was in high school. I wasn’t a hairstylist but learned a thing or two.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in wonder. You no longer regretted sharing your experience and were sure he was about to share a tangent on hairstyling in typical Dr. Spencer Reid fashion.

“Archaeologists discovered that cutting our hair and styling it have both been practiced by human beings as early as the Ice Age.” Spencer babbled. “Also, they said that people’s social class, age, ethnicity, race, and genetics determined the style of their hair throughout history even up to the late 20th century.”

You grinned at Spencer’s info dump and ruffled his hair, to which he scrunched his nose.

“So, Reid,” You replied. “When are we gonna cut your hair?”

“What, did you join a boy band?”

Everyone around the table started giggling and smiling as soon as Hotch directed the question at Spencer, as your cheeks reddened. Unfortunately for Spencer, you being a former employee at your aunt’s salon certainly did not do you wonders. Because what was supposed to be a trim here and there became a short haircut for him, quite shorter than what he has envisioned, he shared with you.

You almost dug yourself a hole right then and there.

But apparently, Spencer liked it enough—loved it even—to not hate you for cutting his hair too short. It’s fortunate—for him and especially for you who gets to see him in his new hair every day—that Spencer was pretty. He looked good both in long and short hair.

However, with Hotch asking him that question, you were sure Spencer would hate you for cutting it wrongly.

“No?” Spencer replied as his brows crinkled. You breathed a sigh of relief with his answer, which Rossi didn’t fail to notice. 

You were about to head out when Hotch just announced, “Wheels up in 30.” When you heard Rossi speak to Spencer

“I like your hair, kid.” You almost smiled until Rossi questioned him. “Who’s your barber? Maybe I’ll get myself the same haircut.”

As if it couldn’t get any worse, you heard Morgan join in on the conversation, like both he and Rossi knew something you don’t. Spencer probably didn’t know what that something was too.

“Yeah, pretty boy. Who’s your barber?”

Spencer looked like he had swallowed a frog and he had seen a ghost with how comical he looked right now. 

It seemed Spencer knew what Rossi and Morgan were trying to imply in their prodding.

“It seems to me,” Rossi continued. “It was our lovely Y/N who cut his hair.”

At this, your eyes widened as Derek smirked.

“You move fast, kid.” He turned to Spencer who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “Letting Y/N cut your hair without going on a first date.”

Spencer likes you back? 

As in more than friends? 

Non-platonic?

Spencer likes you back!

“Shut up!” Spencer screeched.

“Let’s leave the kids alone.” Rossi appeased Spencer while looking at you. “They have a date to plan.” 

Spencer sputtered out as both men chuckled while moving out.

“So, Reid.” You simpered. “Where are we going for our first date?”

[thew1ldblueyonder]

Forehead kisses are for friends?

Here's the thing about Robin and Steve; their friendship is one of a kind, and to the untrained eye their tactlessness, emotional and physical closeness could signal something romantic. But Eddie knows well that's not the case.

He does notice how much of their casual interactions go against the norm of platonic: sleeping in the same bed, sleeping on each other's laps, etc., but Eddie has never cared much about the norm. He himself goes very much against it, still a one man army facing off against conformity every day, at least in the little things.

The problem comes when he has to place himself into the equation that is Robin & Steve.

It happens like this:

Eddie hosts movie night. Normally Steve does, but this time he really wanted to do it. It seemed like a good idea.

Him, Jonathan, Argyle and Steve could smoke up a couple of joints - God knows they're all desperately in need of a distraction - and maybe Nancy would join in too - and if Nancy joins, Robin does too - and what better place to do that than at his trailer? The whole place already smells slightly of weed and the neighbors don't give a shit about it.

It's also a point of pride for him. Yes, the trailer is small. But it's alright. And he wants his newfound friends to find a home there, too. He wants to feel a little useful, at least.

So, people start arriving. Nancy drives Robin up, Jonathan and Argyle come together. Argyle is already spacey. Eddie's got the movie prepped, snacks on the table, and four traumatized monster hunters restlessly huddling up on his couch, and around it. He has placed some cushions on the floor as makeshift sitting places.

It's only Steve that's missing.

Robin and him are sitting on the floor, an empty cushion reserved for him between them, and she looks as restless as he feels.

See, Eddie's been kind if permanently on edge since the upside-down bullshit. He needs these people to be in places where they're supposed to be, when they're supposed to be. The whole thing kinda made him a control freak, sue him. But when his people are where he can see them he knows they're not in trouble. He knows they aren't getting pulled into the air, bones snapping like twigs...

When the door opens and Steve steps through with an apologetic smile Eddie lets out a relieved sigh. Robin perks up, and before Steve could even finish his explanation for his tardiness - something about keys, but Eddie thinks he's lying and would bet that he's just had a bad hair day and has been spending way too much time trying to fix it - she reaches for him, like a child wanting to be picked up.

Steve goes to her immediately, grabs her hands gently, and gives her a kiss on the forehead.

Not unusual. Eddie almost chuckles at the sweet and casual display of affection, ready to be jokingly snarky, to urge Steve to sit down, finally.

Except, faced with Steve Harrington, placing two hands on the side of his head and bending down, his head quiets immediately. It happens in an instant. Steve reaches down, and kisses him between his eyebrows, redirecting his bangs with one hand. It's short, and thank god for that, because Eddie stops breathing entirely for the duration of the thing. Just a quick platonic smack of lips.

He doesn't even notice the way Eddie sucks in a breath, frozen in place. Doesn't seem to see how he stays frozen, even after Steve sits down next to him, chatting idly with Argyle, leaning back against his leg. He's entirely unaware of his emotional turmoil.

Eddie blinks, his head fuzzy. The feeling of soft lips against his forehead still lingering. He looks ahead of him, and then looks at Robin, who's already watching him. She has an expression of curiosity, that he unfortunately cannot satisfy at all.

Steve doesn't kiss anybody else on the forehead.

Eddie spends the whole night thinking about it.

Was it just because he was also on the floor? Was it a bit? Did he somehow become part of the weird symbiosis that's Robin & Steve? Is he a platonic soulmate now?

Can he not be?

Can he get another kiss? (Preferably on the mouth.)

[bisexualiteaa]

Hello, Lover

Shadowheart x FemTav! Reader [MDNI!!]

CW: established romance, lesbian romance, slight game spoilers, brief mentions of religious trauma, fluffy themes, mentions of alc0hol, suggestive themes, talk of the female anatomy, mentions of f0replay, implied smut, slight deviance from the plot, slight OOC shadowheart, possible grammar/spelling errors, lightly proofread.

Synopsis: Shadowheart shows you a journal entry of the night after you taught her how to swim, showing her that perhaps you’d opened her eyes to more than just how to swim that night.

Words in bold are her writing. Enjoy! 🖤

It was a night like most on the road to Baldur’s Gate, one rested on the same old bedroll you’ve been using since it all started. Resting atop the dirt and cobble beside the dim light of the campfire’s hearth. It was just before you were bunking down for the night that you stopped by Shadowheart’s tent as you normally do.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” she spoke flirtatiously as you strode up to her, delighted smile on her face to match her tone. You could only smile the same in return, offering a slight giggle in response. “Say’s you, how are you faring?” You asked, genuinely wishing to know how she was feeling after such a long, and emotionally taxing day. “The same as everyone else I’m sure. Tired, anxious, ready to get this tadpole out of my head. Although, I will miss eavesdropping on your thoughts once it’s gone” she teased, making you chuckle. “Nothing a simple detect thoughts spell couldn’t cure, and with less…tentacles for side effects. Though bold of you to assume I wouldn’t just tell you” you replied in kind, making her hum with delight at your response. “True. Speaking of reading thoughts, I have something to show you, if you have a moment?” She asked, reminding you truly of just how far along she’s come and how close you have gotten for her to voluntarily tell you such a thing. “For you? Always” you replied, despite its cliche nature, making her laugh.

You followed her into her tent, ever curious of what she was wishing to show you. For a moment you’d thought she wanted you to link minds with her via the tadpole to show you a memory, but your questions were answered upon watching her pick up a book instead. Only then did your mind begin to form other questions, ones you knew would be answered soon. As she brought out the book, she also grabbed a carafe of wine and two glasses for you to share, a nightly ritual you both have begun to indulge in together as opposed to indulging apart. “Are you wanting to read me a bed time story?” You asked teasingly, but as you watched her sit down before you, you realized maybe you had been correct in that assumption. “Actually? Yes” she replied, patting the space next to her as a gesture for you to join. One you were quick to heed.

As you sat down next to her, she poured wine into the goblet next to you before pouring some into her own. “Fancy, are we starting a book club?” You asked, making her laugh. “While that doesn’t sound unpleasant, the wine is more for me to drown out my embarrassment” she replied, making you look to her as she handed you the book. Upon closer inspection it appeared to be a journal of sorts, and that’s when you put the pieces together. She was showing you her journal. Her personal journal. “I’ve carried this with me since nearly the very beginning of our journey together. I was told by someone once that journaling could help heal, allow you to look back on yourself and see how you’ve grown” she stated. “Well, one night I’m afraid I had too much wine and fancied myself a writer. I thought you might enjoy it” she finished, making you look back down to the leather cover that has certainly seen better days before it’s time spent with you all on the road. “Are you sure? It’s a personal thing, I can understand if you’d rather keep it to yourself” You asked. “As much as I would, I think this is simply too good not to share” she said playfully, making you giggle with her as you had a sip of your wine.

As you opened it, you marveled at her handwriting. It was elegant, the ink neatly applied to the pages without so much as a smudge and smelled faintly of wine, flowers and something a little deeper. Just like her. The first handful of pages were the typical journal entries, recounting the earlier days of your travel together. As you pressed further however, you stumbled upon a few pages of something different. Poetry. It was something you wouldn’t have guessed she’d have dabbled in, but her writings were delightful and well spoken nonetheless. “I didn’t think you to be a poet” you said playfully, turning to her as she sat next to you, reading the pages over your shoulder. “I didn’t either, you’re quite the inspiration” she said, making a heat rise to your cheeks in fluster at her compliment. “Keep going, it gets better” she said, making you turn through the pages in search for the one she seemed to be pointing you in the direction of. Page after page of poetry, attempted love letters, attempted notes, you’d finally stumbled across an entry that seemed to be the one she was trying to show you.

You looked to her before reading it, almost as if asking her permission only to earn a gentle “go on” in response. You saw the date of the entry, remembering it to be the night in which you shared in one another for the first time. The night you taught her how to swim.

How lovely she is. To think she was nothing but a stranger not that long ago, and to know now that she owns my whole heart, is truly the most unexpected gift. You read, your heart feeling warm in your chest as you read it, bringing a smile to your face. Now as I gaze upon her, watching as her frame sits beside the campfire, all I can think is how I love her. How the fire emits a golden glow against her skin, how it dances in her eyes that have had me transfixed. Her gaze which sends my heart to a frenzy. She makes even the smallest things seem so simple, so easy, reminding me that nothing is impossible. you continued to read, feeling your chest swell at the thought of her finding you so inspiring, that she looked up to you. That she trusted you. It was a gift you would never take for granted.

Today, she taught me how to swim. While the others were asleep, her and I snuck off down the coast a little to the water. I could still feel the cold, dark hands of the shadowfell all over me, could still hear the vile whispers of Shar in my ears. I’d felt unclean. She apologized to me as if it were her fault, as if she hadn’t brought me to the light. As if she hadn’t seen more within me and guided me to the much happier path I now lead. There was something I knew that would help that feeling go away, and I knew more than anything that I wanted to experience it with her. So as we made it to the beach, I sprung upon her a swimming lesson, telling her to strip of her clothes to join me. If I was to do this, I most certainly wasn’t going to be going in it alone. Yet I knew I needn’t fear, despite her shocked expression, she indeed joined me. Though I will admit, I rather enjoyed watching her undress before me, a detail I’m sure hadn’t gone unnoticed. you read, making you chuckle to yourself a little. “My, you have quite the way with words, how come you never tell me such things in person?” you said, making her flush a little as she read that last line with you. “Like I said, perhaps I was a glass too many in. Besides, what fun would it be if I told you all the time? Your ego would be far too big” she replied, making you both laugh. “Trust me, it gets better” she added, so of course you turned your attention back to the book.

I watched as she turned around, her hands grasping at the bottom of her shirt before pulling it over her head. I wished she hadn’t, getting to see her in all her glory is something I’ve spent a fortnight thinking about. However, in that moment, the saying “good things come to those who wait” spoke volumes. Soon I watched her glance at me over her shoulder with a flirtatious grin, one I could only return in kind before watching her bend down to strip herself of her pants and leathers. Gods she’s marvelous. Watching her hands run down her hips as she undressed herself left me almost jealous. How I craved to touch her in that moment, to run my hands along her frame, to watch as a blush would tint her cheeks at the closeness. It was then I knew that tonight was to be the night. You you continued to read, feeling a heat rise up your neck to your cheeks. You picked up your goblet and brought it to your lips for a sip, making a sound of intrigue at the passage you’d just read. “This is good” you said, earning a chuckle from her as she rested her chin against your shoulder, taking the occasional sip from her own glass.

It was as her eyes trailed my form, standing bare before her that I’d never felt so vulnerable. She gazed upon me like I once used to look upon every statue of Shar. With worship. It send tingles beneath my skin and gooseflesh along my body. I was vulnerable, but I wasn’t alone. I remember her telling me that I looked beautiful, almost seeming to take the words from my mouth that I wished to tell her. It’s certainly a moment I will never forget. The way her gaze fell on me caused a burning ache within me I fear I may never rid of. Nor do I want to.

She led me into the water, her hand gently enveloped in mine, helping me tread deeper and deeper into the depths of the water. It was cold, bitterly cold. The sort of cold that chills you to the bone, yet I’d felt so energized. I remember when my feet no longer touched the bottom, no longer feeling the sand beneath my feet. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. Just a moment prior I doubted I’d be able to even enter, but with her there with me, I knew I could do it. All she could do was watch and smile, as if silently cheering me on. Though I could sense there was more than that in her gaze. Before I could come up with something truly witty, she splashed me with the water, making me turn and laugh before I retaliated with the same. Taking it in stride, as she does with most everything it seems, she leaned back into the water, dipping her full body into it before rising back up, leaving me to sit and admire her.

Her hair was now damp, slicked back from her face as water cascaded down her neck to her chest, trailing between her bosom. Her nipples sat hard from the frigid temperature, a symptom I no doubt shared in. It made her all the more ethereal. It was then that I could no longer keep denying myself, if she would have me, I would have her. And have me she did. you continued, enjoying her recounting of your moment together.

I beckoned her closer, watching her swim to me to close the distance between us. Her hands came to rest against my hips beneath the water, and suddenly all fear was lost. She pulled me close, her eyes searching mine, waiting perhaps for me to make the next move. So I did. The feel of her plush, soft lips against mine will always be the perfect remedy. Suddenly the water wasn’t so cold anymore, perhaps it was the heat of her skin against mine, or the warmth rising within me from the contact. I’ll never be sure, but I knew then that I didn’t want the night to end. Not just yet anyway. She taught me that I could face anything on my own, that I could do it without Shar. In that moment my heart and soul felt truly free. No longer did I need to worry of Mother Superior and her demands, or of doing all the things that would appease her, I could instead focus on my own happiness, my own life.

I hadn’t imagined she would take me on the beach that night, or how enjoyable it would be. I’d read stories of lovers intertwining upon the sand as the sun would rise or set, but this was nothing like that. It was better. There was little fear of us being out in the open, we were far from our companions back at camp, and far enough away from town to be happened across. Despite the pebble beneath me, nothing stopped us from showing each other how we really feel. Her kisses lit my skin ablaze, feeling her bare skin against mine as she sat atop of me only made me want her even more. It was heaven the way she littered them down my neck, leaving my eyes to flutter shut as she made her way to my chest. There her hand toyed with one, as her lips indulged the other, her fingers pinching and rolling my sensitive bud as her tongue circled the other. How it had been so long since I’d been touched like that, how it had been so long since anyone stoked the embers brewing within my belly. With her they rose to flames, cascading through my veins like lava.

If her lips were soft and sweet, her tongue was most certainly the most sinful indulgence I’d ever partaken in. Her gaze fell upon me as she descended, her lips pressing sweet butterfly kisses along my skin as she moved, soon her tongue was dragging along my stomach before she was resting between my thighs. Her eyes looked up at me for permission, I’ll never forget the fire in her eyes. The look of being wholly and completely desired by someone. Nothing compares to that feeling. Nothing compares to her. Her heart, her mind, her bravery, her surprisingly…dexterous nature. As I bunk down tonight, I know I will dream of the way she held me, dream of the way her hands ghosted my body, how she brought me pleasure in ways I’d never been given before. Most of all, I’ll dream of the life we will have together after this adventure comes to an end, my only hope is that she shares that same dream. You finished reading, a smile resting on your lips as you turned to her. “You’re quite the romantic when you’re wine drunk” you quipped playfully. “You pest, I’m a romantic all the time” she joked in return, making you both laugh as you set the journal to the side. “That was lovely” you said turning to her, smiling as a slight blush creeped to her cheeks. “Do you really think so?” She asked timidly, almost as if she was shocked to hear it. “I do, your writing is quite elegant. You speak of our romance in the way poets and bards dream to encapsulate in their writings. Hells, I’d go as far to say you even put Gale’s verbosity to shame” you said, making her giggle again as she rested her head against your shoulder, both of you having well cleared through the entire carafe of wine by now.

“Tell me, did you dream of me that night?” You asked, making her grin as you grabbed her empty goblet from her hand and placed it to the side with your own. “Bold of you to assume, but yes, I did. You?” She asked, curiosity in her tone. “Every night. I often think back to that night, or to the night we shared after the tiefling party when we saved them. I think of you always because I share that same dream” you answered, grabbing her hand in yours with a delighted smile. “Good, because I don’t want this to end” she replied, looking to you as she said it, making you chuckle. “I’d never dream of it” you replied truthfully. “Best not, and that’s a threat, not a warning” she quipped in response, making you laugh before you pulled her in for a soft, sweet kiss. “Shall I prove it to you like I did that night?” You asked, making her grin into it. “I thought you’d never ask” she replied, her arms wrapping around you before she pulled you down with her as she fell to her back. Neither of you got even a wink of sleep that night, but it was well worth it.

[sugar--brown]

Difficult days

You know what we need? Fluff. Lots of fluff. Family fluff. With the mechs.

So, here's the story of how Dr Carmilla discovered that she can calm down Jonny by thowing a blanket over his head.

There were days of everything aboard their little spaceship: good ones, bad ones, calm ones, busy ones… It was a big change from their usual routine, Scuzz' and hers. It all started when she had met Jonny on New Texas. He was so… different. In no time, he had wormed himself in her heart. Even Scuzz had adopted him after a while. With him aboard, Carmilla’s life was never dull.

But that didn’t mean everything was perfect either. Jonny, even with his golden heart, had difficult days.

Difficult days were different from bad days. Bad days were when one of them was in pain or had problems. Usually, it was either her with her chronic pains or Jonny with his immortal crisis. And usually, Scuzz was the one making sure everything and everyone stayed as comfortable as possible.

Difficult days were when nothing was visibly wrong but one of them was upset nonetheless. There wasn’t much to do about it, just wait it out. Which was... not easy for Carmilla.

When it had been just Scuzz and her, Carmilla had theorized it could be some kind of cabin fever, but deeper and more complex since they were immortals spending most of their time in space so they were used to it. But she never found any proof of it so they were just dealing with it when it came.

All this to say: Jonny was having a difficult day. From the crack of dawn, Carmilla had heard him stomping around outside of their rooms. When she came out for breakfast, Jonny was slumped on the counter, a grumpy expression on his face. She said nothing, if he wanted to talk he would come to her. He hated when she was acting fussy over him.

But today was different, because Scuzz also seemed to have a difficult day. Their difficult days usually meant they would disappear somewhere cramped, dark, and inaccessible. Which meant they wouldn’t deal with Jonny.

They would probably say to let him be until he gets over it, like every time. But Carmilla hated to see her son so distressed…

Sadly, there was little she could do. At best, he would ignore her. At worst, he would become more upset, which was the opposite of what Carmilla.

But when the evening came, Jonny was even more agitated than this morning. He was sitting on the old couch, but was unable to stay still. His left leg was bouncing frenetically, he was biting at his fingers, and his furious gaze was darting around the room.

When he focused on Carmilla who was searching for the right melody on her ukulele's strings, he snapped.

“Can't you stop making those fucking annoying noises for five seconds?!”

Carmilla gaped at him, shocked.

“Jonny! Don't talk to your mother like that!”

“You are not my mom! You are not anything! Leave me the fuck alone!”

Annoyed, Carmilla put her ukulele on the side and walked to Jonny. She stood there, glaring at him, before gently forcing him to lay down with the tip of her cane.

“You, young man, need to calm down.”

He hissed with anger and hit the cane away. In a desperate, frustrated, and exasperated last attempt, Carmilla threw a blanket over him. It covered him completely, hiding his tension for at least a few seconds.

Jonny… froze. At first, Carmilla thought it was because of the surprise, and that would throw the blanket away the next instant. But he didn't.

No, instead, he literally melted under the weight of the soft quilt. His breathing slowed down, the tension in his shoulders disappeared, and he rolled on his side to curl up and try to completely hide under it.

Was it because it created a dark environnement? Because it muffled the sound? The weight maybe? Or the softness? Maybe a bit of all of them at once.

Carmilla watched, amazed, her little boy falling asleep, just like that. A smile crept across her face as she tucked him properly, careful not to disturb him.

From beneath the blanket, Jonny mumbled in a half-asleep tone.

“…you didn’t see that.”

“Oh, of course not.” she whispered, patting the top of the blanket where she guessed where his head was. “Goodnight, Jonny.”

And just like that, he drifted off, cocooned in the quiet comfort. Carmilla took a quick mental note, for next time.

[gracieeem]

Really just a memory?

💫

Emperor!Gojo Satoru x FEM!Reader

—Short little angst drabble!! Might turn into a oneshot later on><

WC//TW: 531 words, no warnings!!

Amidst the vast expanse, moonfall shone brightly against the inky skies of black—engulfing all presence of light—but painting supernova reminiscences like littered kisses against the tapestry of dark fields. Alike these references, emulating sets of sapphire and void-like irises stared into the other's eyesight with intent, as though maintaining a glaring peer that sent shivers up your spines. Your presence whose figure stood atop a balcony—expression joyful, features adorned with a bright beam, and eyes all soft—longed for the silverette fae who maintained a distance with you.

Walking back to the four-walls of the bedroom chamber, you briefed yourself for the upcoming embrace, when the warmth of your lover provided a soft caress against the raven tresses that adorned your head. Mumbling an incoherently subconscious thought, Satoru smiled softly upon himself before pressing a sweet kiss against your temple. Eyes sparkling, he peered down to his love's view—opting to capture the sweet expression plastered on your face.

"Will you count the stars for me?" Satoru spoke in a light manner, tone all soft and per word uttered was breathy. Swiftly, he turned the figure of yours to face the open balcony, where the beauty of the moon was showcased for all peering eyes to ravage on. Such pale quantity bloomed yellow almost abruptly, making yourself turn amongst your heel and back to your fae.

"Huh? How is that possible..?" As you uttered these words, Satoru could only shake his head before resting it against the very crevice of your bare shoulder.

"The day these stars are wiped from the face of the sky we so adore— our love goes with it. May we join millennia together even as stardust,"

"Why dwell on unbelievable such?" Muttering soft words, you peered sideways view—hoping to catch a glance of He, who stood beside. In the following events, Satoru could only embrace his sweetheart—a heavy sigh releasing itself from the cavity of his mouth trap.

"Those poetry writings you so love have taken effect on me," Satoru stopped for a small cackle, before continuing his sentencing. "My Callis.. I only wish to enjoy this fragment of my life with you. I despise how the gods have given your life many limitations, and destined so, when I've finally found my happiness."

Sucking in a quiet breath, you began fidgeting with your pointer digits. "Have— uhm..." you spoke, but briefly stopped with a shake to your head.

Providing comfort, the male lead ran his fingers through your tresses. "Have you.. ever regretted the decision of making me yours, knowing I was not so immortal like you?"

"How could I regret the sun of my life?" Satoru smiled to himself before pressing an oh so sweet kiss against your head. "Don't ever doubt yourself; you know that you're all I'll ever want," Just as feelings sparked from the simple wordings, the moon's gleam brightened amongst the cue.

Beneath the luminescence of the moon's peer, your figures were showcased as trapped in a tight embrace—as if serving a way to provide comfort knowing that forever would not be true—and happiness shall not be granted.

He might've been your whole life, but you were only a mere memory in his.

—Vintazia✭

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME.

Copying, Publishing, Copy Pasting, and Exploiting my work(s) are not allowed, and may not be published on other social media accounts nor on other social media platforms.

This work is made of pure fiction, so coinciding events are not on purpose.

All rights and credits of mentioned Jujutsu Kaisen character(s), music link(s), and used image(s), all belong to their original owners respectively.

Mwamwa!!! <3 <3 <3

[ashthewaterghoul]

Important To You, Important To Me – A Rulti One Shot

“Swiss.” poke, “Swiss.” poke, “Swiss.” poke, “Swiss.” poke, “Swiss.” poke, “Swiss.” poke, “Swi-“ “What the fuck do you want?” The Multi replied, voice deep and sleep-groggy. “Hi.” Rain said with a very adorable smile. “Hi? You woke me up at,” Swiss batted for his phone, nearly blinding himself with the brightness, “9:30am just to say hi?” “No. I woke you up because I want to go swimming.” Or, Some plotless fluffy Rulti bc why not?

Words: 2464

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Rain/Swiss

Tags: Fluff without plot, cuteness aggression, swimming, cuddles, Rain is a princess, The Swummy™️

CW for like a teeny bit of body insecurity talk towards the end but it's only a little and it's all good in the end.

~~~

    Breaks between legs of tours usually go without anything of any note happening. Copia’s pull as Papa also means that he grants his Ghouls time away from their regular jobs within the Ministry. Between rotting in bed and getting up for food, the Ghouls get time for their passions outside of their instruments.

    “Swiss.” Rain stage-whispered, “Swiss, you awake?”

    The Multi let out a comically timed snore that Rain couldn’t help but snigger at.

    “Swiss! Wake up, you lazy bastard!” Rain said at a regular volume. And when the Ghoul still showed no sign of waking, Rain resorted to drastic measures.

    “Swiss.” poke, “Swiss.” poke, “Swiss.” poke, “Swiss.” poke, “Swiss.” poke, “Swiss.” poke, “Swi-“

    “What the fuck do you want?” The Multi replied, voice deep and sleep-groggy.

    “Hi.” Rain said with a very adorable smile.

    “Hi? You woke me up at,” Swiss batted for his phone, nearly blinding himself with the brightness, “9:30am just to say hi?”

    “No. I woke you up because I want to go swimming.”

    “Swimming? Go get Phantom, or Cirrus, or someone. Why me?” Swiss asked, already trying to roll back over to go to sleep again.

    “Ugh.” Rain span around and flopped backwards on top of Swiss.

    “Oof, fuck. Get off me.” Swiss wheezed.

    “Fine.” Rain said but instead of getting off, he spun around so he was lying on top of Swiss, his chin on the Multi’s chest.

    “Why did you have to wake me up?” Swiss asked again.

    “Because everyone else is asleep.” Rain pouted.

    “So, you chose to interrupt my beauty sleep?”

    “You don’t need it, you’re gorgeous.” Rain said with a kiss to Swiss’s chest, “And we haven’t been swimming together in ages.”

Read on below the cut or on ao3

    “What do I get out of this?” Swiss asked, habitually running his hand along the Water Ghoul’s back.

    “You get to spend time with me, of course, your favourite little fish freak.” Rain smiled, sitting up so he was straddling Swiss’ stomach.

    “Please, don’t do that, I need a piss.” Swiss said, moving Rain off him and running into his bathroom.

    “And I need someone to go to the lake with.” Rain shouted after him.

    “You’re a Water Ghoul, you go by yourself plenty.”

    “Yeah, but it gets boring. I like spending time with you all but none of you ever want to go with me.” Rain was pouting properly now.

    Swiss came out of the bathroom and couldn’t stop his heart melting at the sight of a moody-Rain.

    “Fine, I’ll come with you.” Swiss said.

    “Well don’t sound too excited.” Rain mumbled.

    “Hey, come on.” Swiss said, “I want to come with you, I just didn’t appreciate the rude awakening.”

    “Okay.” Rain said with a small smile.

    “Seriously,” Swiss kneeled on the floor in front of Rain and rubbed a hand up and down each arm. “it’s important to you, so it’s important to me.”

    “Really?” Rain asked.

    “I mean it. I do love you, my little fish freak.” Swiss said.

    Rain laughed at the stupid nickname and wrapped his arms around Swiss’ neck in a tight hug.

    “Sorry about waking you.”

    “No, you’re not.”

    Rain smiled, “No, I’m not.”

    In no time they were both down by the lake, towels laid on the grass ready for when they got out, and both Ghouls were in their swim trunks. If they had it their own way, they wouldn’t have them, (Rain for his connection to water, Swiss because it’s Swiss) but neither really felt like encouraging the disciplines of the Clergy when their time off had been so peaceful.

    The weather was perfect, most of the reason why Rain absolutely had to go swimming now and not a moment later. It was warm enough that the swim would be lovely but not too warm that they’d cook in the water, and the sun was out with the sky painted in a lovely spatter of clouds.

    Rain dived into the water with all the grace and elegance you’d expect of a Water Ghoul, barely leaving a splash behind him. Swiss however, wasn’t as attuned to his Water affinity…

    “CANONBALL!” He proclaimed, but Rain had the mind to stay far below the surface of the water, knowing his Multi all too well.

    Rain had always been a deep sea Ghoul. It had taken him a while to adjust to life on land after being summoned, but he still adored the water and still held the lung capacity to reach very far down. His gills fluttered as he pushed himself deeper, and when he reached the bottom, he kept himself there by driving his tail into the bed. He could see Swiss watching him from above, so Rain blew him a kiss and made the bubbles it produced form into a heart as it floated up. It was absolutely cheesy, but neither particularly cared.

    Rain stayed far down, making the plants dance and he became well acquainted with the marine life currently calling this place home. He also liked to make sure none of what was living here were any invasive species, as well as helping any fishy-friends that might be hurt. He was happy to report that nothing was amiss today.

    He was also happy to see Swiss lying flat on his back on the surface. His tail floating around without a care in the world. So, Rain decided the early awakening wasn’t quite enough chaos for his taste.

     He sent a current up to Swiss’ tail and yanked him back down with it, pulling him further and further down until he was right at the bottom with Rain.

    Swiss was patting his chest and neck, trying to tell Rain he couldn’t breathe and swimming back up, but Rain narrowed his eyes. He pulled himself towards Swiss and placed his mouth on his. Using his gills, Rain poured breath into Swiss, and Swiss drank it down. At the slightly less panicked appearance of the Multi, Rain grabbed his hand, pulled his tail up from the lake bed and swam.

    Swimming with a Water Ghoul was different as they could zip around the current with the tiniest kick-off. Their bodies were built for their element, hydrodynamic in every way you could think. Their forearms wider to act as fins, as well as their thicker tails. They obviously had their gills on their neck and ribs, as well as webbing between their fingers and toes. Rain’s eyes were a calming teal and his hair an inky-blue-black to blend in with the depths of water he was used to.

    Swiss found himself struggling to hold on as Rain yanked him around. They seemed to switch directions five-times-a-second and the speed they were going at was mad. This is why Swiss much preferred to watch when it got to this part of Rain’s swims. Not only was this definitely not his cup of tea, but he knew Rain was leaving some hypnotising patterns of ripples behind him that he loved to watch and even photograph at times.

    Rain thankfully slowed down after a while, and let Swiss go. But the Multi knew Rain had one more thing he wanted to do. He wasn’t letting Swiss go for a curtesy as much as it was a necessity. After Swiss was well out of the literal splash zone, Rain dipped back under the water and again went as far down as he could. This time, instead of staying there, he kicked off the bottom and shot back up.

    In a manner not dissimilar to a dolphin at a marine park, Rain broke the surface of the water in arch, curving back on himself and diving back under in a flip you’d expect to see on a calendar, framing the sun behind him.

    Swiss absolutely adored when Rain would do that. Not only did it look spectacular, but the smile on the Water Ghoul’s face made it all worth getting up early for.

    He whooped and cheered as Rain went back under. And patiently waited to see if he was going to do it again or not. When Rain did pop back up, it was just his eyes and sea-glass horns that Swiss could see above the surface.

    “There’s my little alligator.” Swiss smiled, tugging on Rain’s arms and bringing him closer. Rain wiggled so he was essentially sat on Swiss’ lap in the water, their legs and tails tangling beneath them. Rain flashed that adorable smile and held up a blue topaz.

    “For you.” Rain said, “You can add it to your dreads.”

    Swiss’ dreadlocs were adorned with many trinkets. Some were random things he’d found over the years and others were gift from his mates. On a pack movie night not too long after everyone had been summoned, many a comparison was made to Captain Jack Sparrow and his own decorated locs.

    Swiss smiled his widest grin, “Thank you, Rainy. I love it.”

    He took the topaz and wrapped both arms around Rain, drawing him in for a deep kiss that only got deeper as Rain nipped on Swiss’ bottom lip, silently asking for entry which Swiss, of course, granted. Their forked tongues remapped the well-known topography of each other’s mouths and when they did finally break apart, they started laughing like a couple of awkward teenagers.

    It amazed them both that, despite being centuries old, they could make each other’s souls feel even younger than their vessels were.

    They were both content to just float around for a while, Swiss on his back and Rain on his chest like they were two otters. Rain may have fell asleep at one point, with the gentle lapping of the current and Swiss’ heartbeat making for a good lullaby, what he did know was that after a while, Swiss nudged him into alertness in a much kinder way than he had that morning.

    “Glamour on. Siblings are coming.” Swiss said, and Rain huffed as he hid his Ghoulish features away.

    Yes, it was the perfect weather for swimming. Which meant that Siblings not working or in classes also wanted to swim. Rain had half a mind to dig deep down into his soul, rip through his vessel completely and show his true infernal form, one that humans would only describe as a sea monster. Then they would all stay away and the lake would be his and his alone. But he quite liked this vessel and didn’t want to piss off the Clergy. Not today at least.

    The Siblings were always just in the way for whatever Rain wanted out of his swims so he groaned as he rolled off Swiss’ chest and called his powers so the water would gently swell and place them both on the ground. There were no rules against that after all.

    After Rain and Swiss were out, and had their towels, they made their way back inside and back to Swiss’ room.

    “I’m going to shower the lake off me, wanna join?” Swiss asked, placing the topaz safely on his nightstand, just for until he could make a wire cage for it to take residence in his hair.

    “Why would you ever want to shower the lake off you?” Rain said.

    “Because we’re not all Water Ghouls, Tadpole. It’ll stink up my nest.” Swiss laughed.

    “Hey! You always say my scent is the lake.” Rain narrowed his eyes again.

    “Yeah, but that’s different. Anyway, you joining me, or not?” Swiss asked, undressing as he did.

    “More time with you in water. How could I say no?”

    And so the two showered together, helping each other clean and dry off. Rain pilfered through Swiss’ clothes and stole a hoodie and sweatpants he had absolutely no intention of giving back. And Swiss was wearing similar outfit but had a t-shirt on.

    “Wanna watch a movie?” Swiss asked, sitting back on his nest.

    “Yeah, sure. You choose.” Rain said, making sure their still-wet trunks and towels were in the bathroom to make sure no dampness seeped into the old wooden floorboards of the main bedroom.

    Rain could hear the opening score of some sort of superhero movie, but Rain couldn’t focus on which one because Swiss had sat himself up against the headboard, his legs out in front of him, and one arm was back behind him, lightly tracing the carvings in the bedframe. But by putting his arm back, he had let his t-shirt ride up enough so that Rain could clearly see something he loved.

    Swiss’ tummy.

    He wasn’t quite sure when it happened, but Swiss had gained a gorgeous roll of pudge. It looked sexy as hell to Rain, and it felt even better.

    Immediately, Rain snuggled down against Swiss with his head on his stomach. His lanky arms wrapped around his waist and Rain started nuzzling into the Multi’s tummy and natural heat in one go.

    He was instantly comfortable, but it still wasn’t enough. So he nuzzled more, using the tip of his horn to get the t-shirt even more out of the way so he could have more space. Swiss’ happy trail was tickling Rain’s nose and he nuzzled into that too. Above him, Swiss chuckled. He knew none of it was sexual and Rain was happy so he left him to it.

    That was until Rain switched tactics. Just nuzzling wasn’t enough, and Swiss had the audacity not to let Rain crawl into his skin and fuse himself to Swiss’ stomach. So, Rain shifted positions slightly, found a particular spot of skin, and bit down.

    “Satanas!” Swiss said, jolting mostly from shock as Rain wasn’t anywhere near biting hard enough to break the skin or cause any damage, “Warn a Ghoul, fuck.” He laughed.

    “Sorry. I just had to.” Rain said with that adorable smile again, “Love it so much. So comfy and pretty and nice.”

    Rain’s jaws locked around the skin again as Swiss smiled. He didn’t quite know what to make of the weight gain when he first noticed it. He’d never considered himself very conscious of his body, but he couldn’t help how much he’d thought about it. It was Rain and Phantom who helped him see the beauty in it, and Aether had mentioned how it was a good thing. Ghouls and their vessels were a complicated science, but the weight gain signalled that Swiss’ soul was taking to the vessel even more, and that was only a good thing. The body would be fuelled even more by infernal magic, and Swiss would have even longer on the surface.

    He couldn’t help but love it after that. Especially if it meant Rain got to be as happy as he was now, alternating between kneading along his tummy, nuzzling into it, and harmlessly biting it. It was important to Rain, so it was important to Swiss.

One shot master post can be found here!

[nomelwelloy]

Child takes a miscalculated step back and he tumbles down the stairs; this the end, he thinks, imagining his body folding against the steps, his head collapsing in when he hits the landing-

-but Zhongli catches him, solid arms secured around his body, his golden gaze bearing down upon Childe. They are bright with relief and a hint of amusement.

Childe takes a small gasp, the breath knocked out of his lungs. Fallen right into the hands of a god, he thinks, his face growing red.

Childe thinks he’s really gone to heaven now, when Zhongli curls his fingers into his hair, righting him by his waist as he pulls him closer for a slow, sweet kiss, his hand never stopping their soothing ministrations. Childe melts, letting go as he irresistibly sinks into the embrace. The thought of almost breaking his neck just moments ago is swiftly forgotten.

"Careful, my love," Zhongli’s tone mirrors the glint in his eyes. "Watch where you step,"

Childe nods, unable to comprehend anything. The cliche, his clumsiness- it makes him blush once more. "Thanks," he mumbles, his legs still feeling a little too weak to support his weight, and he lets Zhongli help him to the nearest chair.

[a-dose-of-comatose]

Golden Hour

(GuitarSpear/GuardRock Aftercare One Shot)

Gift for @deadgirlwalking91 ❤️

Ao3 Link Here

Adam takes the time to appreciate the beauty of Lute's afterglow.

(NSFW Followed by Tooth-Rotting levels of Fluff)

Lute threw her head back into Adam’s chest, eyes rolled back in pure bliss as the pressure of his fingers along her clit grew deeper. The way her hips bucked into his touch with need as she squirmed and struggled to moan through the hand gripping her throat would have sent him over the edge had he not already finished.

Tears trailed down her face as Adam’s grip tightened around her neck ever so slightly. He was so much bigger. So much stronger . The fact that Lute trusted him with her entire being during these intimate and vulnerable moments meant everything to him. The way no one else got to see this submissive side of the stoic Lieutenant of the Exorcists was something he would never take for granted.

Lute was gorgeous every moment. From when her eyes fluttered open in the morning to when she was in the deepest stages of sleep overnight. Sunlight radiated from her when golden blush lit up her cheeks, and she glowed like the moon when she was vicious and cold.

She was even prettier when her jaw dropped open with a strangled gasp as she clenched around his fingers, finding her release.

Adam had known supposed perfection from the moment he opened his eyes, watched as it was taken away through another’s mistake, and managed to find it once more in the company of his lieutenant. 

He quickly moved his hands to her waist, flipping her from her back and onto her stomach. She gasped for air between small sobs as she nuzzled into his chest, nails desperately digging into his shoulders like she would lose him forever if she let go. 

“Hey, Lute,” he whispered, bringing a hand up to rub small circles into her back. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The sound of her erratic breathing filled the air surrounding them. He lifted his other hand to her face, and tucked back the sweat soaked locks, slowing his own breathing down and lifting her body with his movements as a silent reminder to her of the pace to aim for.

It worked, and little by little her breath resumed a normal rhythm. “You feeling better?” he finally asked.

She offered a slow nod, peering up through tear soaked lashes to meet his gaze.

Of course, Lute was breathtaking every moment, but nothing compared to her afterglow.

Her golden eyes shone a million times brighter through the watery filter of her tears. Her parted lips were swollen from pressing them against his, and small dribbles of drool gathered around the corners. Her stark white hair looked so different when it was messy from the fingers that ran through and tugged on it - from the sweat that stuck it down to her skin.

Her skin was his favorite. Her usual porcelain complexion surpassed Heaven’s most beautiful sunsets when she was flushed with golden blood. 

Her chest, cheeks, breasts, ass, and cunt were all ablaze with the physical evidence of their evening together. It was more breathtaking than the hand he had wrapped around her throat.

She pulled the air from his lungs with nothing but her beauty.

“Good.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Because you did so well, Lute,” he praised, “you are so fucking beautiful.”

His fingers crawled along her back to the base of her wings, where without even seeing them, he could feel the disheveled feathers from when she writhed against him with need - not caring about the mess she left in the slightest.

She only wanted him.

He only wanted her.

He smoothed her feathers back down with gentle strokes. “Was it good?” he questioned.

“Yeah.” She exhaled deeply, craning her neck to place a kiss along his jaw before collapsing back onto his shoulder. 

“Tell me what you need, Lute. I can go run a bath real quick-”

“No bath.” She shook her head slightly. “I just want to stay with you.”

Poor thing was drained.

“‘Course.” Adam nodded, giving her a lingering hug. “Can I at least grab some stuff to come clean you up with?”

She responded by shifting her body off of his, landing with her back on the mattress. “Hurry back?”

“Lute,” he grinned, slowly scooting himself off the edge of the bed. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” 

It was Adam’s personal golden hour. The one where Lute’s afterglow lit up every inch of her skin, and she let down her walls completely, allowing the two of them to exist in their own personal Heaven. 

Getting to take care of his lieutenant afterwards was one of the best parts of sex for Adam. 

So, he spent the extra moment to find Lute’s favorite throw blanket from wherever they had left it last, found her a clean set of his boxers and a shirt to sleep in, and finally grabbed two wet rags from the bathroom before returning to their bedroom.

Lute’s eyes lit up as Adam took his place beside her, gently dabbing the cool cloth across her forehead, relieving some of her lingering heat and clearing away the residual sweat drops.

“Hey, beautiful.” His free hand came to trail up and down her ribs, sending goosebumps coursing through her body. “Still doing okay?”

She was beyond blissed out. Eyelids still heavy, her motions ever so slightly delayed as they ran through the filter of her lust.  

She nodded as he folded the cloth and placed it on the back of her neck. “Better with you.”

He placed a kiss on the tip of her nose before turning his attention back to cleaning her up, being extra careful to not use too much pressure on the overstimulated parts of her body that he had already spent a considerable amount of time focusing on that day.

Spots like the trail of hickeys that mapped out from her jaw, down her neck, and along the ridge of her hips. Beautiful marks that ranged from the lightest dustings of peach through deep honey and saffron. Marks that held a brief, but undeniable, tangible proof of their love - of their commitment to each other.

He had never found more serenity than in the sunset colors splotched over her chest. Trails from scratching fingernails, indents from the playful nibbles that went deeper as things ramped up.

And he’d never forget the luster of the bruises on her hip bones, from where his fingers held her tight as they rocked against one and other. 

She lay there, arm draped over her face as she floated down from her high, right into his waiting arms. “Was it okay?” she finally mumbled.

“You-” he stopped to meet her eyes “-were fucking perfect ,” he praised, gentle pulling back her arm to see her flushed cheeks. “You are perfect.”

He turned to grab the extra clothes from his nightstand, and reached a hand to the back of her neck, helping her to sit up. 

“You are breathtaking.” 

He tugged the shirt over her head, and helped to guide her wings through. 

“You are radiant.”

She laid back down, and he threw the fluffy blanket over her. 

“You shine brighter than every star in the sky.”

Her blush grew a million times brighter as she chuckled softly, blowing a raspberry. “You stop.”

“Never.” He smiled back bigger, climbing out from the bed. 

She pouted, “Where are you going?”

He reached for one of the instruments hanging from his wall. “Nowhere far,” he reassured, plopping down back next to her. He gently plucked the strings and turned the tuning knobs. 

“You did not-”

“I did.” He smirked down at her. It wasn’t often that he pulled out his lute, but the moment felt right.

She laughed and snuggled back down into the bed as he began to gently play a song from Earth, one that despite never stepping foot in Heaven, he swore the artist had to have met an angel. There was no explanation for the vivid descriptions of a golden glow otherwise.

“It was just two lovers Sittin' in the car, listening to Blonde Fallin' for each other.”

Lute’s hand inched along to rest on his thigh.

“Pink and orange skies, feelin' super childish No Donald Glover Missed call from my mother Like, 'Where you at tonight?' Got no alibi”

Her fingertips traced lazy circles into his skin, and he leaned into her touch.

“I was all alone with the love of my life She's got glitter for skin, my radiant beam in the night. I don't need no light to see you shine. It's your golden hour, you slow down time in your golden hour.”

She let out a sleepy yawn, as her free hand came to rub her eyes. 

“We were just two lovers Feet up on the dash, drivin' nowhere fast Burnin' through the summer Radio on blast, make the moment last She got solar power Minutes feel like hours She knew she was the baddest, can you even imagine Fallin' like I did?”

Lute nuzzled into his leg and pulled the blanket up to her chin - a tell tale sign she wasn’t going to be awake for much longer.

“For the love of my life She's got glow on her face, a glorious look in her eyes. My angel of light.”

Her breathing settled into gentle snores as he finished the last chorus of the song.

“I don’t need no light to see you shine, It's your golden hour, you slow down time in your golden hour.”

With a content exhale he leaned over the bed and placed the lute against his nightstand before creeping down under the covers. 

Lute’s sleeping body shifted to wrap an arm around his waist, which he returned by leaning his head onto hers.

He placed one more kiss along the top of her head, and whispered, “All the sunsets in the world could never compare to you.”

[pink-alien-queen]

I'm sick so I made Husk be sick. That's it.

This is just fluff pretending to be a plot.

Summary: Husk has a cold but he still stays up to wait for Angel. Angel takes care of his tired and sick boyfriend after coming home. He has a lot of thoughts and feelings about it all. Fat Nuggets is there for support.

[deantfwinchester]

Hands

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader as usual (let's just assume these No-Outbreak Joels are all the same couple tbh), established relationship

Summary: Friday nights are reserved for sweatpants and relaxation, of course. But when Joel's work week leaves his hands a bit worse for wear, the night may need to include a break for a little extra attention.

Warnings: extreme fluff once again. expect it at this point. i'm a one-trick pony, i fear.

A/N: finally got around to putting one of my many bulleted notes-app idea fics into paragraph form again! Will we get another one before the year's out? It's anyone's guess! -_-

——————

Friday nights are your favorites. No dinner to cook or rattling rolodex of tasks to come in the next twelve hours give you both a little room to breathe — to gently unwind from yourselves and into one another. It’s typically quiet, and when it isn’t, the volume is born of laughter from games or stories the three of you share.

Joel comes home from an exceptionally long week. You know he’s been on site every day—the whole team has—working longer and longer hours to wrap up the latest project before the client’s deadline. You’re pleased to hear his keys rattle in the door not long after five o’clock, and relieved because the air’s rapidly cooling earlier each night. Daylight Savings time is coming to an end, and today he barely beat the sunset getting home. 

You know the hour means little, however, and are less than astonished at the weary grin he bears on catching sight of you and Sarah on the couch when he walks in the room. She’s already got her purse on her shoulder, eager to head out when her friends arrive, and she’s excitedly recounting the events of the trailer for the movie they’ll be catching tonight. He stands idly in the doorway for a moment, just listening to the two of you chat. You make brief eye contact and smile back, assuring you know he’s there. Neither of you wants to interrupt her avid storytelling.  

“Well don’t you sound excited?” he says when she pauses to catch her breath. You both turn to greet him, and he moves more quickly toward you as you attempt to rise, gesturing to you to remain seated. He’ll come to you both.

He plants a kiss on top of Sarah’s head before leaning down to kiss you as he does each night. You place a hand on his chest and pause when he pulls back to get a good look at his face. You see the fatigue in his droopy-eyed smile, but can’t say anything to him. You already know it’s mirrored in your own expression.

The doorbell rings before either of you can speak again, and Sarah jumps up to head out the door. You wish her a good night, and he follows her to the door, checking for a familiar parent in the driver’s seat and seeing her off. You see him hand her some cash to go with his reminder to make good decisions, and he hugs her. You can’t help but giggle when she takes it with a wide smile.

He turns to you laughing when he sees she’s in the car, and shuts the door.

“What?” he asks, brow furrowed in confusion, but amused at the sound of your laughter.

“Smart girl. I gave her a 20 before you got home,” you grin back at him. He stills in understanding and rolls his eyes. 

“You couldn’t tell me that two minutes ago?” he asks you in mock exasperation.

“But it’s so much funnier this way!” you add, giggling again. You both know he’s wrapped completely around her finger, though she so innocently does not. It’s one of the first things you noticed about him. One of the first reasons you fell in love. 

He shakes his head fondly, and places a hand on his stomach, which begins to grumble softly at him. You raise your eyebrows and meet his gaze. “Any thoughts on dinner?” he asks, and you grin back at him in amusement.

“Handled. Pizza’s already on the way,” you respond and he feigns relief. 

“You’re brilliant.” he says, walking up and grabbing your hand on the back of the couch. You run your thumb in little circles on the back of his hand and give it a light squeeze.

“Duh. Now go get changed! It’s do-nothing time starting now,” you respond, patting the top of his hand in encouragement.

“You read my mind,” he says, leaning down for another quick peck before heading off into the bedroom to change out of his work clothes. Naturally, you’ve been in sweats for over an hour now, shedding your own outfit immediately, peeling the school day from your skin. The unspoken uniform for these Friday nights is extremely specific.

The pizza arrives before Joel can even return from the bedroom in a feat of incredible timing. You’re gathering plates and filling glasses with ice when he emerges ready for the night. He moves forward to help you grab the dinner, but you shoo him away to the couch. 

“Nope, I got this. You sit,” you say, lightly shoving his chest away. You leave no room for argument. He grumbles a bit and raises his hands, backing away to the living room. You follow behind him with the pizza and plates, and return once more for the drinks before settling next to him on the couch. He sits on one end, and you sit in the middle, leaving little room between you.

You lean forward, putting pizza on one plate you pass to Joel before grabbing your own, then settle back against the cushion, both sinking in so comfortably a nearly audible sigh fills the room. The comfort in this relief is palpable, and the decompressing can begin. You grab the remote and put on the series you’ve been binging together recently, more for background noise than anything else. 

A few slices and sitcom episodes deep, you’ve set your plates down on the coffee table. With your bellies comfortably full, you’ve somehow slumped deeper, though Joel into the couch and you into his side. His arm is draped over the back of the couch behind you, and you’re nearly laying on him, head propped against his shoulder. 

You hold his free hand in both of yours and absently play with his fingers for a second when you notice the aggressive wear this week has lent his hands. They’re a raw, angry red at the knuckles; his nails are cracked in some places and peeling in others. Moving your fingers gently down toward his wrist, you focus more directly on the state of his, catching sight of a few hangnails and stretched cuticles that can’t be comfortable. He looks down as you begin to worry them beneath the soft pads of your own fingers, and you meet his gaze, brows furrowed as you look between his face and hands. 

“Keep doing that, please,” he says with a sigh before closing his eyes, “I wait all day to feel your hands on mine. They’re so soft.” He lifts your hand to his lips before pressing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. He loves the delicate, reverent way you play with his hands, like they’re small, fragile things in need of tender attention. You take his hand once again into both of yours and gently rub it between them, looking back up at him, concerned. 

“How do yours feel? They look like they’re hurting you,” you gnaw a bit at your bottom lip in thought, and he tries to assuage your worry.

“I’m alright, darlin’. Nothing worse than I’m used to,” he says. He knows from your deepening frown that you’re less than satisfied with this response.

You couldn’t care less if he’s used to it, he shouldn’t be. You know the protective callouses forged there don’t mean those hands are unfeeling in the slightest.

“Wait there. I’ll be right back,” you say, rising from his side and hastening to the bedroom. It’s his turn to frown now, both in confusion and at the sudden draft that’s appeared at his side.

You return not a minute later with a small tote around your wrist, and hands filled with half the manicure items you own. You sit down next to him and unpack, laying clippers, files, cuticle oil, and two different hand creams — a lotion he’s seen you use regularly, and a jar that must be a new addition — on the coffee table in front of you, along with the selected polishes and remover you had in the tote bag. You’ve been meaning to do your nails, anyway. 

Joel looks incredulously at you, unsure where this is going. Not that he’s a stranger to nail polish — he raised a little girl on his own long enough to have worn the rainbow on his fingers, but tonight? 

“Sorry, no color for you today, honey. Certainly not before these are healed,” you say. He’d chip half your handiwork away by Monday afternoon anyway the way he’s been working lately. Facing him, you cross your legs on the couch and smile, holding your hand out expectantly for his. He raises his eyebrows at you, but places his palm gently in your own. 

You grab the clippers and get to work on the hangnails first. Any peeling skin or cuticle right there at the nail you clip as gently as possible, making note of the reddened and slightly swollen areas at the base of his nail from which they protrude. Those will need careful attention at the end. He doesn’t squirm or react in any way, but you know they’re more sensitive than he’s letting on. 

Next, you clip back any breakages and unevenness in the nails themselves. You’d never find Joel Miller with dirty hands — he gets them clean as soon as he gets home, but all the scrubbing it takes to keep them that way takes its toll. A little trim at their length might help reduce the need for so much each day upon his return. 

After clipping, you grab his first hand again and rest it gently in the palm of your left while your right files steadily to even any rough edges left behind and prevent further injury. It won’t take much, but you’re sure to get them smooth so they won’t catch on anything or bother him later on. 

The cuticle oil is next. He looks at it questioningly, clearly a bit skeptical, only having seen it a few times when you or Sarah used it. He’s never ventured so far himself. While you brush it gently onto each of his nails, you explain its purpose. 

“This’ll just help your nails get a little stronger. It’ll get them hydrated a bit, keep ‘em  from peeling so much when your hands get dry. It’s kinda crazy how much better this stuff is for your nails than even water is. Water’ll make the peeling worse, actually. Weird, huh?”

He just nods along, listening to you, content to learn something new as always. Finger by finger, you massage the oil into his nail and nail bed. After the first round you go back through to massage again, both to make sure no oily feeling is left behind, and to prolong the rapidly concluding process. He could use the attention, anyway.

Finally, you pick up the jar he identified as a new addition: a canister of a hand repair cream labeled for “Healing of dry or cracked skin.”

“Never seen that one before,” he says, reading the label, “What d’ya need this for? Your hands are never dry! I think they’ve been soft every time I’ve held 'em since the day I met ya,” he smiles at you, and you bashfully brush off the compliment. 

“I don’t need it. I use the other one,” you say with finality, opening the jar and pulling the first of his hands into yours. You don’t grab a large dollop of the stuff. You don’t want him to feel a disconcerting weight, grease, or stickiness from this unfamiliar formula, so you get a little and begin. You add a bit more each time you reach a new spot on his knuckles, palms, wrists. 

You take your time, gently massaging into those roughened, tender hands far more than a simple healing salve. He understands why you have the jar now, looking at you knowingly, and you smile back. No words need be exchanged.

Once you’ve finished the last finger and the last stroke on his hands, you squeeze the one in your own, then pat it gently with your other, “There. Gotta feel better now, yeah?”

Joel stares at you like he just watched you reach up and place the moon in the sky, if for no reason other than to light his path. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Thank you sweetheart,” he says, squeezing your hand back and smiling reverently at you. You blush beneath his gaze and look away, unsure what to do with the admiration rolling off of him in waves. You lean back against the couch, file in hand as you start going at your own nails. 

“Good. Don’t let 'em go that long again, either. Where they start hurtin’ ya? Maybe we oughta make this a weekly thing. Manicure night? Been needing someone to do my right hand,” you grin, wiggling the corresponding fingers at him. He smiles back at you, then reaches over and pulls you toward his side, back to your original position laying against him, head resting once again on his shoulder.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says fondly into your hair, planting a kiss to your head in the process. You get comfortable once more, foregoing any plans to do your own nails tonight. You both know those “manicure nights” will be for him — and you’ve got Sarah to do your right hand already, when you do hers.

You grab the same free hand once again and admire your work, then lace your fingers between his own, and rest your twined hands on his leg. You’re satisfied knowing the hand behind you on the couch is comfortable now, healing from the week’s toils and melting into the comforting haze of the early autumn evening.

[starry-nights12]

Kinda obsessed with Jinx washing Ekko's hair??? Especially after days of not showering since his last dumpster dive(@oreo-oro-orero)

She massages his scalp and learns how to retwist his locs from him. She drys his hair, then carefully shaves his sides to freshen up his fade.

She made him loc jewelry for his hair and adds them as finishing touches. She inhales his hair deeply then releases a satisfied sigh.

"All done, Little man!" she hands him a hand-held mirror. He looks himself over and admires his reflection.

"I love it," he turns to her and smiles broadly. "Thanks, beautiful." He kissed her cheek and then she giggles happily.

[chubbyreaderchan]

you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter | Billy Hargrove x Reader

Warning: I write with a plus-sized reader in mind. Female reader. AU where Billy gets to be happy, no real plot, might need to actually come back to this but idk, I didn’t edit, and I was in my feelings for it. 

--

“What the fuck did I ever do to deserve this?” Billy asked.

His arms wrapped around her middle her head resting against his shoulder. He was dumb and a complete dickhead, he never saw what she had seen in him.  

“I say, "Can you believe it?" As we're lyin' on the couch”

“Everything,” she said softly. Her fingers danced over his hand, tracing each part of the worked flesh.

He was peaceful there, watching yet not quite paying attention to the news on the TV. It had been two years since they ran away from Hawkins, sure it was still in Indiana. But it was freedom.

Freedom from his father. Freedom from hers. No need to run and hide or sneak into bedroom windows to be with her. He just has to come home and call her name, though there were some fond memories.

A lot of firsts happened with her in his bedroom in his dad’s house. She was the first girl he’d let leave shit in his room and not immediately throw it in the trash.

“Flash forward, and we're takin' on the world together And there's a drawer of my things at your place”

“It wasn’t like you didn’t fight for me,” she teased.

Billy swallowed.

“We’re still fighting, sweetheart,” Billy replied.

“I know, I’m trying to get a manager position at the restaurant,”

Billy grunted, annoyed. He hated that she worked, sure, feminism or whatever, but he didn’t want her working. He lived for the idea of her staying at home, taking care of the house and kids or maybe some dogs. But he wasn’t done with his mechanic apprenticeship. It would be a minute before he was making good enough money for that. The thought of her taking on more hours stressed him out. He leaned forward, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and his lighter from the table. He lit the stick and took a puff blowing the smoke away from his girl.

“And we got bills to pay We got nothin' figured out”

Billy wrapped his free arm around her tighter, looking at her pretty face. She met his sleepy blue-eyed stare.

“I hate that shit,” he grumbled.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’d have dinner ready—”

“That’s not what I mean. I don’t like you working at all period,”

He flicked ash into the stolen hotel ash tray. Billy took a deep breath like she had shown him, he didn’t want to get pissed over something he couldn’t change immediately. They didn’t need to have a fight.

“Do you remember, we were sittin' there, by the water? You put your arm around me, for the first time You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter”

She leaned up and pressed a kiss into his soft lips, he kissed her back hand heavy on her spine pushing into the fiery kiss. His hands creeped up her belly in a comforting manner. He only pulled away for a breath of air, gently running his thumb on her shoulder.

“I still don’t get why you stay with me,” she said softly.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“And I remember that fight, two-thirty am 'Cause everything was slipping right out of our hands I ran out, crying, and you followed me out into the street Braced myself for the goodbye, 'Cause that's all I've ever known Then, you took me by surprise

“I’d never leave you alone,”

He pressed a kiss against her head.

[sparrowsworkshop]

"Alighting the Darkness" by OneWingedSparrow for @dubiiousfood

This is my Loftwing Letter for @dubiiousfood, for the event hosted by @zelinkcommunity ! I hope you like this TP Zelink fluff! <3 Main Tags: Twilight Princess, Post-Canon, Married Zelink, Fluff without Plot Summary: Following the events of the Twilight, Zelda comes to realize how Link places light wherever she needs it. Read on AO3 Reblogs are appreciated! ~ The populace of Hyrule could perhaps say that they knew a “time before Twilight, and the two times thereafter.” Though most Hyruleans had been unknowingly turned to spirits during the curse over the kingdom, and, were therefore oblivious to the atrocities committed by the Usurper King Zant, they were nevertheless aware enough that, in the past, there had first been a time of grim foreboding; then, a time of great fear; and at last, a grand time where the great fear was graciously extinguished.

Queen Zelda, however, dwelt upon a different timeline. The time before Twilight, and the two times thereafter, mattered not nearly so much as these:

The time before Link, and all time thereafter.

~

She saw her Hero first in his accursed form of a blue-eyed beast; and, even in the darkness cast over the castle, everything about the wolf before her seemed to gleam. The iron shackle clinging to his leg, the grinning fangs escorting his growl, even the artful patterns streaking his dark fur with a lighter shade. A snarling predator stalking into her chamber should not have been a source of encouragement, but Zelda could sense the spirit within the flesh, and her weary eyes smiled faintly under her hood as she watched him stride towards her.

You are the light, she told him within her mind, as she removed her hood and his growling instantly ceased. The foretold, sacred light Hyrule desperately needs.

She beheld in him the Hero chosen by the gods. She foresaw in him the Hero destined to bring Hyrule back into the light, as a careful goatherd would direct his flock out of the storm and safely into shelter. In spite of her gifted Wisdom, however, she did not perceive in him the Hero chosen to guideherback into light as well. Such an epiphany revealed itself only during their future marriage.

~

Rebuilding the castle was a lengthy endeavor. While the structure was not demolished entirely, the brutal clash between Midna’s Fused Shadows and the demon beast Ganon left several stones unthroned. While the construction crews travailed the necessary renovations, the queen and her fiancé spent much time outdoors, in the quiet courtyards where pink and yellow flowers still dared to bloom, ever defiant towards the evil that once shadowed them.

Verily, Zelda might have found superior productivity in her study, where her paperwork was not at risk of being spied on by scouting ants or swept away by the teasing breeze. Even so, she chose to eschew her old habits. Her productivity might have lessened outdoors, but her motivation only increased. After all, how could she not be delighted by the golden-bodied beetles Link presented to her with a flourish, or the merry tunes he played for her on whistlegrass when no one else remained in earshot?

In the courtyard, with his subordinates standing vigil, Link never needed to be on constant guard, to uphold his duty as her appointed protector first and foremost. When they would travel Hyrule, of course, checking in on each province, he shouldered his responsibility with grave focus, standing tall as both the Hero of Twilight and the Captain of the Hylian Knights. But here, under the oak trees and the dappled sunlight, where the windchimes laughed and the stepstones wandered—here, as the beetles spread their wings and buzzed away from his open palms, and the blithe melody of the grass summoned a hawk to cheer a chorus—here, with her, he could be simply Link, grinning and teasing to make her smile even while she worked. It felt quite like a forgotten childhood come back to greet them, Zelda thought, or perhaps a bright tomorrow welcoming them anew.

~

A castle is a fortress first, a sanctuary second, and a home last of all. The larger a window, the more accessible an invader’s point of entry. Thus, many long corridors were illuminated only by braziers, their warmth spaced apart by the ghostly fingers of drafts ever haunting the stone walls. Over her lifetime, Zelda’s eyes grew accustomed to the enclosed dim; Link, however, had a newcomer’s keen eye for all improvements that could be made.

“It’s dark in here,” he said once of their bedchamber, as he scrutinized the curtains and ran his hand over the thick, embroidered fabric. “Does the brown color please you?” “It keeps out the sun,” Zelda replied, but her words suddenly sounded strange. She wrinkled her brow, and, stepping next to Link, reached out, tugging the two curtains away from each other. The day was overcast, but a grayish glow whispered into the room, gracing their boots with a shy, soft brightness.

She glanced at her husband. “How do you feel about ivory?”

~

From that moment onward, Link’s transformations of Zelda’s once dark world became all the more apparent. For the first time, she noticed the multiplication of candles around their dining table—most of them scented cheerfully with pumpkin, transported all the way from Beth’s Sundry. She counted the vases of bright-colored flowers strategically positioned around the Great Hall, like devoted soldiers standing at attention, and knew only one person who would trek so far into the forest to collect such particular, elusive species.

Her favorite of his transformations, however, was when Link commissioned the court artists to paint not a portrait of himself, as most royals would, but rather, a mural of the pastures of Ordona. The grass in the painting practically dripped with morning dew, and the circular horns of the goats glittered like fairy wings; a brilliant dawn broke through the dark woods beyond the flock, and spilling sunshine over the tranquil field.

That vision alone would have rendered the painting wonderful; but Link’s directions went further, and the artists happily delivered.

In the foreground stood a figure, facing the dawning sun—black cloak slipping from her shoulders, while the wind swept through her hair.

“Do you like it?” Link whispered in her ear, the day his surprise was revealed.

Only one thing would I change, she thought at first. Where are you in this lovely story?

Yet, when she turned towards him to ask, fierce, bright blue eyes caught hers, and she saw for a moment in him the wolf who once brought Courage to her gloom.

Enlightened, Zelda smiled.

“Of course,” she said, and cupped his face in her hands, to lose herself in his gaze just as the woman in the painting lost herself in the powerful sun.

You are the light...my light...as always.

~

[sugar--brown]

Being back in the family

I decided to start posting my one-shots from ao3 here to share with the fandom more!

This one is from the first prompt of @drcarmillaappreciationweek

Words: 2,189

Summary: Dr. Carmilla is captured by The Mechanisms, while they bicker like usual, she reflects on her relationships with each one of them. This is mostly self-indulgent because I like to think Carmilla is still a sweet woman despite everything.

Story under the cut.

Almost forgot: @yourlocalmechanism-dr-carmilla

When Carmilla came back to her senses, she wasn’t feeling really well. In fact, she felt more dizzy than anything else. Her head was killing her, she could feel her brain trying to escape her skull. She painfully tried to open her eyes, but it didn’t help her much because her sight was full of big black spots. She blinked, once, twice… She continued until her hearing came back.

“Told you we could capture her if we stick together!” cheered a gravy voice, which Carmilla found it quite familiar.

An icy cold waterfall suddenly fell on her head, drenching her to the bone. That helped her to finally focus on her situation. First: she was aboard a ship. Second: it wasn’t any ship, she was aboard her daughter Aurora. Thirdly: all the kids were here staring at her. And finally: she was tied up to a chair.

Mmh. What was going on here?

“So…” started Ashes. “What now?"

“What now?” parroted Jonny. “What now?! We are doing whatever we want with her!”

Oh. That was what was going on: Jonny dragging everyone into one of his nonsensical plans for revenge and fun. Or fun and revenge? It really depended of his mood. It wasn’t the first time Jonny tricked her or trapped her. But it was the first time he succeeded to enrol everyone to do it. Even the Toy Soldier was here in the back of the little crowd.

“You have no idea of what you are doing, aren’t you.” sighed Nastya.

“Y-yes I do!”

Oh, he sure didn’t.

Everyone raised an eyebrow at that. But as usual, Jonny ignored them. Carmilla started to kick her feet in the air. The chair was high enough for her to not touch the floor, smart. Today was a good day! Her joints were feeling good, she was back with Aurora and all her kids were paying attention to her.

“My question still stands: what is the next step here?” asked Ashes.

“I already answer: whatever we want.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You just suck at being creative!”

Carmilla knew to recognize a petty argument when she saw one. So, she ignored Jonny and Ashes – who had started throwing hands – and focused on the others. It was nice to see that Raphaella and Marius had settled in the family just fine, she hadn’t been much around – sadly – since she hadn’t mechanized them. But that didn’t matter because they were having fun watching Jonny and Ashes brawling, eating pop-corn.

Talking about kids settling well in the family, Carmilla noticed Tim shaking his head disapprovingly, already taking out one of his guns. His eyes seemed to perfectly work now, which was good. Eyes were difficult to work on and tended to be painful. Was it because of Nastya’s work or Raphaella’s? Whatever, it was good work if Tim was up to deal with Jonny’s shenanigans!

It was a relief, because Carmilla never saw such a brutal and painful mechanization. It had broken her heart that her children hadn’t trusted her enough to ask for her help when Jonny brought back his favourite – dying – mortal from a war. They had tried to handle everything themselves, and it’s only after a lot of failures that Brian had called her.

But it had broken her heart even more when she saw in what state the poor boy was. She had done her best to fix everything. But she had been limited by time, resources and the anxiety of her family, who didn’t want to have anything to do with her at the moment.

Seeing Tim in such a serene state was enough to brighten her day!

“I don’t want to interrupt anything, but we have a more serious problem.” interrupted Brian, grabbing Jonny and Ashes by the collar like kittens. “Do I have to remind you that she’s a vampire?”

Mh. They were really mad if they act like she wasn’t right next to them. But she was very curious about what they will do next. So she didn’t move a muscle and let her kids continue their little plan.

“So what?” grumbled Jonny, trying to escape Brian’s grasp. “What this has to do with anything?”

“It means she will need blood soon.”

Everyone blinked at Brian for a second, and Carmilla nodded solemnly. She drank some not long ago, so she should be fine for a while. But it was true that at some point she would need a bit of blood or thing would get… messy.

“I Have A Cup Of Blood If That Can Help!” chirped the Toy Soldier.

“Why do you have a cup of blood?” frowned Ashes, finally escaping the Drumbot's grasp.

“With a straw too!” added Toy Soldier, finally taking out the blood cup with a straw from… somewhere? Where did it come from? Better not questioning the functionality of the wooden doll.

Carmilla had tried to study Toy Soldier. It had been eager to let her dig in its gears. But she had found nothing out of ordinary. It was a superb automaton, but nothing which could explain its immortality.

In the end, they had spent more time talking about the other mechs and their own issues in her lab than anything else. These calm moments had been closed to heaven for the doctor. And a good start of her introspection.

“How is she supposed to drink it?” asked Nastya, raising an eyebrow.

That was a good question, as always, from Nastya. Her sweet, sweet Nastya. Her little princess. Her little pragmatic engineer, always struggling to connect with people but so good at understanding them. Carmilla couldn’t overstate how lucky she had been to meet her.

Nastya would never believe it, but she was a great fit to their little family.

Once upon a time, Jonny wasn’t coping well with his first millennia of immortality, and neither Carmilla nor Scuzz had been able to help him. And at the exact moment, just the moment when Jonny was deadly jealous of Aurora, Nastya appeared in their lives. Or more precisely, Carmilla saved her life.

They had fought, they had argued, they had caused mischiefs together. And in the end, Jonny had been calmer than either (aka: he stopped biting before talking) and learned to string Jonny’s heart strings as well as her viola’s.

“We need something to keep the straw near her mouth…” wondered Raphaella, a piece of pop-corn flying out of her hand when she waved it excitedly the moment she had a very new and absolutely very good idea.

Carmilla liked Raphaella. She was an upbeat and smart woman. She may have mechanized herself, but she wasn’t less her daughter than any other of her siblings. They had much time to bond, though… Carmilla regretted that, but it wasn’t like she could. She would never again sacrifice her oldest children’s comfort for another kid’s.

Maybe they could talk about science during her… prison time? Did this situation count as been in prison?

“I don’t think another of your very dangerous gadgets is the solution here.” tempered Brian, again the voice of reason.

Brian, the last piece she added alone in their little family. The weight to balance everyone else. To be fair, she didn’t pick him like the others. She didn’t spend years at his side to see if he would fit with the others. It had been a coincidence, a request, and a gut feeling.

But she never regretted it. Brian had been the one stepping up when she failed all of them. He was their anchor in the storm, whatever in which mod he was. Honestly, the moral system she had to build on the whim hadn’t much impact on his free will… And it was another proof that Brian was more than a nice and calm soul.

“Are you in boring mod?” asked Ashes, in a teasing tone, hiding their smile by munching on a cigar.

Carmilla smiled along, looking away in hope no one caught her. But she couldn’t help it. Ashes’ sarcasm and serious face when they were telling a joke always amused her. The first time she had seen Ashes using it as a weapon, it was during their first meet.

Carmilla had been surprised to see a kid at a blackjack’s tournament, so she had sat at their table and played with them. A few jokes later, Carmilla had lost all her money and more. And Ashes had won more cash than they had ever seen in their life, and as bonus, a mother.

Ashes was the perfect quartermaster. The one able to bond with each one of crew’s member. The one stepping up when Jonny was too upset to be a good first mate. The one who everyone turn for comfort and good advice.

The one who stood up against Carmilla.

“I’m not in ‘boring mod’.” groaned Brian. “I just think it’s not a good idea either way.”

“Hold on. I have an idea.” said Jonny, grabbing something in a cupboard.

Ten seconds later, the blood cup was strapped to Carmilla’s chest, letting her having free access to the straw.

There was a moment of shock. Everyone blinked, confused, at Jonny who stand tall and proud like he was some kind of genius.

Her little wild child…

Jonny always had been unpredictable like that. Scuzz had groaned, snapped and complained about it all day long. But Carmilla had found it endearing. No, it was more than that. She had seen herself in him. Her young, rebellious, lost, self.

She hadn’t been able to resist, and she had adopted him after he trapped himself in the worst situation possible. She had taught him how to fight properly, how to travel space and foreign planets, how to play music…

Carmilla hadn’t a favourite child, she loved them infinitely and equally. But if someone wanted to point a favourite, they would probably choose Jonny. Because she let most of his terrible and nonsensical behaviours slide with a chuckle.

But it was just because was the loudest and the one craving attention. All of them had terrible and nonsensical behaviours.

“There is 77% probability that you gave someone the idea to do the same on you in the near future.” provided Ivy with her usual equal tone.

Jonny glared at her, completely missing the joke. Ivy was the one considering doing it to Jonny in the near future. But most people couldn’t tell when Ivy was joking.

Her smart little bookworm! Always a step further than anyone else. She could recall when they all organized a chess tournament aboard Aurora out of pure boredom. It had ended with Jonny eating the pieces, Nastya trying to cheat with the help of Aurora, Ashes hiding multiple queens in their sleeves, Brian digging out some obscure and questionable moves and Ivy throwing the chess plate across the room in frustration.

But who could blame them? Ivy was too good at it for the others to have fun, and the others were too wild for Ivy’s enjoyment. It was a fond memory for Carmilla, but she doubted any of them remembered this particular event.

“Hang on, let me put a movie.” said Marius, bypassing Jonny in a jog.

“What?! Why?!” exclaimed the first mate.

“In case she gets bored.” shrugged Marius like it was common sense.

It was… it was strangely nice of him. Carmilla understood the comfortable chair for her joints and the blood cup for her vampiric hunger. But putting a movie for her in case she got bored… It was a step further. It wasn’t just nice, it was caring.

Marius was the one she knew the least about. Even less than Tim and Raphaella. The majority of her knowledge about him came from The Bifrost Incident shows she sneaked in to check on them. And even their, Jonny and Toy Soldier was the one attracting the most attention.

But he seemed sweet, able to keep his mind pragmatic while without denying a bit of fun either. Someone interesting. Someone able to fit. Someone she could call son.

If he allowed her to. He had been an adult and immortal long enough to not need someone like Carmilla around to help him settle. But if he did, she would be overjoyed to provide!

“She’s our prisoner!” shouted Jonny, indignant.

“Since when are you ordering everyone around?” asked Nastya, rolling her eyes. “Marius can do whatever he wants. We already followed your terrible plan.”

“Because I’m the captain!”

“FIRST MATE!” shouted back everyone with a grin, making Jonny pout like a child.

Carmilla took a sip of the blood. Yes, Jonny was the first mate. Because there was already a captain. It had been her, back in the days. But now…

She gave a knowing look to one of Aurora’s camera which was staring at her since the beginning. Aurora was her own captain, and the captain of The Mechanisms.

Because she was her special little girl. Her oldest child. The only one Carmilla wasn’t deeply uncomfortable around, because Aurora was never scared of her and was knocking sense into her mum when she failed to act like a mother.

Yes, Doctor Carmilla had ten children, and she loved all infinitely and equally.

[pinkangelcafe]

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( ˶°ㅁ°) !! 𝐀ᥣᥣ 𝗋𝗂𝗀ɦ𝗍𝗌 𝗀ⱺ 𝗍ⱺ 𝐏𝗂𐓣𝗄α𐓣𝗀𝖾ᥣ𝖼α𝖿𝖾. 𝐏ᥣ𝖾α𝗌𝖾 ᑯⱺ 𐓣ⱺ𝗍 ρᥣα𝗀𝗂α𝗋𝗂ƶ𝖾 ⱺ𝗋 𝖼ⱺρ𝗒 α𐓣𝗒 ⱺ𝖿 ꭑ𝗒 𝖿α𐓣𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌! 𝚰 ᑯⱺ 𐓣ⱺ𝗍 𝖼ⱺ𐓣𝗌𝖾𐓣𝗍 𝗍ⱺ ꭑ𝗒 ωⱺ𝗋𝗄 𝗍ⱺ ᑲ𝖾 υ𝗌𝖾ᑯ ⱺ𝗋 αᑯαρ𝗍𝖾ᑯ 𝗂𐓣 α𐓣𝗒 ωα𝗒 ω𝗂𝗍ɦⱺυ𝗍 ꭑ𝗒 ρ𝖾𝗋ꭑ𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂ⱺ𐓣!