#I really like how X's look of horror turned out

[kashverse]

Do you think you could write about Sukuna x reader before baby kuna and there live before reader even gettin pregnant I really love your work 💗💗💗✨✨✨✨

some corporate boss mamakuna x employee sukuna lore! this is how they first met :)

back before babykuna, before the house full of labubus, cats, and stolen hoodies, there was corporate sukuna. and corporate sukuna? he was supposed to be a goddamn nightmare. you had heard horror stories.

"he’s impossible to work with."

"he made the last manager cry."

"he once told HR to 'suck his entire d—'"

okay, so maybe that last one was a little concerning. but you were young, fresh into a leadership role, and ready to face whatever demon of a man this company had somehow not yet fired. so naturally, when you finally met him, arms crossed, scowl carved into his face like a roman statue, you prepared for the worst. 

"ryomen sukuna, right?" you greeted, professional, poised, the picture of authority. his eyes flicked up to you, and you swear, for half a second, there was a spark of mischief, a flicker of something dangerous. but then, to your absolute shock, sukuna—the devil himself, the menace of the office, the man who had apparently made three secretaries quit in a single week—was nice. or, well, nice enough.

he nodded, grumbled out a respectful “yeah,” and got to work. no backtalk, no glaring, no slamming of desks or throwing office supplies at interns. just grumpy efficiency. you smiled. bright. cheerful. unshaken.

“great! looking forward to working with you.”

then, the moment you turned your back? he was a goddamn menace. “oi, dipshit,” sukuna barked across the office, and some poor intern visibly flinched. “why the fuck is my report missing page five?”

“um—”

“no, don’t ‘um’ me. are you illiterate? do you need me to read the assignment out loud for you like you’re in fuckin' kindergarten?”

“no, sir, i just—”

“fix it.”

when you turned back around, brows raised? sukuna was already back to his task, perfectly behaved, like an honor student trying not to get caught. you frowned, a little suspicious. he blinked at you. innocent. wide-eyed. docile.

…okay, maybe the HR rumors were exaggerated. maybe he was just misunderstood. but then you turned away again, and—

“hey, you, yeah, you—who the fuck made this spreadsheet? a blind goat?!” 

this cycle repeated daily. whenever you were around, sukuna was just a grumpy but functional employee. he answered your questions, finished his work on time, and—god forbid—was even kind of charming when he wasn’t glaring at people. but the moment you left the room? utter carnage.

by week two, everyone in the office knew.

one particularly brave soul even tried to test it. “hey, sukuna,” some junior exec chirped while you were grabbing coffee, “think you could help me review this client file?” sukuna barely spared them a glance. “sure.”

but then you left to take a phone call.

“are you incapable of using your own goddamn brain, or is it just decorative?”

you walked back in. “everything okay?”

sukuna, completely blank-faced: “yeah.”

everyone was traumatized. you? completely clueless. until one day, you walked into the office a little earlier than usual and caught him—midway through roasting some poor IT guy’s entire existence. you cleared your throat. sukuna froze.

then, he straightened his tie, rolled his shoulders back, and—without missing a beat—“ah, boss. g'morning.” like nothing happened. 

you blinked. he blinked back.

…this motherfucker.

[riboism]

haunted ═╬ act IV: the cat

♱ content tags: centuries old vampire! seonghwa x fem reader, vampire au, gothic romance, gothic horror, story takes place circa early 1900s, reincarnation, smut, angst, forbidden love, slowburn, lots of yearning, no happy ending, blood, satanism, animal cruelty, nosferatu/bram stroker’s dracula/edward scissorhands vibes

♱ a/n: sorry for being late with an update (depression sucks lol). I’ll try to be more consistent with the remaining parts. as always, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated.

♱ wordcount: 2.7k

↳ series masterlist

The rest of the morning felt off, as if your reality had begun to blur at the edges. Every time you wandered through the estate’s dimly lit hallways, the creak of the old wooden floors sent a strange sense of familiarity crawling up your spine. It was maddening, like the walls were whispering to you in a language you almost understood, their voices just out of reach.

You couldn't take it anymore. The strangeness of the Count, the mysteriousness of the estate, and the dreams—God, the dreams—had become too much to ignore. There had to be answers somewhere. Without another thought, you grabbed your winter coat and strode down to town, determined to find them.

By the time you reached the bank, you were breathless from the steep steps leading up to its grand entrance. Steadying yourself, you approached the front desk, where the same bank teller from before sat, her glasses perched low on her nose as she sorted through a stack of papers.

"Is Mr. Kang available?" you asked, still catching your breath.

She didn’t bother looking up. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Uh, no, but—"

"Mr. Kang is only available by appointment," she cut in flatly, flipping another page.

You clenched your fists, willing yourself to remain composed. "Please, it’s urgent. I don’t mind waiting."

This time, she lifted her gaze just enough to regard you with practiced indifference. "I’m sorry, but unless you have an appointment, I cannot help you."

Frustration simmered in your chest as you turned on your heel, ready to leave in defeat, until a familiar voice called out behind you.

"Miss Y/L/N!"

Relief flooded through you as you turned to see Mr. Kang hurrying toward you, his ever-present smile wide and warm. "I knew that was you! What brings you here?"

His friendliness was like a breath of fresh air. In a town like this, it felt good to have even the semblance of a friend. You smiled, grateful. "Good afternoon, Mr. Kang. Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about something."

"Of course," he said smoothly, placing a guiding hand on the small of your back as he led you toward his office. "Anything for a friend of a friend. I have a few minutes before my next meeting."

You cast a smug glance at the receptionist as you passed, satisfied with your small victory.

Once settled in Mr. Kang’s office, your eyes were immediately drawn to the painting you had delivered just days ago, now proudly displayed on the wall.

"Really livens up the place, doesn’t it?" he mused, following your gaze.

You nodded absently before shifting in your seat, sitting up straighter. "Actually, Mr. Kang, I came to ask about my employer."

Yeosang leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Oh? Is this about his account? If so, I’m afraid I can’t discuss financial matters without his presence."

"No, no, it’s not that," you said quickly, hesitating as you tried to find the right words. Now that you were here, you realized you hadn’t exactly planned how to phrase your concerns without sounding ridiculous. "It’s more… personal. I suppose I’m just curious about his background. He’s very private, as you know, and since I’m living under the same roof as him, I just—well, I guess I’d like to be sure I’m not in any…"

"Danger?" Mr. Kang supplied, raising a brow.

The word felt too strong—maybe even rude—but you didn’t know how else to put it. After a beat, you gave a small nod.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I understand your concern. I was worried the townspeople’s gossip might be getting to you. But I can assure you, Count Park is a good man."

Somehow, that wasn’t as reassuring as he probably intended.

"That said," he continued, "if you're looking for more information about him, I’m afraid I’ve already told you everything I know. Your best bet would be the town registry. They may have more records on his estate and lineage."

The town registry. The thought hadn’t occurred to you before, but now that he’d mentioned it, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something important could be waiting for you there.

After thanking Mr. Kang for his time, you set off toward the other side of town in search of the Town Clerk’s office. It was a bit of a trek for your tired feet, but your curiosity urged you forward. You weren’t even sure what you were expecting to find. Mr. Kang was right—Count Park was strange, yes, his habits somewhat odd, but he had never been unkind. He had done nothing to warrant this growing unease that had settled in your chest. And yet… something wasn’t right. You couldn’t shake the feeling, nor could you bring yourself to sleep another night in that castle without at least trying to uncover the truth.

The Town Clerk’s office was an old, run-down building. The doors barely held together, their hinges rusted and weak, and thick cobwebs clung to the corners of the entryway. The wooden floorboards groaned beneath your hesitant steps, kicking up the scent of dust and decay. The air was stale, tinged with something unpleasant. Behind the counter stood an older man, his posture slouched with the same disinterest you had received from the woman at the bank. He barely looked up as you approached.

"Hello," you greeted, keeping your voice low. "I’m here on behalf of… Count Park Seonghwa."

At the mention of his name, the man’s gaze snapped toward you.

"He’s my cousin," you lied, forcing a nervous chuckle. "He asked me to come down and request a copy of his records, as he’s thinking of moving soon. You see, he’s been quite sick and—"

The clerk didn’t seem to care for your fabricated sob story. Without a word, he turned around and pulled out a long, rickety drawer, his fingers skimming over aged documents. After a brief pause, he retrieved a worn file and handed it to you without so much as a glance.

"Thank you," you mumbled, taking the file gingerly. You wasted no time tucking it into your shopping bag. The sun was beginning to set, casting an eerie golden glow over the town, so you stepped back outside, eager to return to the castle before nightfall.

As you walked back up the path, something felt… off. The air had changed, thick with something heavy and foreboding. An unsettling silence blanketed the town, save for the distant murmurs of people gathered in small clusters. Their faces were drawn and grave, their voices tinged with fear and anger. As you drew closer, you noticed more dead cows strewn along the dirt roads, their bodies limp and lifeless, eyes wide open. The scent of rot and blood stung your nose.

People were no longer merely mourning their losses—they were furious.

"That bastard! First my sheep, now my cows—someone’s doing this on purpose!"

"You think I had anything to do with this? You’re out of your mind!"

"All of us are suffering! God has abandoned us! First the cattle, then who’s to say our crops next?"

"You heard the stories! It’s the devil’s work! I told you he was cursed!"

Their voices rose in hysteria, their rage spilling over into accusations hurled at one another. Some men had begun shoving, women whispering behind their hands, their eyes darting toward the looming silhouette of the Count’s estate in the distance.

A cold dread seeped into your bones. The shift in the air wasn’t just in your mind. Something was happening. The people were on edge, their patience worn thin. It didn’t take much to see where their anger was beginning to turn.

Your pulse quickened, panic setting in. You had to leave before anyone noticed you lingering. Pulling your coat tighter around you, you hurried up the path, your boots crunching against the gravel as you retreated toward the castle.

⸺

You busied yourself in the kitchen, hoping the rhythmic chopping of vegetables and the simmering pot on the stove would distract you from the unsettling events of the day. But your mind kept drifting—to the townspeople, their anger, the lifeless cattle, and most of all, the Count.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. You turned, surprised to see him standing in the doorway, dressed immaculately as always, as if the night before had never happened. He looked almost… untouched, unaffected.

You studied him carefully, searching for any sign of weakness, any lingering trace of last night’s affliction. But there was none. His complexion was as perfect as ever, his posture poised, his expression neutral. If anything, he seemed even more put together than usual, as if whatever had weakened him had vanished without a trace.

"Good evening," he greeted, sounding well-rested, as if the last twenty-four hours had been nothing but a dream.

You hesitated before responding, gripping the wooden spoon in your hand a little tighter. "Good evening, Count." You swallowed, forcing your tone to remain casual. "How are you feeling?"

He tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Why do you ask?"

You faltered. He was toying with you. "Well," you began carefully, "you were quite ill last night. I was worried."

"I was?" He stepped further into the kitchen, trailing his gloved fingers over the edge of the counter as he studied the meal you were preparing.

"You were coughing up blood," you pressed, watching his face closely. "You collapsed."

He leaned against the counter, as if trying to remember. "Ah yes…That must have been troubling for you."

Your lips parted in disbelief. What kind of response was that?

"It was more than troubling," you snapped, frustration seeping into your voice. "You nearly collapsed in my arms. I stayed with you the entire night, worried you wouldn't wake up."

His eyes softened, but not in the way you'd expected. It wasn’t gratitude, nor regret. It was something else—something knowing.

"And yet, here I am," he said smoothly. "Alive and well."

You narrowed your eyes. What was he doing? Why was he acting like this? Was he trying to play it off that nothing had happened last night, that somehow you were the delusional one? "That doesn't explain anything."

He sighed as if indulging a particularly stubborn child, then turned his gaze to the pot simmering on the stove. "What are you making?"

You scoffed, incredulous at the way he was so effortlessly dodging the conversation. "Clam chowder," you muttered, stirring the pot with a little more force than necessary.

"Smells lovely," he murmured, though his interest seemed distant. He looked at you then, his gaze lingering just a moment too long before he spoke again. "Thank you for your concern."

It was dismissive. A conversation-ender. And you hated it.

But more than anything, you hated how much he unsettled you. Because despite his feigned nonchalance, despite the way he refused to acknowledge what had happened… you knew he was hiding something. And you were going to find out what. 

⸺

As soon as you finished your nightly duties, you retreated to your room, locking the door behind you. Your body was exhausted, but your mind refused to rest. The weight of the documents in your lap felt heavier than paper should, as if they carried a truth too burdensome to bear.

You lit a candle, its flickering light barely illuminating the delicate, crumbling pages. The handwriting was difficult to decipher, the ink faded and the style archaic. You squinted, running your fingers over the words, tracing the loops and sharp angles in an attempt to piece together a story lost to time.

And then you saw it.

Park Seonghwa.

Your breath hitched. It was his name—unmistakably his, written in elegant script. You frowned, flipping through the pages, your heart pounding faster with every word you managed to make out. It was a marriage certificate.

This Certifies that Count Park Seonghwa & Lady Alya Were United In Marriage on the Seventh Day of June in the Year 1836. 

Your breath grew shallow. Eighty years ago. That was impossible. The Count was so young. He couldn’t have been married eighty years ago. He couldn’t have been alive eighty years ago, not looking the way he did now.

Your hands shook as you turned another page. There was no birth record for him, nothing to confirm when or where he had come into existence. It was as if he had simply appeared one day. You turned a few more pages, until you stumbled upon another document: 

Deed of Land. Let all men know and understand that as of the Third of February in the year 1621, Count Park Seonghwa is the true and original land owner of this following parcel: Lot 1117. The Interior of this land belongs to, and is under the control of Count Park Seonghwa. In the event of his passing, all rights and ownership herein shall be bestowed upon his lawful spouse, the Countess Ha-Rin.

None of what you read made any sense. You wondered if the ink had faded with time or if your weary eyes were simply deceiving you. Yet, no matter how many times you reread the words, the documents remained clear, official, and indisputable. A deep unease settled in your chest as you traced the elegant, aged script with your fingertips.

Just then, a brittle newspaper clipping slipped from the stack, fluttering to the floor. You leaned down, picking it up with trembling hands. The paper was fragile beneath your touch, its edges yellowed with time. Squinting, you carefully deciphered the small, faded text, your breath hitching as the words sank in.

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you read the details. It was about the fire. The west wing of the estate had burned to the ground, the family suffering one casualty. Lady Alya was 68 when she died. But as you scoured the pages for more, for proof, for confirmation, there was none. No death certificate. No record of her remains. Nothing.

You swallowed thickly, your fingers clamming as you reached the last document in the stack. It was a photograph, old and wrinkled. You brought it closer to the candlelight, and your breath left you in a sharp gasp.

It was her.

The old woman from your dream. The same hauntingly familiar face. The soft curve of her lips, the gentle slope of her nose, the sorrow lingering in her eyes—eyes that mirrored your own.

Your hands grew clammy, and the paper slipped slightly from your grasp. How was this possible?

The air in your room felt suddenly thick and suffocating. The candle flickered violently as a sudden gust of wind rattled the windowpane. And then—

Thump.

It came from outside. A strange shuffling, wet and guttural.

You hesitated, Count Park’s words echoing in your mind, his warning to never go outside at night. But your curiosity, your fear, your need to understand, overpowered your reason.

Slowly, you reached for your coat, draping it over your shoulders before stepping toward the door. You moved carefully down the hall, the manor eerily silent, save for the howling wind beyond the walls.

You stepped outside the castle. The night was colder than usual, the wind sharp against your skin. The moon cast a dim glow over the grounds, stretching shadows across the frost-covered earth. Your breath came out in quiet puffs as you followed the sound, your feet crunching softly against the gravel.

Then you saw it, the origin of the sound.

It was a dark figure crouched over something in the grass, its shoulders rising and falling with each grotesque movement. There was a sickening squelch, a wet tearing noise that filled the air. You felt your stomach churn as you took another step closer, a sudden crunch of the autumn leaves giving away your presence.

The figure’s head snapped up.

Your heart stopped.

It was him.

The Count.

But he wasn’t the man you knew.

His lips were stained red, fresh blood dripping from his chin. His eyes, normally dark and heavy, were an inhuman shade of crimson, glowing like embers in the night. His fangs, long and glistening, protruded from his parted lips. And in his grasp, limp and lifeless, was the body of a cat, its black fur matted with blood.

A choked gasp left your throat.

Count Park froze, his expression undecipherable, though something flickered in his monstrous gaze—something almost like regret.

But it was too late.

Your vision blurred. Your head spun.

And then, the darkness took you.

taglist: @a1sh1teruu @filmnings @professormingisglasses @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @yunyunrin-reads @seonghwasstar @innocygnet @oreoqueen

for taglist request or removal, please send me an ask

act V: the fire ➜

[multific]

Back From The Dead

Simon Kalivoda x Reader

Summary: Months after Simon Kalivoda’s tragic death, you visit his grave, never expecting to see him again. But Shadyside is full of horrors. And maybe, just maybe, a miracle. 

Shadyside had a way of swallowing people whole, leaving nothing but ghosts behind.

That’s what you told yourself when you stood at Simon Kalivoda’s grave, fingers tightening around the bouquet of flowers in your hands. 

It had been months. 

Long enough for the town to move on, long enough for people to stop whispering about the massacre. 

But you never moved on.

How could you? 

He wasn’t just another name on the news. He was Simon. 

Loud, ridiculous, reckless Simon who swore he’d live forever.

And yet here you were, talking to a headstone.

“I hate this,” you muttered, kneeling in the dirt. “You weren’t supposed to go out like that. Not you.” Your voice cracked, and you clenched your jaw. “And now I’m standing here, talking to you like a crazy person, hoping you can hear me wherever you are.”

The wind howled through the trees, rustling the leaves around you. A chill ran up your spine, but you ignored it.

“I miss you,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “More than I thought was possible.”

A sharp crack echoed through the cemetery. It was like twigs snapping underfoot. 

You froze. 

Slowly, you turned, expecting some drunk kids messing around. But there was no one there. Just rows of gravestones, shadows stretching long beneath the moonlight.

You swallowed hard and turned back. 

Only to come face to face with Simon.

Your breath caught, the world tilting sideways. You couldn't even scream.

He looked… real. Solid. Alive. 

Not a ghostly figure or a vision, but Simon.

He was standing there in his stupid ripped jeans and an oversized hoodie, hair messy as ever.

Your heart hammered. “What the-”

“Holy shit.” His voice was rough like he hadn’t used it in a long time. His wide, disbelieving eyes scanned you before he let out a breathless laugh. “I-am I dead? Wait, no-was I dead?”

You stumbled back, hands shaking. “This isn’t real.”

Simon looked just as freaked out as you, staring at his own hands before touching his chest. “I-this is so fucked up.” His eyes flicked back to you, desperate. “Is this a dream? Am I dreaming?”

You didn’t know what to say. You could barely breathe. Your mind screamed at you to run, but your heart-your heart told you to move closer.

“Simon,” you whispered.

His eyes softened. “It’s really you.”

Tears blurred your vision as you reached out, hesitantly brushing your fingers against his arm. Warm. Real.

He was real.

That was all it took. Suddenly, you were throwing yourself at him, and Simon caught you without hesitation, arms wrapping around you like he’d never let go. 

He smelled the same, faint cologne, cheap shampoo, a hint of candy.

“I thought you were gone,” you choked out against his shoulder.

Simon exhaled shakily, squeezing you tighter. “Me too.” He pulled back just enough to look at you. “What happened? I-” He swallowed hard. “I remember the axe. The pain. And then… nothing.” His brows furrowed. “How the hell am I here?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

Simon let out a breathless laugh. “God, I missed you.” His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the stray tears. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if this is real and I get a second chance...” He swallowed hard, searching your face. “I don’t wanna waste it.”

Your throat tightened. “You never wasted anything, Si.”

He huffed. “That’s not true. I wasted so much time pretending I didn’t want more with you.” His voice dropped, more serious than you’d ever heard it. “I want it now. If you’ll have me.”

You didn’t answer. You just kissed him.

And when he kissed you back, warm and alive and real, you knew one thing for certain.

Simon Kalivoda might have died that night.

But somehow, some way, he had come back for you.

And this time, you weren’t letting go.

Shadyside is full of horrors. And maybe, just maybe, you were allowed a single miracle. 

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[nanamincreampie]

Taming the Tie

Nanami Kento x Black plus size reader

Taming the Tie

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Plus-Sized Black Reader Trope: Quiet Boyfriend x Enthusiastic and Goofy Girlfriend

Nanami Kento was never late. Ever. His entire existence revolved around schedules, efficiency, and structure. But today, for the first time in a long time, he was running behind.

His jaw was tight as he fastened the buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, fingers working with precise, yet hurried movements. His tie, however, was another matter entirely. He attempted to loop the fabric around his collar but ended up creating a tangled mess.

From your spot on the bed, you watched with a barely contained grin, lounging comfortably as if you weren’t witnessing the great Nanami Kento—your boyfriend, the embodiment of composure—actually struggling.

“You know,” you mused, propping your chin on your hand, “for someone who operates with surgical precision in combat, you really suck at tying a tie under pressure.”

Nanami shot you a dry look, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Not now.”

“But what if I want to help?” you pouted dramatically, rolling onto your side. Your curls spilled across the pillow, dark and soft, a beautiful halo framing your face. The warm, rich glow of your skin contrasted against the light sheets, and you knew Nanami noticed, even if he pretended not to.

“I don’t have time for your antics right now,” he muttered, struggling once more.

“Oh, but you do,” you countered, pushing up from the bed. “Because if you try to fix it yourself, you’ll end up looking like you let Gojo dress you.”

That got a reaction, a brief flicker of horror in his eyes. Before he could protest, you stepped in front of him, grabbing the silk tie from his hands. “Relax, Mr. Punctuality, I got this.”

Nanami didn’t argue, but the way his shoulders eased told you he appreciated the help, even if he wouldn’t say it aloud. You took your time, fingers expertly looping the fabric, making sure the knot was snug but not too tight. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you, warm, woodsy, and distinctly him.

“You’re making your serious business face again,” you teased, flicking your gaze up at him.

“I always make this face,” he replied, voice low and even.

“Yeah, but right now, it looks like you’re about to give a TED Talk on the importance of fiscal responsibility.”

Nanami huffed, his version of a laugh. His eyes softened as they traced over your features—the fullness of your cheeks, the brightness in your eyes, the way your lips curled into a mischievous smile. He loved how expressive you were, how effortlessly you filled every space you entered with warmth.

Your body pressed against his as you finished, the soft plushness of you molding against the firm planes of his chest. He inhaled slowly, grounding himself in the comfort of your presence.

“There,” you announced proudly, smoothing down his tie. “Now you look even more handsome.”

Nanami stared at you for a moment, then let out a slow breath. His hand lifted, fingers threading into your curls as he cradled the back of your head. With quiet reverence, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

“You are the only chaos I willingly tolerate,” he murmured.

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his middle despite his halfhearted protests about wrinkling his shirt. “You love my chaos.”

Nanami sighed, resting his chin atop your head for just a moment longer before finally stepping back. “I’m going to be late.”

“Then you better hurry, babe.” You patted his chest. “Can’t have the world’s most responsible man showing up late and disheveled.”

His gaze flicked over you one last time, something unreadable in his expression, before he shook his head and turned toward the door.

And as he left, you had a feeling he’d be thinking about you the entire time.

[witchofthesouls]

The whole humans into cybertronians thing, except after being turned into a cybertronian the human's organs stay the same. Either they're still organic organs if you like body horror, or the organs are now metal robot-fitting.

Either way, the medics were horrified and extremely concerned after taking their X-rays. Not only did they have no spark and no cog, but their inside is definitely not of a normal cybertronian's.

Chester, hear me out, what if that was the evolutionary advantage(s) as spawn of Gaea, who is of Unicron?

It would make a ton of sense, especially if the Quintessons had stemmed from Quintus, and they needed a necessary check to balance them out. Let's be honest... There are humans out there who are down to eat a sapient aquatic alien for the sake of seafood.

In short:

Cyber!humans to Cybertronians: weirdcore, potential fairy tale horrors

Cyber!humans to Quintessons: pure nightmare fuel

Plus, I don't know what's more horrifying: very adaptable near-Pretenders that look exactly like your species until innards are gutted or that the ex-humans have systems and organs that have been long phased out/ deemed 'obsolete' by Quintesson Occupation?

Noses as it hampered tracking and altered taste. 'Extra' filters were taken to forcibly slim them down and cleave away inner mass to create hollow spaces for Quintessons to comfortably ride.

All the security measures and suspension gear... are useless to these kinds of 'Cybertronians' as humans don't have a physical soul to physically touch, humans didn't model their society on transformation abilities, and humans are animals. Omnivore predators specialized in persistence hunting, environmental adaptation, and capable of utilitizing other species in mutual gain (i.e., domesticated breeds of animals and plants; relationships between wild animals and humans, like humans and honeyguides).

I hadn't had the chance to delve deep into this direction as I had ideas for a fanfic, but I hadn't really seen takes where ex-humans taking on more fantastical shapes of Earth folklore (i.e., centaurs, driders, fae, harpies, demons/yōkai, beasts) and how that affects a Cybertronian frame. Not to mention how humanity's quirks and genetics would carry over, especially how it could potentially conflict with established Cybertronian medical standards (and vice versa as the ex-humans need to get onboard that they no longer have a squishy body and Cybertronian medics freaking out on developing a standard of care for the new friendly cryptids).

On the flip side, maybe Cybertronians know what's up with an appendix?

[honeyscara]

❝ just kiss me ❞ – Yamaguchi. T

-haikyuu

Synopsis: you've liked him for a while but Yamaguchi seems to think you like Tsukishima. This changes one night when you decide to prove him wrong.

C/w: fem! reader x timeskip! yamaguchi, blowjob, yams being a sub leaning switch, markings, fingering, protected sex, mentions of aftercare,yams being a gentleman, reader being dom(?), tsukishima being tsukishima, 18+ MDNI

~4.2k words

Yamaguchi’s eyes drank in the sight of you at the party, his fingers tightening slightly around the cup in his hands. You looked stunning—your short black dress hugged every inch of your curves, the low V-neckline teasing just enough to make his throat dry. Your hair was loose, framing your face in a way that made his chest ache.

You had always been on the curvier side, something most guys wouldn’t typically go for. But Yamaguchi? He fucking loved it. He always had—since middle school, when his crush on you started and never really faded. But he had been too shy, too scared to ruin your friendship, especially when he convinced himself you had feelings for Tsukishima instead.

And yet, when you turned toward him with that bright smile, your eyes full of warmth, all the thoughts in his head blurred.

“Yams, lighten up and come dance with me and Tsukki,” you urged, tugging at his arm playfully.

He forced a small smile but shook his head. “It’s okay. You have fun.”

Your smile faltered for a second before you let out a small huff. “You better join us in a few minutes.” Then, with one last tug at his sleeve, you turned and walked toward Tsukishima.

Yamaguchi watched as Tsukishima barely hesitated before resting his hands on your waist, pulling you close as the music shifted into a slow, intimate song. His stomach twisted at the sight. It hurt. He hated feeling this way, hated that he was jealous of his best friend, but how could he not be? Tsukishima was taller, cooler, and always knew what to say. Who wouldn’t like him?

Trying to push the feeling down, Yamaguchi swallowed a deep sip of his drink and looked away.

What he didn’t notice, however, was the way your smile had disappeared.

You were upset.

Yamaguchi was so damn convinced you liked Tsukishima, but he was completely wrong. You had never seen Tsukishima that way—he was like a brother, nothing more. The one you had always liked? The one you’d been crushing on since middle school?

It was Yamaguchi Tadashi.

And Tsukishima, being the ever-observant asshole that he was, had known it all along. He had spent years watching you and Yamaguchi dance around your feelings, and frankly, he was fucking sick of it.

So, while swaying slightly with you on the dance floor, he leaned down and muttered, “Why don’t you go talk to him? You’re both miserable right now.”

You sighed. “Tsukki, he’s been so distant. I feel like… I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t like me that way.”

Tsukishima scoffed. “He doesn’t?” His lips curled into a smirk. “Let’s test that, then.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Head back with Yams,” he suggested, glancing toward where Yamaguchi sat, gloomily staring at his drink.

“What? And what about you?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, waving you off. “I’ll come back later.” Then, after a pause, he added, “But in the meantime… make a fucking move, since he won’t.”

Your face heated instantly. “Tsukki—”

“There are condoms in the second drawer in the living room, by the way,” he added with a smirk.

You gaped at him in horror. “Why the fuck do you even have them there?”

“I might’ve fucked around. And I’m seeing someone,” he said, completely unbothered.

“YOU WHAT?! WHEN? WHO?” You fired off question after question, scandalized.

Tsukishima only chuckled. “Save the interrogation for later. Right now, your priority is Yamaguchi.” He nudged you in Yamaguchi’s direction. “Go.”

You hesitated for only a moment before exhaling sharply and nodding.

“Fine.”

“Good.” Tsukishima’s smirk widened as he watched you take a step forward. “Now go get your man.”

You shot him a glare but didn’t argue. Instead, you took a deep breath, turned on your heel, and made your way toward Yamaguchi determined to finally do something about this damn tension between you two. Yamaguchi barely had time to react when you slid into the seat beside him.

"Come back with me," you said, your tone light but firm.

Yamaguchi blinked. "What? But—"

"Tsukki said he’ll come back later with the other guys from the club," you cut in smoothly. "So it’s just us for now. Come on, I don’t wanna head back alone."

He hesitated, eyes flickering to where Tsukishima was still lounging by the bar, watching the two of you with an all-too-knowing smirk.

“…Are you sure?”

"Yams." You gave him a look. "Yes, I’m sure. Now, are you coming or not?"

With a sigh and a defeated chuckle, Yamaguchi downed the rest of his drink and stood. "Fine, fine. Let’s go."

The drive was quiet.

You stared out of the window as Yamaguchi focused on the road, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rested near the gear shift. The hum of the engine filled the silence between you, but your mind was too full to enjoy the peace.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that you finally turned to face him.

"Hey, Yams," you started, voice softer now.

"Yeah?"

"Do you… like anyone?"

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel just slightly before he let out a breathy laugh. "Nah. I don’t really have time for that right now. I just wanna focus on my studies."

Your heart sank.

"Oh," was all you managed to say, trying to ignore the sudden weight in your chest.

Still, you forced yourself to push forward, your next question lingering on the tip of your tongue.You took a slow breath, gathering the courage to ask the question weighing on your mind.

"Then… what would you do if I liked someone? And… I started dating them?"

Silence.

Yamaguchi’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. His stomach twisted painfully, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. That was the one question the one fucking question he never wanted to hear from you.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing a weak chuckle. "What sort of question is that?" He flashed you a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Of course, I’d be happy for you."

It felt like something inside him shattered.

And from the way your shoulders tensed, he wasn’t the only one dying inside.

"Idiot," you mumbled under your breath, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Then, without another word, you turned away, resting your head against the window as the cool night breeze hit your face. Your expression was unreadable, but there was a sadness in your eyes that made Yamaguchi’s chest ache.

Why were you acting like this?

His eyes flickered to your reflection in the glass, watching the way your fingers clenched slightly against your lap. You looked… upset. But why? Did his answer disappoint you? He wanted to ask wanted to understand but the words died in his throat.The rest of the drive was painfully silent.

By the time the two of you arrived at your shared dorm, Yamaguchi let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair as he stepped inside.

"Well," he started, voice a little awkward as he turned to you. "You should get some rest. Sleep well and—"

Before he could finish, you suddenly grabbed him and shoved him against the wall, pinning him in place.

Yamaguchi barely had time to react, his breath catching in his throat as your hands pressed firmly against his chest. Your expression was filled with frustration—your eyes burning with something he couldn’t quite place.

His heart pounded in his ears."...W-What—?"

Your hands tightened against Yamaguchi’s chest as you stared at him, frustration burning in your eyes.

"Why?" you demanded, voice sharp. "Why are you so unaffected? Why don’t you care if I date someone?"

Yamaguchi swallowed hard, his brain scrambling for an answer, for anything that wouldn’t betray how wrecked he truly felt. But in his panic, he let something slip.

"Of course, I would be happy for you and Tsukki," he said, forcing a small, strained laugh.

Your entire body stiffened.

"Tsukki?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. But it wasn’t soft—it was dangerous, laced with disbelief and rising anger. "You really fucking think I like him?"

Yamaguchi's breath hitched as you leaned in closer, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.

"You fucking idiot," you hissed, your voice trembling slightly, but not with hesitation. With frustration. With emotion. "I like you. I fucking like you, Tadashi. And only you."

Everything you had bottled up for so long—every glance, every touch, every moment you held back came pouring out.

Yamaguchi’s eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in shock. "R-Really?" he stammered, his voice so small, so unsure, as if he still couldn’t believe it.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Instead, you grabbed him by the collar and crashed your lips against his, kissing him with a hunger that had been buried for far too long. You kissed him like you had been dying to—like this was your only chance, like you had been waiting years for this moment.

And Yamaguchi?

The second his mind caught up, he kissed you back just as hard, just as desperate—his hands finally finding their way to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.He had waited for this, too.

You finally pulled back, breathless, your heart pounding so hard you swore Yamaguchi could hear it. His face was completely red, flushed from his cheeks down to his neck. But then again, yours probably was too.

His lips were slightly parted, still wet from your kiss, and his wide, hazy brown eyes stared at you like you had just turned his entire world upside down.

You swallowed, your fingers still gripping his shirt as you tried to steady yourself.

Then, without thinking, you spoke.

"Tadashi…" Your voice was lower now, almost a whisper. "I want you."

Yamaguchi stiffened under your touch, his breath hitching. His hands, still resting on your waist tensed slightly, his fingers digging in just a little.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with both hesitation and something deeper.

You nodded, breathless. "For fuck’s sake, Tadashi, just kiss me."

His eyes darkened instantly, fingers gripping your waist tighter before his lips crashed against yours. This time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just pure, unfiltered hunger. His lips moved against yours with desperation, his tongue sliding past your parted lips as he deepened the kiss. He tasted the wine lingering on your tongue fucking delicious.

Yamaguchi’s hands slid down your thighs before gripping them firmly, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your fingers burying themselves in his soft, greyish-green locks, tugging just enough to draw a low groan from his throat. He carried you to the couch, lips never once leaving yours, only breaking apart long enough to lay you down. His breath was heavy, chest rising and falling as he took in the sight of you beneath him—flushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes, lips swollen from his kisses.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, swallowing hard as he unbundled his belt, tossing it away.

"Tadashi let me" you said as your hands reached out to his pants, pulling them down. His breath hitched as your fingers grazed against his clothed erection. "Shit," he moaned, the sound barely above a whisper, but filled with so much want. His hands fisted at his sides, trying to hold himself together, but you had him unraveling too easily.

"You look so fucking cute" you say as you pressed against his rock hard erection, enciting a whimper from him. so fucking cute.

Your fingertips tugged at the waistband of his boxers before pulling them down to free his erection completely. As your hand wrapped around his member, he shuddered under your touch, groaning when you licked his tip that was leaking precum.

"So big" you commented as you gave his tip kitten links. His hands tangled in your hair as he tried to maintain a steady breath. Yamaguchi was already dizzy with it, hands gripping the couch for some sort of stability.

"Please…" he groaned, voice strained, body taut with tension. "I-I can’t…" he begged as you took your time teasing his cock, enjoying his pleas.

"so needy,why didn't you confess sooner yams?" you replied before taking his member in. He hissed, pushing into your warm, wet mouth. Yamaguchi bucked his hips forward as if he were begging you to go faster, to suck him harder, but you wanted to enjoy each little moment together.

You gagged a bit, tears forming in the corner of you eyes as you bobbed your head up and down his length. He drank in the sight of you, biting his lips to muffle a moan. God you looked so fucking gorgeous with your messy hair and tears at the corner of your eyes as you sucked on him.

His head tilted back, a shuddered breath leaving his lips. "Fuck, Y/N…"

He was close. "can i?" he let out and you nodded, knowing what was about to happen next. Your mouth remained open as he pumped gently into your mouth, eyes shut tightly. A shaky sigh left his lips before he pulled out, cum spilling onto your face and lips.

"Oh god," Yamaguchi whispered as he collapsed on top of you, arms wrapping around you protectively. "I love you so much.…" You smiled softly at him but Yamaguchi sat up straight, his arms pined your wrists to the edge of the couch.

"Let me make it up to you now," he murmured, his voice lower, rougher—filled with something dark and unshaken. A shiver ran down your spine. This was new. A different side of Yamaguchi, one you hadn’t seen before, and god, it was intoxicating.

He didn’t give you a second to process it before his lips found your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His hands roamed your body with purpose, mapping out every curve, every inch of you, as if he had been dying to do this for years.

You let out a shaky moan as he sucked on the soft skin near your neck. You wanted him so badly, heat pooling in your lower abdomen. The way his lips moved against your flesh sent shivers down your spine. His hands gripped the straps of your dress pulling them down till your chest exposing the soft flesh. You shivered when the cold wind hit your bare skin.

"f-feels good-" you breathed out as he squeezed your pert nipples between his thumb and index finger while sucking on your collarbone.

"You're so fucking pretty" he whispered pulling away to discard his shirt while you unzipped your dress completely. You gasped as his tongue trailed over your breasts.

"y-yams.." you moaned out, wrapping your legs around his waist as he sucked on your mounds. A yelp left hour lips as he sucked down a little too harshly. "be gentle"

"I'm sorry darling" Yamaguchi said softly, pulling away just a little to make sure you were okay before peppering kisses lower to your stomach. Your breath hitched as he trailed his fingers against your inner thigh. Your head fell back and you closed your eyes as he continued kissing lower, savoring each and every moment.

Your hips bucked forward as he slipped his fingers in your panties and pulled them down. The cool air brushed across your exposed clit making you squirm. Yamaguchi licked his lips as he stared at you hungrily, his hand tracing circles on your inner thigh.

"God, you're so beautiful" he rasped, sliding his index finger into you, causing you to gasp louder than before.

"fuck atleast warm me" you whimpered, as he pumped his digits in a slow rhythm.

"ah–sorry" he said and gave small pecks on your face. You hummed as you felt his thumb swirling around the sensitive bud.

Your head fell back against the hand rest of the couch, grasping onto the cushions tightly. "faster please" you whined quietly and Yamaguchi nodded before sliding another finger. It was rough, but he still managed to be gentle. You felt the familiar pressure building in your belly and arched your back as he pushed two fingers inside of you. Just as you were about to reach the climax of pleasure, he pulled his fingers out, licking them. "So sweet"

"Yams, what the hell—" you whined, frustration thick in your voice, and that only seemed to amuse him.

He chuckled, low and teasing, his fingers tracing along your skin. "I thought you’d want this more," he murmured, his voice dripping with confidence, his movements deliberate.Your breath hitched as he positioned himself at your entrance, the weight of the moment settling in.

"Wait—Tsukki said the condoms are in the second drawer," you stammered out, your voice shaky, mind fogged with anticipation.

Yamaguchi scoffed, running a hand through his messy green locks. That bastard. Of course, Tsukishima had planned this.

Muttering something under his breath, he reached over to the side table, pulling the small packet from inside. His fingers fumbled with the wrapper before he brought it to his teeth, tearing it open effortlessly.*That was hot.* You swallowed hard, your body burning under his gaze.

He groaned as he slide the latex on his cock, positioning himself at your entrance once again. “Now it’s my turn to make you feel good” he rasped

"oh god– fuck" you cried out as he pushed in slowly. His hands gripped your hips, keeping you steady despite how much you trembled beneath him."It's okay baby, I've got you," Yamaguchi assured you, his voice a soothing murmur as he thrusted slowly.

"ah—" you moaned, barely able to form a coherent thought, your mind clouded with nothing but him—his touch, his heat, the way he fit against you so perfectly.

Your thighs tightened around his hips, desperate to keep yourself grounded, but it was impossible when every roll of his hips sent a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you.

His eyes never left yours. That unwavering, intense gaze made your breath hitch, your heart race, your body burn. He wasn’t just fucking you—he was devouring you with every movement, every deep thrust, every flicker of raw emotion in those eyes.The way he looked at you with so much love, hunger, and need made your body tremble. It was intoxicating, dizzying, and it only made you want him more.

"i—tadashi fuck, so fucking good" his name rolled off your lips, breathless and wrecked as he drove his cock a little faster, until you were gasping desperately, tears pricking your eyes. He knew you were close. "Cum for me darling" he drawled, his tone so gentle yet so commanding.

You squirmed a bit before coming undone with a long, drawn out moan, your nails digging into his skin and holding him close as your pussy clenched around him, your release coating the latex condom.

"you're so fucking good" Yamaguchi choked out a moan as his own climax finally hit. Dropping his hands to his side, he pulled own slowly from your throbbing cunt. He tossed the condom into the bin before collapsing beside you on the couch, his breathing still heavy, his body warm against yours.

Without a second thought, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him as if he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance. His fingers brushed back the strands of hair sticking to your damp skin, his touch gentle, reverent.

"How did I get so lucky?" he murmured, his voice soft, filled with awe. "I can't believe you chose me"

You let out a tired chuckle, pressing your face into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "You’re such an idiot, Yams," you muttered, a weak smile tugging at your lips.

He only tightened his hold on you, burying his face in your hair. "Yeah," he sighed, content. "But I’m your idiot now." Yamaguchi let out a satisfied sigh, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head before shifting slightly.

“You must be exhausted,” he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your arm. “Let me run us a bath so we can clean up and get some sleep.”

His voice was gentle, but there was a quiet insistence in his tone, as if he wanted to take care of you in every way he could. Slowly, he sat up, stretching before glancing down at you with a soft smile.

"Stay here, I’ll get the water ready," he said, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before pulling himself off the couch, disappearing into the bathroom.

︶ ⏝ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ⏝ ︶ ︶ ⏝ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ⏝ ︶

The next morning, you woke up before him, the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the curtains. Yamaguchi lay beside you, his face relaxed, lips slightly parted as he breathed steadily in his sleep. He looked so peaceful—his messy green hair falling into his face, his freckles standing out against his warm skin.

You smiled, propping yourself up on one elbow as you watched him, admiring the way his bare chest rose and fell with each breath. He was only wearing a pair of shorts, while you were wrapped up in his oversized t-shirt, the fabric hanging loosely over your frame, barely covering the marks he’d left on you the night before.

As if sensing your gaze, his eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep. He blinked up at you before his lips curled into a lazy smile.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice rough from sleep. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the way his shirt draped over your body, the way the collar had slipped off one shoulder, exposing the dark bruises he'd left on your skin. His cheeks flushed slightly, but there was admiration in his gaze.

Before he could say anything else, the door suddenly swung open with a loud bang.

"Get up, lovebirds," Tsukishima's deadpan voice filled the room. "I made some soup."

Yamaguchi groaned, burying his face into the pillow while you scrambled to pull the blanket up over yourself.

Tsukishima crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe with an all-too-knowing smirk. "So," he drawled, eyes flicking between the two of you, "you two finally got down to it, I'm glad my plan worked"

Yamaguchi choked, immediately sitting up. "Tsukki—"

The blond ignored him, instead zeroing in on the fresh marks blooming across your neck and shoulder. His smirk widened. "Damn, Yamaguchi, you really marked her, huh?"

Your face burned as you instinctively tugged Yamaguchi’s shirt higher, shooting Tsukishima a glare. "Tsukki, get out."

Just as Tsukishima was about to leave, a thought suddenly crossed your mind, making you sit up.

“Wait, Tsukki.”

He stopped in the doorway, turning his head slightly, already looking irritated. “What?”

You smirked. “Remember last night before we left the party? You said you were fucking someone and seeing them.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes widened, suddenly more awake. “wait what!! tsukki you never told me.”

Tsukishima visibly tensed, his hand gripping the doorframe a little tighter. “Didn’t think it was that important.”

“Oh, but it is now,” you teased, leaning forward. “Who is it?”

Yamaguchi grinned, clearly enjoying the rare moment of Tsukishima being the one on the defensive. “Yeah, Tsukki, you better spill. Someone from campus?”

Tsukishima exhaled sharply, adjusting his glasses. “It’s… someone from the college prep classes,” he muttered, clearly annoyed.You and Yamaguchi exchanged a look before bombarding him with more questions.

“Wait, who exactly? Are they in our department?”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Are they the reason you’ve been staying out late?”

“Does she wear glasses? I feel like you’d go for a glasses girl.”

Tsukishima’s eye twitched. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left, muttering something about how he definitely should’ve just stayed quiet. You and Yamaguchi burst out laughing.

“That definitely got under his nerves,” you said, grinning.

Yamaguchi stretched, then leaned over to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “We should freshen up and go have that soup. And, you know…trouble Tsukki more.”

You smirked. “I like the way you think.”

[glamourscat]

VANITAS x !VAMPIRE READER HCS

i am one day late but hbd to my fav non vamp that looks and acts more like a vamp than the vamps in his own show

• absolutely HATED that you were another vampire hanging around noè at first. "oh merveilleux, another bloodsucker with a hero complex"

• gets increasingly irritated that you can see right through his act sometimes. you'll just give him this knowing look when he's being particularly dramatic and he DESPISES it (but also kind of doesn't?)

• if you have some kind of “power” like noè does, he will be secretly fascinated by how different you are from other vampires he's met. keeps trying to study you "for research" but really he's just making excuses to be around you

• absolutely loses it when you team up with noè to mother-hen him about his health. "i don't need TWO vampires telling me to sleep!"

• loves riling you up just to see your eyes flash red. will make increasingly outrageous statements just to get a reaction

• gets weirdly quiet when you talk about your childhood with noè. definitely not jealous. nope. not at all. (he's totally jealous)

• gets VERY flustered when you use your vampire strength to pick him up or protect him, but tries to play it off with his usual dramatics

• absolutely despises how you can tell when he's actually hurt vs when he's being dramatic. "stop looking at me like that, i'm FINE"

• has definitely stayed up all night reading your name in the blue moon records multiple times, but will never admit it

• gets oddly soft when you fall asleep near him during research sessions, but will immediately return to his usual self if anyone catches him looking

• Will subtly, or not so subtly, hint at you to drink his blood more than once. and when you do it? Well let’s just say if you two are a match, he won’t be quiet lmao

• noè finds your whole dynamic hilarious and keeps "accidentally" leaving you two alone together

BLURB UNDER THE CUT

The first time you met Vanitas, you'd nearly thrown him out a window.

"Noè," you'd said, holding the struggling human by his collar, "why is there a suspicious man with your book?"

"Put me down this instant, you bloodsucking menace!" The dark-haired man had thrashed in your grip, blue eyes flashing with indignation. "I am the great Vanitas, and that book is rightfully mine!"

You'd turned to Noè, unimpressed. "Can I throw him out the window?"

"Please don't throw my friend out the window, mon amie," Noè had laughed, looking far too amused. "He really is the owner of that book, the book of Vanitas."

You looked at Noè, eyebrow up. Looking between him and the short human. Book of vanitas. But that’s the blue moon vampire. This guy looks everything but a vampire.

Eventually, you set him down. Rather gently, all things considered.

"Your concern for my wellbeing is touching," Vanitas had said sarcastically , straightening his clothes with exaggerated care. "Tell me, do all vampire childhood friends of Noè's manhandle innocent humans, or am I just special?"

"Only the suspicious ones who smell like lies and… cheap cologne."

His eye had twitched. "Charming. Noè, you didn't tell me your friend was so... direct."

"(Y/N) has always been rather protective," Noè had smiled that knowing smile of his. "You two will get along splendidly."

You'd both turned to him with identical looks of horror.

"We absolutely will not—"

"I'd rather drink holy water—"

But Noè had just kept smiling, and somehow... somehow he'd been right. Though you'd both rather die than admit it.

Even now, months later, as you watched Vanitas patch you up, while complaining under his breath something along the lines of "ungrateful bloodsucker," you couldn't help but smile amused. He caught your stare and scowled.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," you said innocently. "Just admiring your terrible manners."

"I could let you bleed out next time, you know."

"No, you couldn't."

His scowl deepened because you were right. You were always right about him and he hated it. Or maybe not. But you didn’t had to know that.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[brain4stew]

HIII!! I saw you take requests and I just had to send one in to ya :D you seem so cool btw but anyways here I go lolz

May I request Mafioso and 1x1x1x1 (separately) X GN! Reader general dating HC’S? Like what they would do for their partner, what dates they would take them on, basically all the things in their love life :)

Thank you if you do this!! I’ll probably send in another request once I have any more ideas, this was the best I could think of :,)

Hi hi! Tysm! You’re also cool!! 🫶🫶

Of course, do not hesitate to ask me! I’ll see what I can do and get done! Take the time you need to think, and do whatever you need to do! And please do remember to eat and drink when you can and want! 🫶🫶

(As I’ve stated in the other posts, I do not entirely know the characters personalities and so, but I will try and make them NOT OOC!)

Anyway! Headcanons under the cut! ;

(Mafioso)

• To say that you and him are dating, that’s surprising. I have no idea how you managed to do it, but you did.

• He loves you, really! He takes you on walks, to the parks, and to the stores when he has time! (Just hope that Eunoia lets him take a break that is…)

• I don’t think he’s much of a PDA person, but when he is, you might be shocked, if not happy.

• He’s quite clingy behind doors, as he knows that he’ll be safe from whatever and whoever. He’ll hug you, hold your hands, and maybe even cuddle you!

• Out in public, he’s a bit more guarded, as he doesn’t exactly know who is a threat or not. He does however, hold one of your hands at the very least.

• If he sees you’re cold, or you say that you’re cold, you can bet that he’ll take his coat off, and put it over you. You look adorable in his coat, that he sometimes finds himself just, staring, in awe.

• For dates, I think he’d rather go in private. Like lounging in your apartment, cuddling and watching movies, eating together, and maybe sleeping together! (Not the nasty kind, that’s not what this post is about…)

• If he sees you’re cold struggling with something, you can bet that he’ll be careful, and there for you. Whatever it is you’re struggling with, he’s there for you.

(1x1x1x1)

• First off all, HIM?! HOW?! WHY?! That man is basically the embodiment of hatred!

• How you two ended up dating is… A mystery to say the least. (He accidentally killed you when you took a hit for Elliot in one of the rounds, and he got hooked for some reason.)

• He is NOT a PDA person (thing?), but, behind closed doors, just drag him to a couch or bed, and he’ll go limp against you.

• Just hug, cuddle and pat his back/head, and he’ll be putty in your arms… (In secret of course!)

• He mostly prefers dates in your apartment, as he doesn’t want his minions to see you, or him, being affectionate with each other. Nor does he want other people, or, pests, as he calls them… To see either.

• This guy, I kid you not. He’ll be a menace if you and him were to watch any type of horror movies together. You can pause the movie, just to go to the bathroom, and when you get back to the couch? He’s gone. (He’s somehow behind you, so, just turn and hug him, and he’ll be stunned for a moment, before grumbling in feign annoyance.)

• Unfortunately for you, or the both of you… If you’re struggling with something, he does NOT know how to help you. As he’s quite literally the embodiment of hatred… He’ll stay by you however, but, he won’t be able to speak, or do anything when you’re struggling.

• (You can hug him if you’re struggling with something, he doesn’t seem to mind it. As long as you’re okay and happy, he’ll allow it.)

[cherryeclipses]

undone

Stu Macher x Reader

Summary: what it's like being Stu's girlfriend. no use of Y/N

one shot, fluff, smut implied, cheating, stu would not be a good boyfriend lets be honest but he's so cute.

word count: 1K

kind of shit writing - sorry, I didn't really have an idea of where I wanted this to go. NOT PROOFREAD OOPS

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Stu Macher was a known player, everyone in school knew it, that didn't stop you from agreeing to go out with him. He asked you out by passing a note to you in class, well, throwing, might be a better word. The crumpled notebook paper hit you in the back of the head, forcing you to spin around in your chair to glare at the idiot who had thrown it. 'Read it' Stu mouthed, the room silent as everyone worked. You rolled your eyes, picking up the paper from it spot on the floor.

Me and you, date 2nite? The note read. You looked up at the eager boy and shook your head, turning back around to finish your history paper. Although he was gorgeous you had heard stories about how he would hit on anything that moved. So not your type.

After class Stu stopped you, "c'mon baby, just give me a chance. I promise I'm not that bad." He drawled. You looked past him, trying to find your friends. Stu picked up your hands, holding them, his touch felt soft and almost genuine, he never took his eyes off you. You gave in, "one date Macher. One." "Yes!" He fist pumped into the air "I'll pick you up at 8."

That was a year ago, you had been going steady with Stu for the last few months. He really surprised you on that first date, picking you up in his dad's car, he took you to a nearby diner before dropping you off home. Not asking for more. After spending a night with him you noticed how charming he really was.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Stu was hardly the romantic type, for your second date he drove you to 'his spot.' A secluded area, just off the highway, overlooking the water. You could only imagine how many other girls he'd taken to the exact same spot, Stu constantly reassuring you that you were special and he'd never taken anyone else there. One thing lead to another and your clothes had been abandoned and the two of you had found your way to the backseat.

He redeemed himself the next day by bringing you flowers he stole from the neighbours front yard on the way to school. A bright bunch of every colour you could imagine.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

He loved to cuddle, on the occasion you would spend a night with Stu he was attached to your hip like glue, spooning you all night. One hand in your hair and the other holding yours; making sure you wouldn't leave him. It felt comfortable, it felt right.

Stu was generous in bed, always making you finish first and hard. Giving you all you could want. It was impressive.

In the mornings he would make every excuse not to leave. Holding you tightly to him in bed, begging for a shower together or breakfast. Sprinkling your face and neck with gentle kisses, whispering pleas in your ear, until you caved and it made the both of you late for school.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

At school Stu constantly flirted with other girls, promising you that he was just being friendly but you saw the way he would wrap his arm around those girls. It made your heart sting but also encouraged you to stay. Toxically, you wanted so badly to be the girl that changes him. His best friend, Billy Loomis assuring you that Stu was in love with you.

You weren't fond of Billy. He made you uncomfortable, but he and Stu were attached at the hip. Uncomfortably close. You never knew what it was specifically but you knew deep down Billy Loomis was bad news.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

It was no secret Stu loved horror movies, he was horrified when he found you hadn't seen all of the halloween films. Making it his mission to show you all of his favourite horror movies. You enjoyed spending time with him, curled up on the couch together, but god forbid you took your attention away for even a second - Stu would be rewinding the film to show you what you had missed! "See, see here! See how the killer is just around the corner, they've all let there guard down and -" Stu grips your head between his hands, forcing you to look at the tv screen, excitedly rattling off what you were about to miss when you tried to kiss him. You giggled, sure it was a bit strange but everyone has their passions, right?

You loved wearing Stu's shirts and sweaters, the boy was so tall that his clothes engulfed you. They felt warm and smelt like musk and firewood. Stu would always grin proudly, stating that they look better when you wear them.

Stu would bring you gifts every now and again, necklaces, sweets, lipstick - all stolen of course. But it was the thought that counted. He would leave them in your locker or slip them into your pockets with a sly smile and a wink.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖.

Stu thew the wildest and best parties. Having one of the biggest houses and often absent parents was a deadly combination as a teenager. Almost every month he would host a huge party, inviting everyone he could think of, but even with 100s of people vying for his attention he would always come and find you. Making sure to steal you away for a few minutes of alone time. Stu always knew how to make you feel special and wanted.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖.

Everything with Stu felt like it was going well, you thought you had finally changed the bad boy player into a somewhat respectable boyfriend. That was until everyone around you started dying. When you heard the news of Casey Becker and Steve Orth being murdered you confided in Stu that you were meant to see Casey that night but had to stay home to study. You sobbed into his chest, mumbling about how you could've been there to help. This was the moment you first noticed it. Stu didn't care. As you cried, he rubbed your back softly but looked as though his mind was elsewhere. "I'm sorry. " You sniffled, "this isn't just about me, are you okay? I know you were friends with her too." He stiffened. "Okay? I'm fine, the bitch got what was coming to her." You were shocked, you knew they had dated but you didn't think it was that serious and besides Casey was dead, how could Stu be that horrible.

As more of your friends were killed you started to notice something change in your boyfriend. He was distant and started to hang around Tatum more often, only coming to see you during class. Even after you broke up with Stu it was only after he died you learnt the truth about who he really was.

[merakiui]

Omg bug darling x Jamil is such a good concept 😭

Him hitting in the dark, but even that’s not enough so hes go bang from behind but then his puts his dick in that tiny bug pussy and he’s crumpling the moment he’s inside.

It’s probably like the best nut of his life and then the light turn off, the sight of his cum oozing from a half bug half human has him absolutely horrified

Horny but horrified 😭

Darling is only further attatched to him and he’s like fuck fuck fuck fuck get off.

Omg... Jamil and accidentally getting bug babies. No matter how much he hates your bug features he can’t stop hitting 😭 (bug pussy so good he can’t stay away) meanwhile darling is over the moon that her favorite person is the father... Jamil has to think about the fact his children are now part bug!!! Anyways I love the way you wrote darling essentially following his every step it was so delicouss

-🎨📝 anon

BUG PUSSY IS DETRIMENTAL!!!!! OTL

It doesn’t help that you sound so human when he’s hitting it from the back. >_< soft, sweet moans and the slick squelch of your pussy,,, the way you grab at the sheets and drool over his pillow… it fools him just enough to get off. It really is a life-changing nut. T_T maybe he’s just been extra stressed, but it doesn’t even matter right now because he feels so boneless in the best way every time he spills his load inside you.

And then the lights flip on and you’re passed out on the bed, quite literally fucked into unconsciousness, twitching in the aftershocks of pleasure like he just smacked you with a shoe, and he’s immediately throwing himself off the bed. </3

Poor bug darling. :< your heart is so big and you love Jamil so much, always clinging to him or following him around with this expression :D 24/7. Everyone thinks you’re his girlfriend and no matter what he does he just can’t get rid of you, but then he’s not making it much better for himself once the lights are off. :) omg….. and the bug babies. Maybe bug darling struggled to find a mate who could actually fertilize her eggs and here’s Jamil, doing it on the first try LOL. You’re meant to be. Or at least that’s what you think.

Ooooo and maybe Jamil who feels just the tiniest sliver of envy when Kalim is cozying up to you and being so kind. If anything, he should be happy and relieved your attention is off of him for once. But then why does he feel so irritated watching you fawn over Kalim and the game he’s teaching you? >:/ hehehe Jamil who doesn’t want Kalim to take yet another thing away from him, which is strange because this is the case where he should be thrilled to have bug darling out of his hair once and for all. And yet. :)

Omg and Floyd and Ace who think you’re just so fun and interesting. It’s amusing to see the visceral shiver that runs up Jamil’s spine when he spots you in the bleachers. Floyd who’s willing to take you off Jamil’s hands when you’re all stuffed up with eggs. He can help you lay them. He knows a thing or two about that~ If you’re ever craving sweets, you’ve got to let Ace bring you back to Heartslabyul for an unbirthday party. And he can’t wait to show you off to Deuce. Jamil wants those two to keep their grubby hands away from you.

Two wolves inside Jamil: the one that’s addicted to bug pussy and secretly thrives on the attention (you look at him like he hung the stars) and the other that can’t get past his horror and repulsion for bugs. ^^;;;

[fell-maverick]

Meanwhile All of the living Guardians collapse briefly. It happens to Harpuia while he's fighting Zero. (I dunno if I'll draw that... haven't drawn the guardians outside of a damaged Leviathan yet.)

(There's more cyber elves than just three but ow my hand)

*Throws Omega resurrecting X by force at y'all and runs away*

[starry-bi-sky]

more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)

Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.

It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.

(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)

-

In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.

(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)

Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.

He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.

Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.

(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)

Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.

(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)

(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)

(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)

-

Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.

(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)

Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.

Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)

-

Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.

I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.

(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)

In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.

And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.

[pencil-n-pen]

TONGUES AND TEETH

₊˚ʚ 🌲₊˚✧ ﾟ. °🍂 ೃ࿔*

jackson! joel miller x fem! loner! reader

masterlist | ko-fi

summary: Joel refuses to acknowledge the part of him that aches to be a protector. That is, until you come crashing into his life.

cw: canon-typical violence, reader had a rough go of things before Joel, nightmares, medical inaccuracies (oh the horror!) uhhh reader has a broken nose and it gets set, unspecified age gap, daddy issues but we all saw that coming and it’s vague, as an ellie lover and defender until the day i die, it pains me to say no ellie-au IM SORRY I COULDN’T MAKE IT WORK bella ramsey as ellie they could never make me hate you

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort as always, age gap, nightmare comfort, honestly just two messed up people loving each other

a/n: proof that i will find a way to write an eldest daughter fic for any fandom/universe

not officially writing for him !! just had this idea

another long(ish) fic. if you're here from my masterlist, now would be a good time to go pee, get some water, and maybe a snack or two :) same things for those of you scrolling. i see u

title taken from tongues and teeth by the crane wives (GO LISTEN TO THE CRANE WIVES !!)

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚🦴⋆｡°✩

Jackson living isn’t all Joel thought it would be cracked up to be.

Don’t get him wrong- objectively, it’s great. Running water, electricity, a clinic- three hallmarks Joel was sure he’d never see again. Not since the outbreak.

So by all means, he should be content. He goes out for hunting parties and patrols. Has his own house. Has a permanent place to keep his boots and his knives and guns and a bookshelf to make his way through. He has a bed. He has his brother.

But he’s restless.

Joel spent a long time walking. Searching. Surviving. You don’t quite slip back into easy civilian life just like that, no matter how perfect the conditions are.

At first, he solves this problem but going on more hunting parties, more patrols. He stays up late doing guard rotations and helps out his brother with projects when he can.

It doesn’t solve the itch, though. That sharp little thrumming, just beneath his skin: the need to protect. To have a job. To have something or someone to look after.

He denies this part of himself as much as he can, because he’s not that man anymore. Not after Sarah. He’s not. You don’t stay somebody dying to help and protect when you kill people. Because they’re still people, under the fungus. Under the parasite. Their brain’s still work. They still feel pain and anguish and fear.

He’s heard them cry before. Hunched over a corpse, body acting with somebody else at the reins, faces covered in blood and gore crying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

So Joel isn’t a protective guy anymore. Had to take out those parts. Replace them with solitary and meanness and a distinct lack of sympathy.

It’s turned him into an angry thing. Like a gaurd dog; snarling, circling an empty pedestal it refuses to acknowledge is there.

He knows Tommy see’s it. Try’s to involve him in things whenever he can, invites him over to dinner. Hangs out at his house. Makes sure Joel isn’t alone-alone.

So Joel really, really should’ve seen it coming when he and the scouting party find you in the woods.

You’re just as surprised to see them as they are to see you. They thought they were tracking a deer— although some of the tracks and patterns of disturbance in the underbrush didn’t add up.

They’d entered a clearing, guns poised, just to see you, handgun leveled at them, perched in a tree. Way higher up than Joel would’ve dared.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” You’d hissed, voice carrying on the wind and rattling just like the leaves on the tree you’re in. How you managed to scale a tree that high in a busted pair of Doc Martens and lugging a backpack clearly full of supplies is beyond him.

But he doesn’t need medical credentials to know you’ve clearly had a rough go of things.

You’re young. Not young-young, but young. Dressed in clothes clearly pilfered, you’re wearing a thick brown jacket that probably would’ve belonged to a construction worker or something like that. It’s a few sizes too big, and the cuffs are frayed and there’s a hastily sewn patch on the elbow he can see. Your face and hair is littered with tree and other plant debris- though if this is a new addition from your tree climbing escapade, he’s not sure. Your nose has dried blood crusted under it, your lip is split, and there’s a cut above your eyebrow. Your knuckles and hands are equally torn and split, old and new scars and scrapes littering your skin.

In short: you look rough. And feral, in that way that cats that live outside a little too long and a little too far away from people end up looking.

“I said stay back!”

He remembers, abruptly, that you’re probably scared out of your mind and the rest of the scouting team is still pointing their weapons at you.

He makes the motion for them to lower their weapons, and he lowers his own, raising both hands in the universal “we come in peace” gesture.

You don’t lower yours, but your grip on it is looser.

“We’re from the Jackson settlement,” He shouts, hoping you don’t hear the gruff anger in his voice that Tommy always complains he needs to work on. “There’s running water and electricity.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Your hands have begun to shake on the gun, ever so slightly. “So what’s your guys prerogative, huh? Cannablism? Religion? You planning on burning me at the stake? Or did you have something else in mind? I am a woman.”

Joel takes a step forward but stops when a bullet hits the ground right where his foot was about to be.

“If you take one more step you’re gonna find out exactly why I’ve survived alone this long.”

“Look,” He says, dropping his hands to his hips. “You can shoot us, and one of us will shoot you, and it’ll all be fine and dandy—“

There’s a chorus of whispers behind him.

“Or you can stay in that tree and not shoot us, and we won’t shoot you, and that’ll also be fine and dandy.”

He turns, jamming a finger in the direction of the settlement. “Jackson’s that way. Go or don’t go. I don’t really give a shit, but you look like you could use a bandaid.”

He jerks his head, and the rest of the party follows his lead, leaving the clearing —and you— behind.

—

A few hours after he returns, somewhere in the late evening when twilight is starting to set in and the crickets are chirping, Tommy knocks on his door.

“There’s a girl here for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someone asked for me?”

“Well, not so much as for you. Her words exactly were “that gruff, mean looking asshole,” but I got the picture.”

He sighs, deep in his bones. A small part of him —the part that’s still connected to that dog, still circling— had hoped you would show up. However, it’s hopelessly overshadowed by the sheer exasperation of it all.

He’s silent save for non-committal grunts and hmm’s the way over to the front gates where the evening rotation’s guards have you standing between them.

You’re slightly worse for wear since the last time he saw you in that tree. Your jacket as a new rip in it, and your nose is sluggishly bleeding again. Up close, he notices it’s a bit crooked.

Gonna hurt like a bitch to set, He thinks absentmindedly.

He slows as he approaches you, hands in his pockets and shoulders back.

“See?” He huffs, gesturing with one hand behind him. “Not cannibals. Or whatever else you’re worried about.”

Your face is hard set as you look around. “That remains to be seen.”

“Hello!”

Joel looks back to see a pregnant Maria waddling over, a concerned Tommy at her side.

“I told you I’d handle it—“

“And I told you I’m fine. Now,” She props her hands on her hips. “Who’s this young lady now?”

You (hesitantly) stick out a hand to shake and introduce yourself.

She shakes your hand with a smile. Leave it to Maria to be able to read people with such ease. “I’m Maria Miller. I’m one of the settlement councilors. The golden retriever fussing next to me is my husband, Tommy, and the angry looking bear next to him is his brother, Joel. I understand a scouting party found you?”

You nod, eyes flicking this way and that, cataloguing the area.

“I’ve been on my own for… awhile. I don’t have any supplies to offer, but I’m smart and strong. I’m willing to work in exchange for a place to stay.”

Maria hums, assessing. “I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll need to come with me to speak to the rest of the council, for our safety and yours.”

You tighten your grip on your backpack but follow Maria and Tommy, only sparing one backward glance at Joel.

He spends the rest of the evening trying to forget the look in your eyes.

—

He fails spectacularly.

This doesn’t mean, however, that he’s anywhere near pleased when his nightly reading-as-a-poor-attempt-at-normalcy routine is interrupted by a knock on the door. One that sounds suspiciously like Tommy’s type of knock.

Only he hears two voices as he walks up to the door, and the other one isn’t Maria.

Joel opens the door with a glare already fixed on his face.

“There have to be other places.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “It’s only temporary. The council agreed to let her stay so long as she’s watched by a trusted Jackson member, and well. You vouched for her.”

“And when exactly did I do that?”

“In the woods, when you met. You told her where you were from and how to get there. Honestly, Joel, you’re getting off light here. Some of the council members were not happy you told a random loner —no offense— where to find us. Kind of defeats the whole point.”

You huff a quiet “None taken.”

He can’t help the way his body tenses. “So this is a punishment?”

“Yes and no.”

“I don’t—“

“Look,” you interject, clearly fed up with the conversation. “It’s not the end of the world. I’m not going to murder you in your sleep and I don’t leave dirty clothes lying around. It’s only for three weeks. Get over it.”

Another sigh threatens to release itself, but he stamps it down, figuring he’s hit his sigh quota for the day.

“Fine. But take her down to medical first. I don’t want her blood all over my house.”

Tommy shrugs. “No-can-do. Maria needs me back at the house. You know where medical is. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

And with that, Tommy leaves, abandoning Joel and you at the doorstep.

Joel scrubs a hand down his face. “Wait there. I’ll grab a jacket.”

The walk to the clinic is awkward and silent, and just when Joel thinks it can’t get any worse, one of the staff tells him that since he’s your assigned supervisor/watcher/whatever, he has to accompany you. To everything.

To your credit, you don’t look very happy about the arrangement either.

Still, you bear through all the exams, a grimace fixed firmly on your face. Apparently (and not surprisingly) you’re malnourished, dehydrated, running a small fever, deficient in several vitamins, have two cracked ribs (most likely, no x-ray machine) and some run of the mill scraps and bruises.

You’re cagey enough on the details of the cracked ribs and nose that the doctor eventually moves on to the fixing you stage of things.

It takes awhile. There are a lot of injuries to cover.

When it comes to resetting your nose, the second the woman pulls out a needle and syringe, you go rigid.

“No.”

The doctor blinks. “This is just lidocaine, it’ll numb the area so—“

“No.”

“You wanna feel all that?” Joel asks, the first time he’s spoken during your entire exam, “It ain’t gonna feel great. Crooked nose like that won’t set with one go.”

“No needles. No numbing.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “What, you got a pain thing or something?”

Your hands go white-knuckled on the exam table. “Fuck. Off.”

You’re shaking, he notes.

Ah, He says to himself. Not a pain thing.

Fear.

The doctor shrugs. “Not like I won’t take the chance to save what we have. You’ll want something to bite down on. Or squeeze.”

You wrap your fingers around your own hand, a pathetic attempt at self-soothing.

He decides annoyance is the emotion he feels at your small movement. Nothing else.

He rolls his eyes as he grabs your hand, maneuvering it in place of your own.

“Good luck breaking it.”

You don’t respond. He wasn’t really expecting you to.

He knows without looking the exact moment the doctor starts resetting things because your grip on his hand quickly turns from barely there to crushing. You make no sound.

The doctor, to her credit, works fairly quickly, though by the time she’s finished a single tear has carved a path through the blood and grime on your face.

He thinks about how someone learns to cry without sound.

The doctor moves on quickly, cleaning and bandaging the wounds that need it and telling you detailed instructions for how to take care of your nose and cracked ribs and what things you should be eating to avoid staying vitamin deficient. It’s all a lot of words Joel is glad he doesn’t have to memorize.

They stick in his head anyway.

You don’t let go of his hand. You’re no longer squeezing the life out of it, but you’re not holding its gently either. When you do finally let go (after the doctor’s left and you can leave) you practically tear your hand away, as if burned. Like you’d left your hand on a stove as it was heating up only you just now noticed it was hot.

He doesn't say anything about it. He figures you're liable to literally bite his head off, or some other violent action close to that.

Besides. This is all awkward enough.

The walk back to the house is just as silent and strained as the walk to the clinic. Only now your breath is just a little more labored. Steps a little shakier. Your hand's twitch at your sides like they're reaching for something, and you don't quite manage to hide the way you look around every now and then, a restless, nervous action.

He knows what you're doing. He was you, back when he first got to Jackson. Granted, he wasn't as twitchy as you are. He kept his distance, stayed mean and scary (as possible.)

He holds the door open for you when you arrive back to the house, because his mom raised him to be a gentleman no matter the circumstances.

You toss him a look of confusion and annoyance but step into the house, looking around the modest living room with something almost like wonder.

He toes off his shoes, sets them by the door, and takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook. "Shower before you touch anything. You're filthy. And don't think I'm giving up my bed."

"I wouldn't have taken it even if you had," You sneer. "Where's the--"

"Down the hall on the left. You got clean clothes?"

"...I have less dirty ones."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wait here."

He grumbles all the way upstairs, all the way through picking out clothes that'll fit you well enough until you either wash what you have or find something else.

He silently glowers as he comes down the stairs, thrusting the clothes out to you and turning on his heel when you take them.

"I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up."

When he lies in bed that night, he can't even pretend he's not thinking about you. In his defense, it's less about you and more about the new, strange, stand-offish person he's just supposed to live with for the foreseeable future. All because he had the bad luck of feeling bad for the battered, flighty, loner girl sitting in a tree.

He stares at his ceiling, internal clock (yes, he's old, he has an internal clock. Sue him) letting him know it is decidedly an hour he should be asleep. He refuses to go downstairs, on principle alone. He could get up and go find one of his books, but he knows that if you're anything like him, coming off of however long you spent alone, you're a light sleeper. You're probably awake now, listening to him toss and turn and being unnerved by the unusual silence of Jackson and the particular brand of night-noise it produces. That's what the first two weeks of Joel's life in Jackson consisted of, before he moved in here.

Maria had decided that Joel would stay with the two of them until he integrated in Jackson society. Perks of your brother marrying a council member, he guesses.

So he's not going downstairs. Not going to walk down there just to see a person, an entire person in his house looking like, looking like--

Fuck.

He throws his blankets off and angrily (but not loudly) marches downstairs to get himself a glass of water and the book he knows he left on the table by the couch when he was so rudely interrupted by you. This is his house, dammit, he refuses to be put out by a random girl.

Woman, his brain corrects.

The living room is completely dark when he makes his way down the stairs and he truly, honestly wishes he was surprised when there's a whoosh of air to his right and a knife embeds itself in the wall about a half inch away from the side of his face.

The living room is still and silent.

"I thought they took your weapons when you got here."

"I lied about what I had."

He scrubs a hand down his face, yanks the knife out of the wall, and tosses it back. If you can throw it, you can dodge it.

He doesn't hear any screams, yelps, or grunts of pain, so he assumes you caught it fine. Or at least dodged it.

He makes his way over to the kitchen, grabs the teapot, and takes down two mugs.

"You know they can kick you out for harboring weapons during your probationary stay."

He hears a rustle of blankets behind him. The sound of you stashing your knife, no doubt.

"Are you going to tell them?"

He snorts, filling up the teapot. "No. There's been a knife in my boot since the day I got here."

He hears more rustling, and decides against turning around. He's not quite sure what you've been doing down here all night since it's clear that you weren't sleeping.

He doesn't hear any footsteps, but when does turn around to set the mugs on the table, you're sitting at it, knees pulled up and head resting atop them, your cheek smushed. Now that his eye's have adjusted to the darkness of the living room, he can almost make out your features. They're easier to discern, now that you're not covered in blood and grime. You look... softer. Haloed in the glow of moonlight shining through the gaps in the curtains.

Your face isn't the only thing glowing. The tell-tale glint of a knife --a different, smaller knife than the one you'd thrown at him-- shines from it's spot, resting oh-so innocently on the table.

Joel just huffs.

"No weapons on the table."

He blinks, and it's gone.

He doesn't ask why you're still awake or what you've been doing instead of sleeping. You don't ask why he's down in the kitchen at all.

"What are you making?"

"Tea."

He gently places a teabag in each mug. He isn't really sure why he's doing this for you. You've done nothing but hiss and spit since he's met you.

But tonight, right now, blanketed in the not-quite calm of the night and the apparent unease you both drown in--

It's tolerable. You're tolerable.

So he takes the kettle off the stove and pours the water and places the steaming mug on the table in front of you.

To which you ignore, and snatch the mug out of his hands instead.

"Did you think I put that one," He points to the mug in front of you, "There for giggles?"

You cradle the mug in your hands, seemingly entranced with the warmth and steam. "You might've poisoned mine."

"Maybe I poisoned both."

You take a sip, then grimace when the too-hot liquid hits your tongue.

"You don't look like the kind of person to have built an immunity to poison."

"You also watched me make both beverages."

"So? It's dark. You could've slipped something in. Or maybe it was already in the teabags."

"What use would I even have for you dead?"

You shrug. "I don't know. You tell me."

“You’re a deeply mistrusting person.”

“And you’re not?”

Touché.

Joel remains in the kitchen, leaned against a cabinet sipping your tea, while you stay hunched at the table, sipping yours.

If he removes the irritability and the uncomfortable-ness of everything that involves you living with him, the moment is almost… companionable. Pleasant, even.

It… soothes that nervous part of him. Not the sad nervous. The angry nervous. That built up crack of anger.

There’s another person in his home that is neither attempting to perceive his problems nor actively attempting to kill him. Your belief that he might poison you aside, you still accepted the tea.

He firmly believes that Tommy isn’t right about the loneliness thing though. His brother being right is just a world Joel can’t live in.

Besides. It’s too early to tell anything anyway.

—

Unfortunately, the following few days do not go… terribly.

That isn’t to say they go well, though. Since he’s looking after you (read: making sure you’re not an axe-murderer or something) he’s not allowed to go out on scouting or hunting trips. Or solo guard rotations he’s come to covet.

It’s boring, and having you around is strange.

It’s interesting, when he gets bored enough, because if he focuses hard enough he can guess what events happened to you based on your reactions to certain things. He’s pretty sure you were drugged at some point based on your reaction to the doctor with the lidocaine. You’re general skittish and flighty nature can be easily attributed to the conditions in which everyone in the world is living in, but your particular brand of distrust and aggression says that humans, not the infected, have been the ones to hurt you the most. Your general unease in open areas or areas with not easily accessible exits leads him to believe that there have been several extremely close calls in several points of your survival.

He knows you’ve been shot before, but that one was an accident. He’d come downstairs, rubbing bleary sleep from his eyes and accidentally stumbled across you changing. Well, finishing changing. He’d quickly closed his eyes and turned around, and thankfully you hadn’t startled, but he had caught a glimpse of the stretch of skin not covered by the long sleeve undershirt you favored. On the left side, just above your hip and a few inches towards your bellybutton, there’s a jagged, raised, circular scar. Still pink.

He knows you have a very slight, very subtle limp. He’s not sure what causes it, but he knows you have one. It tends to act up when you do a lot of strenuous exercise for an extended period of time. Some days you wake up and it’s worse. On those days, you’re a little more mean, and a little more skittish.

He’s yet to see you actually, legitimately sleep.

He’s starting to think you haven’t, since arriving.

Which is insane, because it’s been four days.

The bags under your eyes are horrific, even to him. You’ve gotten clumsier and clumsier, your attention span and memory are terrible, and he thinks you might’ve started hallucinating, if the times he’s seen you staring off into space with concerned, fearful, or twisted expressions on your face and mumbled rambles he can’t make out are anything to go by.

On day five, when Joel comes downstairs in the morning and the knife you throw at him bounces harmlessly off the wall and clatters to the ground and you just stare at it, eyes foggy and unseeing, he decides to talk to Maria.

“I don’t really care,” He says, because he has a reputation to uphold dammit, “But I’m not sure how much longer she’s gonna last, and what she’s gonna do when she wakes up.”

“Mmm,” Maria hums, hands clasped on the table and staring at Joel with her best ‘I don’t believe you don’t care’ look. She’s really perfected it, “Well the truth is, she can’t go forever. It’s fear keeping her up now. Happens a lot with the loners that come in. Especially the women. She’s afraid that no one’s there to watch her back and terrified she won’t be strong enough to fend off any attackers.”

Maria looks at her hands. “The fear is exacerbated by the fact that the council took most of her weapons.”

“You knew—“

“She was lying? Of course I did. So did several of the other members, I’m sure. But she’s not a threat. She’s scared.”

He thumbs the thin scar on his cheek from the knife came just a little too close to hitting the mark when he sneezed in the kitchen. “She’s got a funny way of being scared.”

“Fight or flight, Joel. She knows flight isn’t an option.”

“Why are you lobbying so hard in her defense?”

“I’m not. I’m explaining her actions. Also,” She gives a knowing smile, “You’ve started to care. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming to me about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He grouses. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait for her to pass out?”

“You could. It’ll happen eventually. She very clearly doesn’t have that many hours left in her. That’s probably freaking her out more. Or, you could subtly show her that she can sleep around you. She needs to know that she’s safe from whatever it is she’s running from.”

Joel keeps his eyes locked on the kitchen table, tracing the grain in the wood with an absent-minded finger.

“I know you pushed for her to stay with me.”

“The council wanted a punishment that fit the crime.”

“Look, I appreciate the thought—“

Maria’s expression flattens. “Joel. Do not sit at my table and lie about how you don’t need anyone and you’re fine on your own. You need this.“

“I don’t need this,” He scoffs, “She’s practically half-feral. No one needs that.”

Maria stands, shrugging. “Then I guess you’ll have to file for a name change, No-One Miller. Until then, make sure she’s not alone when she wakes up.”

—

He did leave you alone for the duration of his conversation with Maria, because fuck if he was bringing you to that, and he figured you both could use some time away from each other. He knows he can.

He’s not very surprised to hear the familar whoosh of a small, sharp object sailing through the air that tends to accompany his arrival into rooms you’re occupying (he’s pretty sure it stopped being a fear response after the first two times and now you’re just messing with him) but he is suprised to see that this time, the knife doesn’t even make it head height. Or to the wall.

It clatters uselessly to the ground near his feet. He stares at the metal between his boots and then up at you—

“Why are you sitting on the kitchen counter?”

“I don’t remember.”

He leaves the knife on the ground and makes his way over to you, watching with mock disinterest at the several-seconds-delayed flinch you make when he stands in front of you.

You look up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused and you just look so, so tired.

There’s a curl of protectiveness in his chest that keeps trying to spread, keeps trying to grow. Here, in the kitchen, your legs dangling over the edge of the counter, bathed in the glow of the mid-day sun, it takes root. Right in the center.

He looks down at your feet. “What happened to your other shoe?”

You scrunch up your face. “I don’t… I was getting in bed, I think. But it wasn’t my bed. I forgot that things aren’t—“

That things aren’t the same anymore.

He crouches down, untying the laces of your boot and shucking it aside somewhere.

“Alright, come on.”

You slide off the counter, clumsy and uncoordinated. He takes your hand in his, leads you up to the bedroom.

The stairs are difficult for your tired, barely working brain. He has to stop multiple times to physically lift your legs or stop you from falling over and cracking your head open.

You finally make it up there, though, and he realizes that you probably won’t want to sleep in your everyday clothes.

“One last step.”

He can’t help but notice how intimate the moment is. Not intimate-intimate, but. He instructs you softly to lift your arms so he can tug your shirt over your head and replaces it with a soft shirt of his own.

Staring into your eyes is too charged and allowing his eyes to wander is bad for obvious reasons, so he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the junction of where your neck meets your shoulder.

He keeps his eyes there as he helps you out of your pants and into a pair of flannel pajama pants. The same ones he’d given you the first night you came. You’ve never slept and he’s never seen you go to any of the places he knows have extra clothes, so he’s almost positive you don’t have any pajamas at all.

His fingers work quickly to tie the drawstring on the pants, and even then, they hang low on your hips.

He doesn’t let his eyes linger.

“Come on,” He says taking your arm and tugging you toward the bed. “Time for sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” You mumble, standing in place. “And I can’t, what if they—“

“I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll keep watch.”

You mull his words over in your head for a few moments before stumbling the final few steps into the bed. You practically collapse into it, shuffling for a just few seconds before your breath evens out.

You’re asleep.

He reaches over, adjusting the blankets a bit, before grabbing the book he’d left on the bedside table and settling down in the chair by the bed.

The hours tick by quietly, accompanied only by the quiet rustling of pages turning and your soft snores.

For the first time in awhile, he doesn’t feel restless.

—

You sleep for a full eighteen hours straight before you stir.

He’s a good portion of the way through his book before he see’s your body tense in the corner of his eye. Your breathes are still even and deep, so if he couldn’t see you, he probably wouldn’t notice you’re awake.

“You’ve been asleep for eighteen hours,” He says, voice rough and scratchy with disuse, “You got in bed voluntarily.”

“You changed my clothes.”

“You didn’t seem all that capable of doing so yourself and I didn’t think you wanted to sleep in jeans. You mind?”

“…No.”

“Good. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t just—“

“You didn’t sleep for five days. If we’re going by the eight hours a night average needed or whatever, that’s forty hours. You’ve still got twenty-two left to catch up on.”

You roll over to face him with a grumble. “I don’t like how good you are at mental math.”

“Get better, then.”

You shimmy out from under the blankets, tossing him an “I have to pee,” as you make your way out of the room.

It’s early morning now, weak sunlight behind to strain its way through the curtains. He figures it’s a good enough time to make some food (and coffee) if you’re going to be going to back sleep, so he meanders down to the kitchen and throws together a small breakfast.

“Did you make us breakfast?”

He never really gets used to how quietly you move through rooms.

“Jesus— yes. Here.”

He hands you a bowl with oatmeal and a small plate with a slice of toast— toasted in a pan, because electricity aside, he doesn’t own a toaster. Why waste time scavenging for an appliance when something else works just as fine?

He sets a jar of jam on the counter that he’d picked up awhile ago in exchange for fixing the hinge on somebody’s door.

“You got any allergies?”

“None that matter.”

He nods to the table. “Go eat. Then get back in bed.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re annoying. Eat.”

You eat quickly and quietly, then wordlessly follow him back upstairs, climbing back into bed.

“Joel?” You whisper.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He tucks the blanket up over your shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

You obey easily.

—

Things between the two of you… soften after that. He slowly sees more pieces of your personality than the wild thing he met that day in the woods.

He learns that you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but miss peanut butter and nutella sandwiches more than anything. He learns that on good days, you like drinking coffee straight black, but on bad days, you like it with milk and sugar.

He learns that your limp is the result of one careless mistake you’d made when you first surviving on your own.

“I thought the house was abandoned. It wasn’t,” You’d rolled up your pant leg to show horrific, deep, jagged scars circling your ankle, “Guy had set out a bear trap to slow down some of the clickers in the area. It was dark. Didn’t notice it until too late.”

He learns that you, despite your snide remarks and sarcastic comments, like having him around. He feels a bit like earning the trust of a stray cat.

You begin to grow more comfortable with life in Jackson, though not by much. He’s sure you weren’t a people person before the outbreak, much less so now that he knows some of the horrors you’ve been through before you got here.

He’s even started getting used to how quietly you move.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, from there.

He wakes up, goes downstairs. Sometime’s there’s a knife thrown at him, sometimes there isn’t. You’re usually sprawled on the couch, drool coming out of your mouth and grumbling incoherently about “old men and their stupid early mornings.”

It’s almost endearing.

Since Joel spends a lot of time helping Maria and Tommy get ready for their baby, you, in turn, get to know the both of them by being stuck with Joel. Maria set you on edge at first, Tommy slightly less so, but through continuous interactions your prickly nature smoothed.

One night, you were all seated on their couch after enjoying a dinner together —not the first and definitely not the last— having quiet conversation. You’re totally passed out on Joel’s shoulder, dead-asleep and quite content to use him as a human teddy bear.

Maria smiles over her mug of tea. “She’s grown on you.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. She’s not all bad.”

“High praise coming from Joel Miller.”

You have grown on him. And in turn, your relationship has started to grow into… something else. Sometimes his eyes linger just a little too long, and the looks you share feel just a little too charged.

Tommy sends him a look full of words only true siblings can understand.

“No, Tommy.”

“Oh come on Joel! You both clearly—“

“We are not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because—“

You fling an arm out wildly, smacking him in the side of his face and grasping around until your pointer finger finally finds his lips.

“Shhhh. M’ sleeping.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist, prying your fingers off his face. “You know that’s what bed’s are for. Or couches. Or any number of surfaces I’ve found you sleeping on.”

“You’re a surface I’m sleeping on.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a bed. Come on, up and at em’.”

You whine at the loss of warmth when he stands, scowling as you haul yourself to your feet. As he’s putting on his boots by the door, he hears you thanking Maria and Tommy for their hospitality, and he can’t help the little smile that twitches on his face. Seems like his parents weren’t the only ones who made sure he had manners.

You meet him at the door, hopping in place to put your boots on and getting frustrated when they don’t slide on immediately.

“You know, it would help if you untied the laces—“

“Fuck off.”

He blinks. That seems a little more mean than you usually say nowadays.

So Joel takes a step back. Watch’s your legs and your shoes and your hands—

There.

Your hands shake as you fumble with the laces, unable to get a good grip on the thin cords to untie and re-tie your shoes.

He shoos your hands away from the singular boot you haven’t managed to get on.

“Sit.”

He’s thankful that he built the shoe bench for Maria a few weeks after he got to Jackson. It serves Maria well for not having to stand while she attempts to put her shoes on while heavily pregnant, a feat she bemoaned a few times, and now it’s serving you.

You plop down on the bench with a huff, crossing your arms as Joel crouches, undoing the laces of your boot and sliding it on.

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.”

“Why’re you doing it?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He secures the tie on one boot and moves on to the next. “It is tonight.”

Once both shoes are on, you both bid Tommy and Maria good night, and make your way home.

If your hand find’s Joel’s, then that’s not anyone’s business.

—

He notices things after that.

You’ve started snapping at him more often. You’re not sleeping as much. You’ve started flat out refusing to go with him on daily chores as tasks, which either leads to an argument or the both of you staying at home all day.

It all comes to a head when you wake up screaming.

He thunders down the stairs, ducking on instinct for a knife that doesn’t come. You’re not on the couch. He whips his head around, the screaming stopped he can’t find you—

A thud. A panicked gasp.

He moves on slow, apprehensive feet towards the kitchen, crouching down to see you huddled under the table, knife clenched in your hand and pointed toward him.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

Your eyes are wide and shining with tears.

“You died.”

“I didn’t. I’m right here.”

You shake your head, breaths coming short and shallow.

He settles on the floor, crossing his legs. “Here, take my hand. Come on.”

He extends his hand into the space between you two. Achingly slowly, you put down the knife, and take his hand in yours.

“See? I’m still here.”

Eventually, your breathing slows, and the fear begins to leave your eyes. You drop his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, no it’s just—“ You break off with a strangled noise.

He waits. Lets a few minutes tick by.

“Does this have anything to do with the fact you’ve been avoidin’ me?”

You look down. “You noticed?”

“I do have eyes, sweetheart.”

You grab the knife again, twisting it this way and that in your hands.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

He tilts his head. “How come?”

You’re silent for a little while again.

“I feel… okay with you.”

“And that’s scary?”

“Yes,” You breathe, “You could leave, or die, and it scares me that I’m already attached to you. That having nightmare’s of you dying affects me so much. That they happen at all.”

He hums. “Seem’s were at an impasse.”

He taps a finger on his knee.

“It’s not all bad. To care.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Joel Miller?”

He huffs, shaking his head. “You know, against my better judgment, I’ve come to tolerate having you around.”

“Tolerate?”

“Mhm.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“So you’ve never thought about kissing me?”

Heat rushes to his face. “Is that really a question you want to be asking right now?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He stands, “Well I don’t answer that kind of question at this hour. Come on.”

He reaches under the table and pulls you out.

You clamber to your feet, still a little shaky after your nightmare.

You turn to go back to the couch, but stops when he tugs on your arm.

“Mm-mm. No couch tonight.”

You look up at him, a question in your eyes he doesn’t know how to answer with words.

He steps forward, rough hands coming up to your face, thumb swiping the crest of your cheek.

“Tell me to stop.”

“I won’t.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss, soft and slow.

He pulls away after a few moments, searching your face for any sign of negativity or displeasure or disgust or, or—

You surge up, kissing him again, all the same fiery passion he saw the day you met.

“I suppose that answers my question.”

He chuckles. “You think?”

“I hope so.”

His hands slide down to your waist. and he can’t resist the little squeeze he gives the skin there.

“Alright. Back to bed, let’s go.”

“I forgot how tired old men get.”

“Please don’t call me an old man right after we kiss.”

He can hear your quiet snorting laughter as you climb the stairs, socked feet silent as always.

You climb into bed first, shoving yourself into the side by the wall and then making grabby motions for Joel.

“Am I just a pillow to you?”

“Yes. Come be a pillow.”

He rolls his eyes but slips into bed next to you and quietly relishes in the pleased hum you let out as you wrap your arms around his waist, practically smashing your face into his chest.

“You comfortable there?”

“Mhm.”

He curls one arm around you, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. This close, he feels the shudder run through your body at the motion, and curious, he gives your nape a little squeeze.

Your reaction is instantaneous. You go limp- completely boneless.

“I got you, I got you. Go to sleep, now.”

It doesn’t take you long. And with you asleep so soundly in his arms, he follows right behind you.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi lashing out on his pregnant wife only to beg her for forgiveness later

Pairing: Sanemi x pregnant!reader

Word Count: 3,1k

Synopsis: Like every week, you find yourself on your way back from Shinobu's estate and your pregnancy check-up. Little did you know what horror awaits you at your own home with your husband almost killing two kids...

Warnings: Sanemi is mean in this one and I mean it, extreme hurt but also comfort in the end so don't worry, full Shinazugawa package regarding language and violence lol, not proofread because I have to leave now

Thank you sooo much for that cool request @itsmscoco and I'm sorry it took a while. I really hope you like what I came up with 🤍

You rub your minor belly. For a woman, a pregnancy should feel like a trip to heaven. After all, you are blessed with developing a child that is half you and half your husband. Oh, your beloved and surprisingly gentle husband who always makes sure that you get enough sleep, that you nutrition yourself properly. But even the wind hashira can’t do a single thing against your constant sickness and pain.

“Please try this out, (y/n). Don’t hesitate to come here again if you need something else. You really have an unfortunate pregnancy when it comes to nausea”, Shinobu comments gently while giving your belly a little massage.

“Don’t get me wrong, I am so excited about the honor of caring for a child in my own body. But honestly, I’m so glad when this pregnancy is over”, you huff while taking a deep breath in.

Please, don’t vomit all over the insect pillar who’s just trying to help. You’ve been here what feels like everyday since finding out you’re pregnant. Well, to be exact, Shinobu is the one who suggested that you might expect a child.

Because of your never-ending sickness.

“Oh, there’s nothing to get wrong at all! After all, your pregnancy is a rather difficult one. But I’m sure Shinazugawa is taking good care of you!”

“He definitely does. My husband is an angel”, you reply in an instant.

You can’t wait to go back home. Even though your sleep-drunken eyes won’t be able to stay open longer than maybe a few hours, even though you weren’t able to catch a proper glimpse at Sanemi’s part in the on-going hashira training until now, you can’t wait to go back home. Back into your estate, back into the arms of your beloved husband.

“Not quite the codename I’d use for him, but that’s just what love does, right? I will send a kakushi along with you. Otherwise, Shinazugawa might show up and threaten me”, Shinobu jokes while helping you to get up.

“Thank you for your help. Again.”

You pull the insect hashira into a deep hug. How lucky you should consider yourself for the opportunity to call Shinobu your friend, that Sanemi laid his eyes on you. Out of all the countless women around, the ones with faces like porcelain and bodies so well-formed you can’t hold a candle against every single one of them. But still, he chose you.

“Come on, (y/n). Why are you crying?”, Shinobo whispers into your ear while rubbing small circles onto your back.

“I’m just a little overwhelmed from everything I guess”, you mumble against her comforting shoulder.

Just a few months ago, you would have laughed at anyone who told you that your life would turn out like this. Of course, you’ve lost countless good friends and family members on the way and living with a suborn husband like Sanemi isn’t always easy. But somehow, the two of you always make it work.

Right?

-at the wind hashira estate-

“We are almost there. Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m just a little tired from walking, that’s all!”

Truth is, your feet hurt like hell. Shinobu reported about women who don’t even feel their baby until the second trimester. Why are your feet already swollen, your belly bloated, your guts constantly turning? And there’s still so much ahead.

“Looks like Shinazugawa-sama received a new bunch of trainees after the other corps members all landed in Kocho-sama’s hospital wing”, the kakushi next to you comments dryly.

“Was it really that bad?”

Of course you heard about the rather brutal training methods of your husband. After all, even the walls of his estate aren’t thick enough to stop every single scream from reaching your ears. But still…

“It was pretty bad. Some of the-“

Glass cracking. Screams from afar. Out of instinct, you pick up your pace until you dash towards your home, sweat now dripping from every pore. What happened? Is Sanemi alright? He wouldn’t leash out on one of his students like that. Something must have happened. A demon? No, it’s still daytime. But what is it?

“He’s back! He’s back! That cold-blooded man! Lie down and pretend that you’ve fainted!”, a blonde-haired boy screams while almost collapsing onto the floor.

“What are you talking about? What’s going on here?”, you press out.

Your lungs threaten to fail you, breath already tasting like pure iron.

Until your eyes find Genya.

Your guts twist and turn in every direction, almost force you to vomit all over the place. Genya shouldn’t be here. Out of all people, it shouldn’t be him. And who’s the boy next to him. That familiar scar, you’ve seen that boy before. Is it possible that…

“Kamado Tanjiro”, you breathe out.

Maybe that is even worse.

Your eyes dart around the area without an aim. Where’s Sanemi? Did he find them already? They need to leave before he finds out that they’re here, carry on with another hashira training.

“Please stop now!”, Tanjiro suddenly shouts while stretching out his arm in defence.

An uneasy feeling crawls up your spine, the dark claws of sickening foreshadowing. All you can do is standing death still right where you are and watch in sheer horror as your husband stomps out of your estate motion.

Is that your husband you love and adore, though? You know how untamed he can get especially when getting confronted with his painful past. It was never easy for him to see Genya join the demon slayer corps or realize that his mother could have been saved like Tanjiro’s sister.

But never in your entire life have you seen him like this. The empty shell of your husband, muscles tensed to the maximum and his empty orbs directed towards the two boys in front of him.

In this very moment, you’d trust him to actually kill them.

“What are you going to do? Are you planning to kill Genya?”, Tanjiro continues passionately.

Your glossy orbs are set on your husband. Would he really do something like that? What if you witness the father of your unborn child taking the life of two other human beings? Your heart can’t take it, knees threaten to fail you.

“Hell no, I’m not going to kill him. It would be easy enough to kill him, but since it’s against the rules and all…I’m going to ruin him beyond recovery!”

Until your blurry head finally makes a decision and allows your feet to run.

Straight towards the two boys.

Straight into the firing line.

Straight into the sight of your now maniac husband.

“You won’t do any of these things, you hear me?”, you jeer at him with your new-found courage.

“(y/n)”, Genya breathes behind you.

“How dare you to talk to innocent children like that, Sanemi?”

The man in front of you furrows his eyebrows, hands clenched into tight fists while taking a step towards you.

“Get lost. Right now”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

You swallow hard, all nerves now tingling in sheer horror. This is the first and last warning, without any doubt. The look on his stone-cold face tells you more than urgently that Sanemi isn’t playing, that he doesn’t want you here.

Maybe it’s best if you go back inside and pretend that nothing happened. He himself said that he won’t kill them, after all…

“I’m not leaving”, you bite back.

But that would mean leaving Genya alone. That would mean giving up all of your principles.

“Will you act out like this towards our child as well?”, you continue while growing bigger and bigger in front of the two boys.

He might be your husband, the love of your life. That doesn’t mean you’ll always have to do what he tells you, tough. Instinctively, you clench your hands into tight fists with your glossy eyes almost piercing through him. Enough is enough.

“If our child acts as dumb as you do, I sure as hell will!”

Oh.

Your heart drops to the floor when a nauseous wave of agony hits you with full force. Sanemi is and has always been a hot-headed man who never thought twice about the things he said. But never, not even once in your entire relationship he insulted you.

Until now.

“Is this really how you feel about me? We should support each other, you should listen to me as well as-“

“Spare me with that bullshit, (y/n)”, Sanemi spits at you.

“Get.out.of.the.way. Can’t you hear me?”

It’s like you stop living for a moment. All this time, you did your best to understand him and his grief. Everything Sanemi does comes with a logical reason behind it, even though it’s hard to see from time to time. But lashing out at you like that?

“Stop being so disrespectful to me right now. I am your wife-“

“Right now, you’re my problem”, he jeers back.

“And now get off my sight and let me finish this real quick-“

You don’t know what made you act the way you just did. Was it his cruel behaviour, the way his words cut through your heart like a thousand knives? Before your husband is even able to finish his sentence, your palm races towards his cheek with full force.

The world around you goes silent, frightful gazes glued onto you while you can’t stop your tears from falling anymore.

“Is this how you’re acting around your pregnant wife by now, how you’ll treat innocent children? If that’s the live you chose, I’m not a part of it anymore”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, the urge to get as far away from him as possible becomes unbearable. Your feet start sprinting towards the estate on your own, carry you into your now so empty-feeling bedroom.

And finally, you allow yourself to break down and cry.

Is this really the man you love, that you’d give your life for? Your shaky fingers caress your belly mindlessly.

You can’t stay here. Not when Sanemi showed you a completely different face today. Not when this place doesn’t feel like home anymore.

-a few hours later-

“Fuck!”, Sanemi cries out on top of his lungs while dashing towards Obanai over and over.

Why can’t he get your stupid words out of his mind? The way you stood there with tears in your eyes, how he was literally able to hear your heart crack when those damned words left his mouth. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, to drag you into the fuckery with his little brother and that Kamado boy.

But why did he say all those dumb things, then?

“You seem off, Shinazugawa”, Obanai comments dryly, hitting the wind hashira with full force again.

“I guess I fucked up”, Sanemi mumbles.

What if you won’t forgive him for today? Your last words haunt him since the moment you left him standing in the rain.

“I bet you can talk your way out of it-“

“Hell nah. I don’t think she wants to see me tonight.”

“Did you ask her, though?”

“Who the hell do you think you are anyway? You’re the one to talk, not able to confess your feelings to Mitsuri”, Sanemi barks at the man next to him.

“But yeah, maybe I should get going…”

Coming home never fuelled him with so much fright. What if you’re still angry at him, if you refuse to even talk to him? Or even worse, what if you’ll really leave him?

Sanemi’s guts turn in an instant, feet now picking up their pace with every step. He can’t lose you. Not you, the light of his life. Not when you are the only ray of sunshine in this rotting hell. What the hell did he do? The fact that he even raised his voice at you is unforgivable.

Finally, his fingers grab the door that leads to your shared bedroom, finally he’s able to make up for his mistakes of today-

His eyes widen in sheer horror.

You’re gone.

Right there where your head should rest, there’s absolutely nothing.

Panic starts rising up his chest, forces his heart down his throat.

Did you leave?

He yanks out of your shared room, eyes roaming around each and every corner of your estate. But you aren’t there. You aren’t here.

“My lady is at the love hashira’s estate.”

Sanemi darts up immediately, greeted by the oh so familiar voice of your personal crow.

“Is she fine, why did she-“

“With all due respect, I suggest you to control yourself before making any more insensitive comments to my lady-“

“Who the hell do you even think you are you-“

“Your earlier spoken words really troubled her and my lady certainly does not deserve that.”

Without another word, your crow disappears into the darkness of night again.

Sanemi swallows hard. Fuck, did he really hurt you that badly? He never wanted you to feel bad, never wanted to hurt you. Damn, he only wanted to show Genya and that Kamado boy their places. It shouldn’t have hit you. Out of all people, why did he have to hurt you?

“I need to tell her”, he mumbles under his breath before dashing towards the love hashira estate.

-at Mitsuri’s-

“I can’t believe Shinazugawa said something like this to you, (y/n)! You are super far away from being dumb, after all! Here, eat another pancake and stay as long as you want.”, Mitsuri babbles while handing you another plate.

Your dry eyes are barely able to stay open any longer. All the grief, explaining, fighting and crying did apparently really wear you out. Good for you Mitsuri’s estate is near by and you just know she’ll always open her arms for you.

“Thank you so much for taking me in, Kanroji. I really don’t deserve your kindness”, you sniffle.

“You have to be joking, (y/n)! It’s my duty as your friend to be there for you anytime you need me! And also, I-”

Three violent knocks on Mitsuri’s wooden door almost send you over the edge. It’s past after midnight, the time closer to the morning than evening. Who would knock on Mitsuri’s door this late at night?

“Do you think that’s a demon?”, you mutter in horror, both pairs of eyes set on the door.

“I don’t think so. Let’s see!”

Before you’re able to stop Mitsuri, she rips open the door.

And reveals no other than your husband.

“Sanemi”, you breathe out.

Tears start swelling up your eyes in an instant when a flood of memories crushes you all over again. Just a few hours ago, your husband made very clear that he doesn’t want to see you again anytime soon. How did he find out that you’re here?

“(y/n), can we…have a talk?”, he mumbles with icy voice.

“Do you want to leave me?”, you blurt out.

“What?”

Is that really how you feel, what you think of him? That he’ll turn his back on you after a fight? He did say all those nasty things to you, though.

“I think I’m going out and…cook!”, Mitsuri announces while sprinting out of the door, leaving you alone in the room with all that tension and him.

Him, the man you love more than anything else in this world. And also him, who broke your heart like he never did before.

“You have to be kidding me”, Sanemi mutters under his breath.

You turn away before you lose your composure completely.

“Why are you here, Sanemi?”

“Do you really think I’m here to dump you!? You, my pregnant wife!? You can’t be fucking serious about that!”

In the matter of seconds, you find yourself surrounded by his usual so comforting arms that now hurt like daggers against your skin.

“Please, let me go, I can’t do this ri-“

“(y/n), please.”

His suffocated voice forces your eyes to dart upwards.

Instantly, your heart drops to the floor.

Is this really your husband, crying against your shoulder while pressing your body against his?

“I’m sorry for all the shit I’ve said, I’m sorry for making you feel this way. I’d never leave you, not when I’m even lucky for calling you mine. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this, I just…I just can’t stand them…”

“Sanemi…”

“And I get that I don’t deserve you and that I’m a jerk for hurting you. I know you could’ve had every man you wanted-“

“Sanemi!”, you snap at him, holding onto his face tightly.

“But you’re the one I want”, you finally cry out.

“But your words hurt me. Is this really how you feel about me? Do you really think I’m a burden?”

“I was out of my fucking mind for saying that to you! You’re my blessing, my everything, the sunshine in this rotting hell. You’re…You’re my wife, right?”

That innocent look on his now tear-soaked face runs shivers down your spine, reminds you that even though he acted out today, this man is still the Sanemi Shinazugawa you fell in love with years ago.

“I am your wife”, you press out before a new wave of tears haunts you down.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). So so sorry”, he mutters again and again while kissing every tear away that escapes your eyes.

“And I’ll never talk to you like that again, I promise.”

“Will you promise to not treat Tanjiro and Genya like that ever again too?”

Sanemi shifts his weight underneath you, his orbs growing hard again. Was this too much to ask for? No. Even though you love Sanemi’s rough side as well, he simply can’t do something like this again. Not when you’re his wife, not when you are expecting his first very own child.

“I will. But only if these jerks leave me alone”, he grumbles before giving you a passionate kiss.

“That might be manageable. I want to go home now…”

“No problem, I’ll carry you-“

“You really don’t have to carry me-“

“Oh, but I sure as hell will.”

“HAVE A GOOD NIGHT YOU TWO! AND DON’T ACT LIKE A JERK AGAIN, SHINAZUGAWA!”

“Did you have to tell her everything?”

“She’s my friend, Sanemi. Of course I had to.”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt

[rmview]

accidentally sending a nude, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — what happens when the stray kids boys accidentally send you an inappropriate picture!

contents — crack, flirting, suggestive.

bang ⁺ chan

bang chan was known for being responsible and composed, but even the most reliable people had their moments. he had been working late, distractedly multitasking between responding to texts from the members, fans, and — most nerve-wracking of all — you.

you two had been flirting back and forth for weeks, and tonight was no different. your witty banter put him in a good mood, and before he knew it, he was sending a selfie from the gym, shirt drenched in sweat.

but in his rush, he didn’t notice that the picture he sent wasn’t the one he intended. instead of the gym selfie, it was an older picture—one of him just out of the shower, shirtless, with a towel slung dangerously low on his hips.

seconds later, he realized his mistake.

his heart stopped.

“oh my god,” he muttered, staring at his phone in horror as the “read” indicator popped up. his mind raced. should he delete the message? send a follow-up explanation? throw his phone into the nearest body of water?

before he could do anything, your reply came through.

...well, that’s not what i expected, but i’m not complaining.

his face turned a deep shade of red as he ran a hand through his hair, groaning in embarrassment.

“i am so sorry,” he quickly typed, his thumbs trembling as he sent the message. “that was not meant for you. i was trying to send a gym selfie. please ignore that. oh my god, i’m mortified.”

you replied almost immediately.

relax, chan. it’s not like i haven’t imagined you looking like that anyway. 😉

his jaw dropped. was this flirting? were you actually flirting back after he’d just humiliated himself?

“wait… really?” he replied, cautious yet intrigued.

really. but next time, make sure you send the right picture.

chan exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he smiled at the screen. “noted,” he typed back, still mortified but secretly thrilled. maybe his mistake wasn’t such a disaster after all.

felix ⁺

felix was a bit of a perfectionist, especially when it came to interactions with you. he’d spent weeks carefully navigating the line between friendly and flirty, hoping to gauge your interest without coming on too strong.

so when he accidentally sent that picture, he nearly dropped his phone in panic.

he’d just finished a workout and taken a picture to check his progress — a mirror selfie of him shirtless, muscles taut, and a playful smirk on his face. he’d meant to send it to chan, but somehow, it ended up in your chat.

“no, no, no, no!” felix exclaimed, his freckles standing out against the sudden flush of his cheeks.

he stared at the screen in horror, the little “delivered” icon taunting him.

your reply came faster than he expected.

wow… nice progress, felix. 👀

he froze. were you teasing him? he wasn’t sure if he should laugh, apologize, or crawl under a rock. finally, he decided to address it head-on.

“i am so sorry!” he typed furiously. “that was not meant for you. please ignore it. i’m mortified.”

you replied with a laughing emoji.

it’s fine. honestly, i didn’t know you were this fit. guess i’ve been missing out.

felix’s heart skipped a beat. was that… interest?

“well… thanks, i guess?” he replied, still unsure how to handle the situation. “but seriously, i didn’t mean to send that. i’m usually more careful.”

well, i’m glad you weren’t this time.

felix smiled at your cheeky response despite himself. maybe his mistake wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

lee ⁺ know

lee know had always been careful about boundaries. he enjoyed teasing you and keeping things light, but he never pushed too far. that’s why, when he realized he’d sent the wrong picture, he felt a wave of panic unlike anything he’d experienced before.

the picture wasn’t obscene, but it was suggestive — a shirtless shot of him lounging in bed, his sweatpants hanging low, with a hint of his toned stomach on full display. he’d taken it to mess around with hyunjin but somehow sent it to you instead.

his phone buzzed immediately.

...well, this is a surprise.

lee know stared at your message, his ears turning red as he groaned, tossing his phone onto the couch. “i’m such an idiot,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands.

after a minute of debating whether to respond, he finally picked up his phone.

“that was not for you,” he typed, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. “sorry about that. just… forget you saw it.”

your reply came swiftly.

forget it? why would i? you look good, minho. 😏

his heart skipped a beat. “are you teasing me right now?” he replied, his confidence creeping back in.

maybe... or maybe i’m just being honest.

lee know smirked at the screen, his embarrassment fading. “well, if honesty is what we’re doing, then maybe i should admit that i don’t mind you seeing it.”

“good,” you replied. “because i didn’t mind seeing it either.”

for the first time that evening, lee know relaxed, realizing that his mistake might just have opened a door he hadn’t been brave enough to walk through himself.

hyun ⁺ jin

hyunjin had always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and his interactions with you reflected that. he adored teasing you with his flirtatious comments and playful winks, but he never imagined crossing a line — until tonight.

he was sitting in his art room, surrounded by scattered sketches, when he decided to take a break. swept up in a moment of self-appreciation, he snapped a quick mirror selfie to show off his post-dance practice glow — shirtless, slightly tousled hair, and his sweatpants riding dangerously low. he sent it off to his group chat with the caption, “behold: the main character.”

or so he thought.

when he saw your name at the top of the chat instead, his heart plummeted.

“no, no, no…” he whispered, fumbling with his phone. his fingers hovered over the “unsend” button, but it was too late — your message popped up almost instantly.

well, that’s something i wasn’t expecting tonight. 👀

hyunjin’s face turned crimson, and he buried his head in his hands. his mind raced with what to say, every option feeling inadequate. finally, he mustered a response.

“its not what it looks like,” he typed, his embarrassment palpable even through the screen. “i meant to send it to the group chat. i’m so sorry, seriously.”

your reply came faster than he anticipated.

aw, don’t be embarrassed, hyunjin. you look… good. really good.

he froze, rereading your message. was this real? were you flirting back?

“wait… are you being serious right now?” he asked hesitantly.

completely serious. but if you’re this shy over a picture, i can’t imagine how you’d react if i saw you in person like this.

hyunjin let out a breathy laugh, his embarrassment melting into nervous excitement. “you’re not making this easier, you know,” he replied.

who said i’m trying to make it easier?

he leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips at your teasing response. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

don’t pretend you don’t love it.

hyunjin shook his head, his heart pounding. what started as a mortifying mistake was quickly turning into the most exhilarating conversation he’d ever had with you.

i.n ⁺

jeongin prided himself on being composed despite his age, but tonight, all that confidence vanished in an instant. he’d been lounging on his bed after practice, casually snapping a picture to capture the golden glow of the setting sun through his window.

the photo was innocent enough, or so he thought — a relaxed pose, shirtless, with the blanket barely covering his hips. it was meant for seungmin, who’d jokingly challenged him to “prove” he was resting properly.

but in his sleepy haze, jeongin accidentally sent it to you instead.

he realized his mistake almost immediately when your name popped up with a notification. his stomach dropped, and panic set in.

your message arrived seconds later:

uh… is this the kind of ‘resting’ you meant to show me? 😳

jeongin groaned, burying his face in his pillow. “oh my god, i’m an idiot,” he muttered. he typed back as quickly as his trembling hands allowed.

“i am so sorry. that was not meant for you. please, just delete it and pretend this never happened.”

you replied almost immediately, and his heart raced as he opened your message.

delete it? why would i do that when it’s such a nice view?

his mouth fell open, a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief coursing through him. he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or crawl under his blanket and never come out.

“are you seriously teasing me right now?” he finally typed, his cheeks burning.

maybe... but can you blame me? you’re not exactly making it easy to ignore.

jeongin let out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head. “you’re impossible.”

i know.

jeongin sighed, a reluctant smile spreading across his face. while the initial shock of his mistake lingered, he couldn’t deny that your reaction made it worth the embarrassment.

han ⁺

han had always been impulsive, and that trait extended to his texting habits. he’d just finished a late-night studio session and decided to take a mirror selfie to show off his new haircut. the picture wasn’t inappropriate, but it was suggestive — he was shirtless, his hair slightly damp from a shower, with a cheeky grin on his face.

he meant to send it to chan, but in his half-asleep state, he sent it to you instead.

it wasn’t until your message came through that he realized his mistake.

right in front of my salad? 🤨

han’s eyes widened, and he sat up so fast he nearly knocked over his coffee mug. “oh no,” he muttered, his hands shaking as he typed back.

“omg, i’m so sorry! that was not meant for you! i was trying to send it to chan. please just forget you saw it.”

your reply came a moment later:

why? it was a nice picture. you should send me more.

han’s jaw dropped, his mind racing. was this really happening? were you actually flirting with him?

“wait, are you serious right now?” he replied cautiously.

very serious. you look good, han. don’t be so shy about it.

his face turned red, but a smile crept onto his lips. “i’m not shy!” he typed back defensively.

sure, you’re not...

han let out a laugh, shaking his head. “you’re dangerous, you know that?”

says the guy with his tiddies out for the world to see. wait, i wonder how much i can sell this for on ebay...

he flushed and sighed, leaning back in his chair. what started as a mortifying mistake was quickly becoming the most crack-filled interaction he’d ever had with you. maybe his impulsiveness wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

seung ⁺ min

seungmin was always known for his sharp wit and calm demeanor, rarely letting things rattle him. but tonight, that composure was nowhere to be found.

after a long day, he decided to respond to a group chat message with a selfie he’d taken earlier — a casual, post-workout shot that showed him in a tank top, his hair slightly messy, and his usual confident smirk. the picture wasn’t provocative, but it was undeniably attractive.

except he didn’t send it to the group chat. he sent it to you.

seungmin froze as he realized what he had done. his usual sharp mind went blank, replaced by a surge of panic. before he could even think of a way to delete it, your reply came through.

well, i wasn’t expecting this, but i’m not complaining. 😏

he stared at your message, his ears turning red as he tried to come up with a response. this wasn’t like him at all — how could he make such a mistake?

“uh, that wasn’t meant for you,” he finally typed, his thumbs trembling slightly. “i was trying to send it to the group chat. my bad.”

your reply came almost instantly.

no need to apologize, bbg. honestly, it’s nice to see this side of you. you look good, seungmin.

his jaw clenched as he reread your words. you were complimenting him?

“i didn’t mean for you to see it,” he replied quickly. “but… thanks, i guess?”

why so shy all of a sudden? i didn’t think you’d get flustered this easily.

“i’m not flustered,” he replied, though your teasing and his red face told a different story.

sure you’re not. but for what it’s worth, you’ve definitely made my night.

seungmin let out a small, awkward laugh, his confidence slowly returning. “well, i’m glad my mistake could entertain you,” he replied.

it’s more… eye-opening, than entertaining. although my rose toy would disagree.

seungmin choked, rereading your words. maybe this wasn’t the disaster he thought it was.

chang ⁺ bin

changbin was naturally confident, his playful energy making him the life of any room. but even he wasn’t immune to moments of pure, unfiltered embarrassment — like the one he was having now.

it started innocently enough: he’d taken a mirror selfie at the gym to show off his progress, flexing his biceps with a grin that screamed, “look at me, i’m unstoppable.” it was meant for chan, who’d been teasing him about skipping arm day.

but in his haste, changbin accidentally sent the picture to you.

the moment he realized his mistake, his stomach dropped. “oh no,” he muttered, staring at the screen in horror.

your reply came faster than he could process.

wow, changbin… showing off for me now? 👀

he groaned, his confidence taking a nosedive. he quickly typed back, “that was not meant for you. i was trying to send it to chan. please ignore it!”

you didn’t ignore it. instead, you replied,

why would you send it to him? and why should i ignore it? you look amazing honestly, you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.

changbin blinked, your words catching him off guard. were you… complimenting him?

“wait… are you kidding me?” he replied cautiously.

of course not, i mean, if you’re gonna send me pictures like this, don’t blame me for appreciating them.

changbin let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “well, i wasn’t exactly trying to impress you, but… thanks, i guess?”

who said you didn’t impress me?

his heart skipped a beat at your tease, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “i guess if you’re not mad, i shouldn’t be so worried,” he typed, his confidence returning.

not mad at all. in fact, feel free to send more anytime.

changbin laughed out loud, shaking his head. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

and you love it.

“maybe i do,” he replied, surprising even himself with his boldness.

what started as an embarrassing mistake had suddenly become one of the most fun conversations he’d ever had with you.

notes: hoez in the house ( my smut fic is taking forever to finish :( )

[ciaoteamo]

Milk and Water (Pt. I)

pairings: doppelgänger!Milkman x fem!Reader

summary: One of the newest residents’ very first doppelgänger comes in, trying to sway you into to letting them in. Will you..?

pt.II

art credit (twt: loafuu_chii)

warning: 18+ content

“…what’s the story behind your um… ears(?)” You ask the doppelgänger before you. It was a clone of one of your favorite neighbors actually, her name was Maria.

A woman around your age that you became really close friends with over the few months of you working here.

“@&! !$?&” The doppelgänger let out a series of sounds.

“right, so give me one second” You press the bright red button next to the window and the steel blinds shut with a blaring alarm sound.

You call D.D.D. and they clean up their mess per usual. You once again, you were just thankful you didn’t have to work on that side of the glass.

You check your wrist watch, and happily sigh at the fact that you only had one more hour left to work.

“ mmm, someone’s eager to go home i see” A familiar voice speaks up.

“oh, Mr. Francis” You give the man a polite grin. He gave you a sly one in return. You knew it wasn’t him off the bat. Francis was usually shy towards you, making you want to tease him into blushing whenever you saw him.

Well, you suppose you could kill two birds with one stone. Flirt with the doppelgänger of your crush, and have some entertainment.

“how are you pretty girl” He asks, sliding an I.D. and sheet through the slot.

You examine the documents and identification and beam a smile up at him.

“the date on the I.D. is a little expired hun” You declare. He lets out a small chuckle and leans a little toward the glass.

“mmm, been busy with the milk business, love. must’ve slipped my mind to renew it” He replied. His eyes were low but he still held his sly grin. You leaned back in your chair, with a bored look on your face.

“you’re not like my Francis” You huff and tilt your head with a disappointed look.

His grin faltered and he stepped closer. His breathing had quickened a bit and he took off his hat. “who knows, i could be better” He suggests.

Now that his confidence had depleted a little, you were growing bored of him. You checked the time again and you had 45 minutes left.

“well i’ve gotta get you moving now. it was nice to see such a handsome face though, so thank you” You beam and reach for the button

“you don’t want to do this, trust me” He states with a warning tone. This wasn’t unusual, getting threats after realizing they’re doppelgängers, but being that this one was this aware… they must be evolving.

“and why would i trust you?” You ask out of curiosity.

“i mean look at me” He smirks, one arm leaned against the top of the window. His irises turned from their chocolate brown and into an empty pure white.

“hm” You nod and press the button.

“(Y/N)!” He roared with what you assume was his fist banging the glass.

You call D.D.D. and wait for them to clean their mess, again.

The steel blind begins to lift and you sit back in your seat, checking your watch again but noticed the new pink lighting that shone in.

You furrow your eyebrows and look up in horror as you see blood streaks on the window in thick, and dripping amounts. You jump out of your chair and put your back against the wall.

About 5 D.D.D. workers were piled up, bloody and battered in the corner of the room, and there the doppelgänger was.

Staring at you.

His eyes were low, his shirt was torn, revealing his pecs and the start of his abdomen. He was panting with his (surprisingly still) neat hair and an almost psychotic expression.

“oh no…” He starts with a laugh, still breathing heavily.

“what did you do..?” You cover your mouth with your hand.

“it’s what you did. you got me all riled up.”

He looks down for a brief moment and you swear you hear a zip. He holds his tie and the end of his tattered shirt in his mouth and looks up at you with knitted eyebrows.

His breath fogging up the window as he asks you. Looking like a poor starving puppy. “will you let me in now…? I need your help…” He slightly groaned.

“…what. the. fuck.”