#NEED TO GET MY SHIT TOGETHER AND WRITE MORE!!!!!!!!!!

[joelsrose]

Face Masks?

i need to stop writing this shit bc its making me depresseeedd i need himmm

my masterlist xxx

The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows across the room. 

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the wooden frame slightly chipped but charming nonetheless, humming a tune to yourself as you adjusted the headband holding your hair back. 

The faint scent of roses filled the air, delicate and warm, emanating from the homemade face mask you were mixing in a ceramic bowl Maria had lent you. 

You bit your lip in concentration, the wooden spoon swirling through the creamy mixture as you tried to remember the exact instructions Maria had given you earlier that day.

From the bedroom, Joel’s voice broke the peaceful quiet. He was grumbling, his tone steeped in frustration and exhaustion. “He’s a goddamn idiot,” he groaned, clearly talking about someone from patrol. “Told him to stay low, and what does he do? Barges in and almost gets us killed.” 

A muffled clink followed, the sound of ceramic touching wood as he set something down on the bedside table. Likely your tea, judging by the faint whiff of chamomile drifting into the room.

Then, his voice shifted, the sharp edges dulled by a tired sort of affection. “Baby,” he called, low and gruff, “you comin’ to bed, or you plannin’ on spendin’ the whole damn night in the bathroom?” The words carried a teasing hint, though softer, quieter, he added, almost to himself, “Your tea’s gonna get cold.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you called back, teasing, “You missin’ me already?”

There was a beat of silence, then his reply came, gruff but undeniably warm. “I wouldn’t be askin’ if I didn’t.”

Your heart fluttered a little, the way it always did when Joel said something like that—not exactly romantic, but the kind of thing only he could make feel like one. 

“Just a few more minutes,” you called out, “gotta make sure I’m extra soft and pretty for you.”

“Don’t need any of that,” he muttered, but it was loud enough for you to hear. “You’re already plenty pretty.”

Your cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment, even though his tone was gruff. You shook your head, grinning to yourself. 

“Alright,” you replied, your voice carrying through the half-open door. You set the bowl down on the counter and grabbed the jar of homemade moisturizer Maria had also insisted you try. The subtle scent of lavender and honey wafted up as you scooped some into your hands, rubbing it between your palms before smoothing it over your legs.

“So, what happened after?” you asked, keeping your tone light, though curiosity lingered beneath your words. Joel wasn’t the type to gripe unless something had well and truly gotten under his skin.

From the bedroom, you heard him sigh, long and heavy, the sound carrying the weight of his frustration. The soft rustle of the bedsheets followed—he was probably settling in, though you could imagine him rubbing a hand over his face, trying to shake off the day.

“What happened?” he echoed, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Had to clean up his damn mess, that’s what. Kid thinks he’s invincible.” The irritation sharpened as he went on, his voice rising as though he were speaking to the ceiling, reliving the ordeal as he vented. “Walked us straight into an ambush, and I ended up takin’ the brunt of it.”

“Wow,” you gushed aloud, unable to help yourself as you swirled the spoon in the bowl, your voice filled with playful admiration. “My man, taking on all those scary raiders. Bet you looked sexy doing it.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was silence. You smiled to yourself in the mirror, already imagining Joel’s reaction. The way his brows would knit together, that half-gruff, half-flustered expression he’d never admit to, and maybe even a quiet huff of disbelief.

From the bedroom, Joel sighed, loud and dramatic enough for you to hear. “Come out here, please,” he called, his voice carrying that familiar mix of irritation and something softer. “Christ, why’d I gotta beg with you?”

Curious, you leaned out of the bathroom just enough to catch a glimpse of him, careful not to draw his attention. There he was, sprawled across the bed in a way that was all Joel—equal parts rugged and weary.

His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, his expression carrying that familiar blend of irritation and exhaustion that somehow made your chest tighten. Gosh, he was gorgeous, and the sight of him had your cheeks warming despite yourself.

And then there was his face—flushed in a way you recognized instantly. The kind of flush he’d get when he was flustered but too stubborn to admit it.

One arm was tucked behind his head, his elbow jutting out, while the other rested on his chest, fingers absently tapping against the fabric of his shirt. The movement was rhythmic, almost absentminded, as if it might somehow work out the frustration simmering beneath his skin.

His tousled hair framed his face in a way that softened his usually stern features, and the sight of him in a soft gray pyjama shirt and dark pants—clothes that clung just slightly to his broad frame—was disarming. There was something so ordinary about it, so wonderfully domestic.

The bed, far too small for a man like him, groaned faintly under his weight, his legs just barely hanging off the edge. He shifted slightly, a sigh escaping his lips, and for a fleeting moment, you felt like an intruder on something too personal, too real. But you couldn’t look away—he was an unexpected contradiction, all gruffness wrapped in quiet vulnerability, and it left you completely undone.

You smiled to yourself, biting back a laugh at how ridiculously cute he looked in that moment, before calling out teasingly, “So you yell at the poor guy?”

“Hell yeah, I did,” Joel shot back, his tone unapologetic, though the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Well,” you replied, finally stepping out of the bathroom with the bowl of face mask in your hands, the soft scent of roses trailing after you as you made your way to the bed. “I got somethin’ that might help you relax.”

Joel shifted at the sound of your voice, propping himself up slightly on one elbow. His gaze landed on you, and for a moment, his expression softened, the frustration from earlier melting away just a little. “I like the sound of that,” he murmured, his voice low and rough around the edges. His eyes swept over you, lingering for a beat too long.

You could practically feel the heat of his gaze as it took in the sight of you in his oversized T-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, the hem of the shirt brushing just above your knees. There was something unreadable in his expression, though the way his brow ticked up ever so slightly told you he probably had the wrong idea about how exactly you planned to help him relax.

The corner of your mouth twitched with amusement as you climbed onto the bed, careful not to spill the bowl in your hands. Joel’s eyes followed your every move, curiosity flickering in their depths as he tilted his head slightly.

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking from the bowl in your hands to your face and back again, his expression suspicious. “The hell is that?” he asked, his voice low and dripping with skepticism.

“A face mask,” you replied simply, your tone as matter-of-fact as if you’d just declared the sky was blue.

Joel’s brows knit together, his confusion almost comical. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were trying to puzzle out some great mystery. “For your face,” you added, enunciating each word slowly like he might not have understood.

His reaction was immediate—his lips pressed into a thin, stubborn line, and he leaned back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest. “No way in hell you’re puttin’ that shit on me,” he said, his voice firm, like he was drawing a line in the sand.

You pouted dramatically, sticking your bottom lip out just enough to make him groan, the sound low and reluctant as his head tilted back against the headboard. “Oh, come on, Joel,” you coaxed, your voice lilting with playful innocence. “It’s supposed to be good for your skin. Don’t you trust me?”

Joel groaned, a deep, reluctant sound as his head leaned back against the headboard. “An old man like me is way past carin’ about his skin,” he muttered, shaking his head.

His eyes snapped back to yours, narrowing suspiciously, but before he could protest again, you leaned in closer, letting your fingers brush ever so lightly against the hem of his pyjama pants. “Maybe if you do it,” you murmured, your tone teasing, “I’ll help you unwind another way too.”

Joel froze, his gaze locked on you as the faintest flush crept up his neck. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, visibly wrestling with whatever was going through his head. “You’re playin’ dirty,” he muttered finally, his voice low and gravelly, but there was no mistaking the way his jaw ticked, like he was trying not to let you see how flustered he was.

You tilted your head, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Is it workin’?”

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his hand over his face as though already regretting the conversation. “The things I do for you…”

Your face lit up with a triumphant smile. “Is that a yes?”

He grumbled something incoherent before sighing deeply. “Hurry up before I change my mind,” he said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the pillow.

You squealed softly, unable to contain your excitement as you settled closer to his broad body, the warmth of him grounding you. With gentle fingers, you collected the rose-scented mask and smoothed it over his weathered skin, taking your time to ensure every stroke was perfect. The contrast between his rugged, sun-worn features and the soft, floral scent of the mask struck you as oddly endearing.

Here he was, Joel Miller—the man who could take down an infected in seconds without breaking a sweat—now lying still and letting you paint his face with homemade skincare. The absurdity of it made your chest swell with affection, and you couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out as you leaned back to admire your handiwork.

You admired his face as he lay there, his features finally relaxed, the usual tension around his brow melting away. For a moment, he looked completely at peace, the lines on his face softer, his breathing slow and steady. Your eyes wandered over him, taking in the details you rarely let yourself linger on.

“You’ve got the prettiest eyelashes, baby,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could catch them.

Joel’s lips twitched, the faintest smirk forming, though he didn’t open his eyes. “Prettiest, huh?” he muttered, his voice rough but tinged with teasing.

“And the nicest lips,” you added softly, unable to help yourself as you leaned down, brushing your own lips against his in a fleeting kiss. His mouth curved into a smile beneath yours, the warmth of it sending a flutter of butterflies racing through your chest.

“Urgh,” you groaned, pulling back just enough to sit beside him, the bowl resting on your lap. “You’re so handsome.”

Joel’s hand moved without hesitation, even with his eyes still closed. His large, calloused fingers found your thigh, squeezing gently, the roughness of his touch making your heart skip a beat.

He chuckled low, a sound that was equal parts amusement and satisfaction. “Look at you, bein’ nice to me,” he teased, his eyes staying closed, though the smirk that tugged at his lips was impossible to miss.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile as you dipped your fingers back into the face mask. “Hey,” you said, swiping a playful line of the mixture across his forehead to smooth it out evenly, “I’m always nice to you.”

“Debatable,” he added lazily, the teasing warmth in his voice making you laugh.

“Shut up,” you shot back, still laughing as you set the bowl down on the nightstand.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, his hand brushing against his cheek as he frowned. “Is it meant to be this cold?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, batting his hand away before he could smear it. “Don’t touch it.”

He opened his eyes then, fixing you with a deadpan look that would’ve been more convincing if his lips weren’t twitching. “You happy now?”

You grinned at him, your smile wide enough to make your eyes crinkle. “Very.”

“Good,” Joel muttered, leaning back into the pillow with a soft sigh. “Gimme a kiss.”

You leaned in obligingly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back, your gaze lingering on his face for a moment longer than you intended. “Okay, my turn,” you declared suddenly, sitting up and setting the bowl down before flopping back onto the bed beside him, your eyes falling shut in a dramatic flourish.

Joel raised an eyebrow, his skepticism plain as he turned his head to look at you. “You want me to…?”

“Yes,” you said, cutting him off with a firm nod, your eyes still closed. “You. Me. Face mask. Now.”

“Fucking hell,” Joel muttered under his breath, pushing himself up onto his knees with a grunt. The bed groaned under his weight, but he paid it no mind, instead staring down at the bowl like it was some alien artifact. “What, I just… put my fingers in it?”

One of your eyes popped open, and the second you caught the unintentional innuendo, you burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room.

Joel froze for a moment, realization dawning as his lips pulled into a reluctant, crooked smile. He shook his head, groaning dramatically. “Christ, you’re dirty-minded,” he muttered, though the glint of humor in his eyes betrayed him.

“You’re the one who said it,” you teased, your laughter finally subsiding as you closed your eyes again, a grin still tugging at your lips. “Just spread it on my face, okay? It’s not rocket science.”

“Alright,” Joel said, his voice low and quieter now, tinged with something softer. He dipped his fingers into the bowl, hesitating for just a moment before shifting closer. “Stay still,” he murmured, his tone gentler than you expected.

“Hmm,” you hummed, relaxing further into his touch, the gentle strokes of his fingers soothing you like nothing else could.

“My gorgeous girl,” Joel murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t catch it.

Your lips curled into a small, pleased smile, the warmth of his words settling in your chest. “Hmm,” you hummed again, teasing now. “Am I the prettiest girl in Jackson?”

Joel hesitated for just a moment, and then he leaned down, his lips brushing your temple with a featherlight touch as he whispered, “Prettiest girl in the damn world, baby.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, a warmth blooming in your chest that made you feel like you might burst. “Joel,” you murmured, your eyes fluttered open, seeking his.

“Eyes closed, darlin’,” he said softly, his voice low but steady, a firm gentleness lacing his words. His thumb brushed against your cheek, the calloused pad grazing your skin so tenderly it made you melt.

You obeyed, closing your eyes again with a small smile, but you couldn’t help the way your lips curved up, warmth spreading through you from the way he spoke to you, the way he touched you.

He smoothed the last bit of the mask onto your forehead, his fingers moving gently, almost reverently. His eyes traced the lines of your face, committing every detail to memory.

“All done,” he murmured finally, leaning back just enough to give you space.

You opened your eyes, blinking up at him, and the look on his face made your breath catch. He was watching you with a softness that stole the air from your lungs, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice almost shy now, the intimacy of the moment making your heart race.

Joel’s lips curved into that small, crooked smile of his, the one that never failed to make your stomach flip. “Anytime, baby,” he replied, his voice low and warm, as he set the bowl aside on the nightstand. Without hesitation, he plopped down onto his side of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he stretched out beside you.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that felt easy and natural, until Joel’s brow furrowed slightly. He turned his head toward you, his expression equal parts curious and skeptical. “Now how long do we keep this shit on?”

You burst into laughter, the spell of the moment breaking just enough to make you grin. “Ten minutes, maybe fifteen,” you said, still giggling. “You’re already doing better than most.”

Joel huffed, shaking his head with mock exasperation, but the faint smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t really mind. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, leaning back against the headboard with a sigh.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased, settling beside him, your shoulder brushing his. His hand found yours without hesitation, his fingers curling around yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 nightgown

synopsis: after two wonderful years with the swordsman, you're reluctant to let him go, especially without telling him how you feel. luckily, he feels the exact same way... and more than accepts your scanty going away present.

cw: part 2/3, nsfw, fluffy fluff, comfort, reader is FIONE, reader is also real as hell, zoro is a fiend, mihawk is such dad, this was so fun to write.

a/n: tagging: @that-b-word-lol @ihatespidersdie I NEED THIS MAN UNDER MY TREE

"C'mon, (y/n), they're not gonna fight if you keep playing with 'em," Zoro sighed, removing his sword from his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest.

You giggled, unable to fight off your smile as you danced with the humandrills, relishing in their happy snorts and yips as the leader of the gang—Chuki—picked you up and placed you on his shoulder, happily parading you around.

"Sorry," you grinned, clapping with approval as a few of the others performed back-flips and cartwheels to keep your attention. "I was coming out to check on you guys."

Just then, Chuki let out a howl of excitement, wanting to join in on the fun.

Without warning, he launched himself into a somersault, completely forgetting you were on his shoulder and sending you flying.

'Not again...'

Zoro moved like he'd done this a hundred times—which he had—effortlessly shooting himself up and catching you in mid-air, bridal style.

"Every time?" he asked, raising a brow.

"I'm gonna miss this," you chuckled, looping an arm around his neck as he landed.

"The hell are you gonna do when I'm gone?" he carefully put you down, crossing his arms over his chest once again. "I'm not gonna be here to keep you from falling on your face."

You shrugged, turning to Chuki with a wide smile as he gave you a high five, "I guess I'll just have to learn how to land on my own."

"HA!"

The swordsman scoffed, shoulders bobbing with laughter as you snapped your head over to him, less amused.

"The girl who can barely hold a sword? I'd love to see it."

"Hey!"

"Hu hu hua!" Chuki mimicked, turning to you with an incredulous look. "Ooh, ah ah ah, hua!"

"I know right," you agreed, resting a hand on your hip as you glanced at the swordsman. "And smelly, too..."

"WHAT WAS THAT?!"

Gloom Island was known all-throughout the Grand Line as an abandoned island, its kingdoms having brought themselves to utter ruin after years of war.

Your parents had even been drafted, and, of course, killed in the line of duty.

But, by fate or by fortune, you had managed to survive, living through most of your childhood as an orphan in a battle-ravaged kingdom.

Until, eventually, you were the last one standing.

Alone, you searched for any survivors, managing to stumble across a devil fruit along the way before meeting the humandrills.

The Speak-Speak fruit allowed you to become fluent in any language from the moment you heard it spoken aloud—animal language, included.

So, after meeting them on their level, the monkeys took you in, protecting you and treating you as one of their own until Mihawk came along not too long after, taking up the role as your father-figure and mentor.

Naturally, he tried to teach you some swordsmanship, but you lacked... talent, to say the least.

"I've gotten better since the last time we trained together!" you bellowed, proudly, as you picked up a sword, lowering yourself into an offensive stance. "Look!"

"Your posture's off," Zoro noticed, off-rip, "And your feet are too far apart."

Breath hitching, your face glowed with embarrassment, your body practically freezing in place.

'Shit!'

And just as you were trying to prove a point...

"Here," he instructed, getting up behind you and pressing his hand into the small of your back, straightening you up. "Like this."

Your spine shivered at his touch, the thick pads of his fingers practically burning into your flesh, despite the fabric separating them.

"Pull your feet a bit closer... it will firm up your stance... And if you're facing an enemy head on like this, you're gonna want to be upright."

"Okay!" you squeaked, doing your best to make the adjustments without physically combusting.

Carefully, you pulled your feet in shoulder width, and used his hand as a guide to straighten up your posture.

"Good," he commended, his arms suddenly coming around you grab your hands, helping you fix your grip on the sword. "Now when you swing, I want you to step into it."

You felt chills when his hands touched yours, years of work evident in his rough, calloused flesh, which held yours with the gentlest touch.

Turning to glance at him, your eyes came up to meet his once more, telling a story that made you just want to sit down and listen.

You studied his facial features up close—for about the fifty-millionth time—taking note of everything you had come to admire in the last two years.

The slight pink of his tanned lips...

The strength of his jaw...

The faint scar that rested on the tip of his shoulder, not that such a detail could be picked up unless one was really looking.

You felt like the staring going on for ages, but you didn't want to look away, and neither did he.

He, too, was studying your face.

And, deep down, he never wanted to look away.

"Dinner is ready," your father's voice cut through the air, draining all the color from your face.

Instantly, you and Zoro quickly threw yourselves off each other, heat rising to both your faces as you turned away, embarrassed—and slightly scared for the swordsman.

Mihawk fixed Zoro with a sharp glare, sizing him up as if he was some sort of delinquent.

He had been suspicious of you and the swordsman since the moment he arrived, particularly suspect as to why you felt so inclined to help him.

He knew you were a smart girl, and wouldn't disregard everything he had ever taught you about being safe without a valid reason.

A valid reason being a handsome man, in this case.

Still, what was he supposed to expect?

You were a woman now—no matter how difficult it was for him to accept—and women had... needs.

Mihawk shivered at the thought, quickly purging it from his mind as he turned on his heel, power-walking back toward the castle.

Not under his roof...

"Don't dawdle... it'll get cold."

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Come in," Zoro called, not moving from his spot resting peacefully on his bed, his hands tucked behind his head.

"Happy Going Away/Leaving To Reunite With Your Friends Tomorrow Day!" you smiled, carefully entering his room while holding a plate with a comically large onigiri on top, a sparkler sticking out of it. "I know you don't like cake, so I brought the next best thing!"

Warmed by the display, Zoro sat up, trying and failing to fight the smile rising to his lips as you approached.

'Adorable...'

"(y/n)... you didn't have to do all his," he started, not knowing what to say as you handed him his gift.

"I know that. But I figured you deserved something special to commemorate all the hard work you've done," you nodded, sheepishly. "You put up with my dad for two years... of your own free will... that alone is its own achievement."

Letting out a small chuckle, the swordsman suddenly found his eyes drifting to you, only to be met by your pretty, (e/c) eyes staring down at him, the entire room fading around you two.

He barely believed his eyes as he drank you in—your appearance sinful enough to make the devil sweat.

Instead of your usual long, black dress, you wore a tiny, black nightgown, which accentuated your luscious, curvaceous body and exposed the enticing flesh of your thighs.

You paired the little number with some black pumps, which he bet barely made you taller than him if you were to stand up.

The moonlight pouring in from the window illuminated your skin and glossed up, plump lips at curled into a nervous smile at the sight of him.

Topped off with the sweet silkiness of your voice; the way your body sensually moved; how you smelled of cocoa butter and vanilla.

Quietly, Zoro cursed under his breath, practically reeling.

God, if the last two years were anything, they were a testament to his willpower...

He had never felt this way before.

So distracted.

So obsessed.

You plagued his mind every hour of the day, the thoughts ranging from wholesome to downright scandalous.

Seeing you around the castle, watching the movement of your hips and the graceful slide of your hands, making him feel extremely stiff.

'Christ...'

He tried not to think of you like that.

You were the daughter of his sworn enemy, and a sweetheart, at that...

You deserved a nice guy, one that had a regular life, with a regular job and regular urges.

Not a jaded pirate like himself.

But you were just so damn alluring, he couldn't help himself.

"What do you think you're doing?"

You blinked once, coming out of the trance the man had put you under with a confused raise of your brow.

"Huh?" you asked, dumbly, your mind having turned to mush in the five minutes you were staring at him.

"I said," he pointedly repeated, placing the plate down on his nightstand before standing to his full height, towering over you. "What do you think you're doing?"

Nervous, your manicured hand wrapped around your arm, the swordsman's mind immediately traveling somewhere else.

"I... don't know what you're talking about," you muttered, eyes drifting away from him.

You tried to think quick, scouring your mind for some sort of excuse as he fixed his gaze on you like a predator would his pray.

You knew you couldn't chicken out now.

Especially after all the work you put into getting ready.

"You come in here..." he started, slowly pressing forward, forcing you to step back in order to keep some air between you two. "Dressed like that... just to give me a going-away present?"

You swallowed, thickly, continuing to move backward as he continued to invade your space, his eye cutting you down to size like a cat does a mouse.

"What are you trying to do?"

You turn away slightly, pulling your soft, glossy lip into a nervous bite.

"I just... wanted to look nice... for you," you muttered, resting your hands behind your back.

"Did you, now?" he cocked a brow. "Y'know... after all this time, I think I've finally got you figured out."

With a squeak, your back met the wall, forcing you to stay put as the swordsman caged you in, his muscular body leaving no route of escape.

"I think... you're a sweet girl, who's never met a pirate before, or been allowed outside the confines of this island, that thinks that she can stick it to her father by flirting with the man who is hellbent on taking him down."

Zoro raised a brow, cockily, a teasing smirk rising to his lips.

"How's that? Am I in the ballpark?"

"Hardly," you denied, a small air of confidence returning the wind to your sails.

It caught his attention immediately.

"I may be sweet... and you may be my father's rival... but you forget that I am I woman."

His breath hitched, eye widening slightly as you pulled yourself off the wall, taking your turn to move forward and regain some ground.

"A woman who's been lonely for quite some time... a woman who enjoys your company more than she'd care to admit... a woman who's never had more fun than in the two years you've lived in her house..."

You rested your hand against his chest, the swordsman scared you would feel his heart beating against his rib-cage.

"A woman who's found herself falling in love with the idiot that crash landed on her island..."

Eye wide, Zoro flushed at your boldness, looking away from your intense, (e/c) eyes.

"You don't mean that..." he attempted to rationalize, suddenly unable to comprehend the possibility of you actually liking him.

This had to be a trick.

You were just doing this to piss off your dad...

Right?

You stared at him with hooded eyes, flashing him a bashful, crooked smile that nearly had him melting into the floor.

"If I didn't... do you think I'd be standing here right now?"

The floodgates were opened.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, Zoro roughly yanked you forward, pulling you into his chest as you let out a gasp of surprise.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he warned, holding himself back by the thinnest string of his sanity. "If we do this... there's no going back. And after tomorrow, you won't see me for who knows how long..."

He looked you up and down, giving you a stare that would make any woman weak in the knees.

"You gonna be okay with that?"

Seriously, you nodded, looking up at him with sparkling eyes that nearly set his heart on fire.

"Alright, then... no holding back."

And he took "no holding back" with the utmost seriousness, managing to make you cum three times throughout your night in his room.

The first time was on his couch, coaxing you to bend over and let him massage and spank your soft, jiggly ass, which he swore was heaven sent when he plunged his tongue into your velvety folds, relishing in your soft moans and desperate grinds into his face.

The second time was in his bed, your legs pinned down onto the mattress while he tailed you, his cock plunging in and out of you as his arms wrapped around your body, allowing you to feel safe and comfortable while he dicked you down, feeling feral at the sight of your smooth tummy and soft tits.

The third and last time—because your virgin self simply couldn't take anymore—was when he bent you over and fucked you from behind on the foot of his bed.

His hands held your hips while he leaned over, physically holding you up on your jelly-like legs.

Your hands frantically fisted the sheets as he pounded into you, his firm thighs meeting your ass cheeks as he fucked you like there was no tomorrow.

Because, to him, there wasn't.

"F-Fuck! Oh, my God! Right there!" you sobbed. "Yes, please! Right there!"

He watched your pretty face contort in pleasure, loving how soft you felt pressed against him, and how you sounded moaning from the lips he'd been kissing all night.

"Nuh-uh," he huffed in your ear, leaning down to nip at your lobe. "S'not God that's doin' this, pretty. Who's really makin' you feel good?"

"Zoro!" you moaned, a pitiful whine following after. "H-How are you so good at this?"

He grinned, becoming cocky at seeing you lose your mind on his dick.

"You tell me," he teasingly ordered. "How good am I?"

SMACK!

The sharp sound of his hand connecting with your ass cheek made you let out a harsh groan of pleasure, your pussy clenching around him.

"So good!" you gasped, the sensations too much.

Feeling you tighten around him, Zoro let out a harsh grunt, fighting off the moan ready to leave his lips.

"Christ... body's so fuckin' perfect," he groaned, kneading one of your tits in his calloused hand as he sped up, hitting that spot inside of you that made you see stars. "Look at you... so damn pretty."

"Oh, Zoro! I can't!" you moaned, bottom lip quivering at the coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter. "I can't...Z-Zoro, m'gunna! M'gunna—!"

"You gonna, gonna what?" he chuckled. "You wanna cum for me again?"

You pathetically nodded, forcing his grin even wider.

"So greedy..."

But so was he.

He would fuck you all night if he could, but he was reaching his limit same as you.

"Cum for me, (y/n)," he ordered, huskily, as he leaned down to your ear, slamming into you harder and you frantically rubbed your clit. "I'm close, too. Rub that little pussy and fuckin' give it to me, baby!"

It doesn't take long for him to blow his load inside of you, flooding you with cum that dripped down your thighs.

His moans of pleasure triggered you, causing your pussy to quiver and flutter around him as you came.

A moan of his name and a few swears left your lips as you rode it out, coating his cock in your sticky juices.

Turning around, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you in a tender moment of bliss.

Pressing his lips against yours, his hand came up to cup your cheek, the embrace feeling like nothing short of a goodbye.

When your highs finally subsided, Zoro gently pulled out of you, making your pussy spurt out his cum.

The sight nearly made him hard all over again.

'Fuuuuck...'

"Sorry," you groggily apologized, already half asleep as you laid down, your half-lidded, (e/c) eyes still sparkling in the moonlight.

Amused by your fucked out state, he scooped you up, effortlessly, carrying you up to the head of the bed and placing you down among the pillows.

With a yawn, he climbed in with you, stomach faintly fluttering as you rested your head on his chest, nuzzling tightly into his side.

"M'gonna miss you, Zoro," you softly said into the quiet, dimly lit room, "...A lot"

Carefully, he rested his hand on your back, his thumb drawing mindless circles into your skin.

As much as he loved this—your company, your touch, you—he knew that come morning, he would still have to leave.

He had a dream, and an obligation to the family he called his crew.

He couldn't just abandon that.

His brows furrowed, a look of determination settling on his face.

But that didn't mean he couldn't make you a promise.

"I'll come back for you," he stated, plainly, without a doubt in his mind. "When I'm the Greatest Swordsman... and when Luffy's King of the Pirates... I'll come back for you. And I'll take you out to sea, and show you all the places you read about in your books."

Looking up at him, your sleepy eyes sparkled with a glimmer of hope, nearly turning him into a puddle.

"Really?" you asked, adorably.

With a nod, he pecked a soft kiss on your hairline, before leaning back into the pillows.

"Really."

BONUS!!

"Oi, Chuki!" Zoro called as he walked through the ruins, knapsack thrown over his shoulder. "Come out here! I gotta talk to you about somethin'!"

The swordsman had left his room in the wee hours of the morning, managing to wiggle out your grasp and clean himself up before placing a tender goodbye kiss on your forehead, leaving you to sleep.

The previous night introduced some new feelings to him, and if he was going to get a lick of sleep out at sea, he needed to take care of one final thing.

"C'mon! It's about (y/n)!"

At the sound of your name, the large humandrill immediately showed himself, jumping out from behind a stone column with a loud whoop, which sounded eerily like what's wrong.

"With me gone... and with Hawk-Eye on his trips for the Navy... (y/n)'s gonna be on this island all by herself," Zoro started, brows cinched together, seriously.

This was the only thing that was going to quell his worries.

"I don't know what's gonna happen in the next few years, but if any pirates, or even the World Government, come stickin' their noses around this place... you send them flyin', you understand?"

Using the handle of his sword, he pointed toward the castle, where you slept peacefully, safe and secure.

"No one goes near her. No one even makes it to the castle. You fight like your goddamn life depends on it, alright? 'Cause it does."

Surprised, the monkey swallowed thickly, especially when the swordsman's eye landed on him with the harshest glare he had ever seen.

Even harsher than Mihawk's.

"I come back here and find out that she got hurt on your watch... you, and all of your monkey pals, are finished... Understand?"

Frantic, and terrified, Chuki chittered in agreement, rigidly saluting the man for confirmation.

With a proud grin, Zoro nodded, continuing on his trek to the shore as he waved to the baboon, along with the hundred others fearfully watching from the trees.

"Good... I'll see you guys around."

[bucketbueckers]

LAYUPS & LAYOVERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader wc: 2.9k content warnings: language, fluff, author is southern and doesn't understand how snow or marketing works, plot where there doesn’t need to be plot synopsis: It’s Christmas Eve and you’re in Connecticut, exhausted and just trying to get to Minnesota for a work conference. You could cry when it’s announced that all flights are being halted due to the incoming blizzard. Irritated, tired, and overworked, you pray for a miracle, although it takes an unnatural shape in the form of a six foot blonde athlete who’s just trying to make it home, too. Late night airport conversations lead to something more. notes: merry christmas eve from my delusions to yours! the last chapter of irp was super heavy so here's my apology and christmas gift (do i drop another one tmr...i really dont wanna write chapter 8 ����). i hope you all enjoy this short n sweet lil ramble i threw together and happy holidays 🫶

This can not be your life right now.

It’s actually kind of impressive how all of the stars aligned on this one particular night to fuck you over. You’re not a terrible person. You hold the doors for everyone, give up your seat on the bus for sweet old ladies, and you always allocate a portion of your paychecks to donate to Wikipedia. By all accounts, you should be overwhelmed with good karma, although it seems your luck has depleted on this night and this night alone.

It all started on the 20th when you flew out to Connecticut. You work a cushy job as a marketing consultant for the WNBA, which means you spend a lot of time in the air and across the country trying to unfuck – sorry, trying to optimize and rejuvenate – the state of the league and its teams. It’s a task easier said than done. Nobody seems to want to listen to you until they realize that your master’s degrees in marketing and business analytics actually mean something and aren’t just really expensive pieces of paper that you hang in your office. You spend a couple of days in Uncasville talking strategies to boost ticket sales and to gain more traction; they’re the only professional team the state has – it should not be hard to get people to show up if you can market it right, but here you are.

Connecticut is nearly a bust. It’s cold and you spend two full days in meetings getting talked over by men who think they understand numbers and branding. Then, on the third day, the front office suddenly realizes what you’ve been talking about (this shit was covered in your sophomore year intro to marketing class, but hey, the less people know, the more you get paid, so who’s really complaining?) and the trajectory of your trip makes a sudden turnaround. On the 23rd and early on the 24th, you help the Sun roll out the new optimizations, and what do you know? Ticket sales surge by 17%, including some season tickets, all is well in the world and it’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

Then, all is suddenly not well and you remember that Christmas miracles are for people not surrounded by idiots. Your boss emails you just before you leave for the airport: The Lynx need your help. I’ve sent you tickets for the first flight out of Connecticut. Meet with them on the 26th. Said “flight” departs from Connecticut at 8:30pm on Christmas Eve, which means you’re not even in Minnesota until 12am if you’re lucky, which means you have to figure out hotel arrangements so you can take a nap because you’ve barely slept in five days, which means you have to figure out how to be nice to people again because the Sun front office has you pissed all the way the fuck off.

So, you’re tired, overworked, extremely irritated, and hungry, although that last problem is solved by airport Subway. You just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, either – you firmly believed that you were better off betting all of your money on black rather than taking the chance on airport food, but you didn’t have much of a choice and your stomach was growling. You eat, settling in a chair at your gate, and patiently await for your plane to arrive.

Then, the overhead PA clicks on with some static noise, announcing, “Flight 932 to Minneapolis and all other flights exiting Hartford will be delayed due to inclement weather. I repeat–”

The blood rushes to your head. Your eye twitches. There’s a crying baby somewhere in the airport and you can’t take it anymore. Honestly, what’s stopping you? Flying a plane cannot be that difficult. You’re pretty persuasive. You can tell TSA you’re just young for a pilot and you’re not wearing a pilot’s uniform because it’s Christmas Eve and what are you, the feds? All you’re really asking for at this point is a nap but there’s no way in hell you’re making it to a hotel in these conditions and the chances of you sleeping in an airport with all of your belongings out for someone to grab are even lower.

A commotion towards the check in counter commands your attention. You turn, dreading the eventual crash out of an airport Karen, but it’s better than the crying baby who still hasn’t shut the fuck up.

“Please, there’s gotta be something else you can do,” a tall, broad-shouldered blonde is begging, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. “It’s Christmas Eve, I have to get home.”

The lady at the check in counter sounds sympathetic when she responds. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our hands are tied. We can’t send our planes out in this weather, but if it eases up, the next flight out should have you arriving in Minneapolis by tomorrow afternoon.”

You hear the blonde groan, her tone sounding something like, I can’t fucking believe this is my life, which is a sentiment you whole-heartedly agree with. “Can you please lemme know if there’s anything earlier?” she pleads. “Like, if by the grace of God this weather clears and we can leave sooner.”

“Of course, ma’am. All updates will be announced.”

The response is almost robotical, but you can tell the receptionist is trying her best, too, and the last place she wants to be is hanging out at the airport on Christmas Eve. The blonde sighs, thanking her, and from the corner of your eye, you watch her hike her bag up over her shoulder and she moves to sit directly in front of you. That’s when you truly get a good look at her, at the dejected blue of her eyes, the chisel of her jaw, the logo on her hoodie. Paige Bueckers is no stranger to you. You grew up watching ball, so obviously you’re familiar with her game – any self-respecting basketball fan is. But by virtue of your job, Paige Bueckers is a name that makes your marketing heart beat just a little faster. Ever since Dallas won the lottery, you’ve been all over their marketing team. Paige’s entire existence and the chance she gets drafted to Dallas is the sole reason the Wings’ tickets are flying off the shelves. She’s the most marketable college athlete there is right now, one of the top rookie prospects for the league, but one look at her face in person and you’re forgetting all about your job. Her jaw is tight with a simmering anger, and honestly, you feel terrible for her – she already spends so much time away from her family and here she is trying to get out of Bumfuck, Connecticut, so she can be home in time for Christmas.

You find a little bit of bravery when you raise your voice slightly to ask her, “No luck?”

She looks up, glancing at you and taking in your features, and laughing slightly when she realizes you’re genuinely just trying to make conversation and not trying to get a soundbite out of her. “You heard that?” she asks sheepishly, sinking a little in her seat to get comfortable. You pretend to not notice her manspread.

“Well,” you begin, glancing over at the receptionist. “The desk is like, ten feet away.” She laughs again and nods, murmuring touche under her breath. “932 Minneapolis?” you ask, referring to your flight.

Paige nods again, quirking a smile. “You stalking me or sum’?”

You shrug your shoulders, a coy smile on your face. “Just observant,” you quip.

Paige grins fully. “What about you?” she asks. “You work for the league?”

At that, you can’t help your surprise, raising a brow. “How’d you know that?”

“Just observant,” she throws your words back at you. You laugh. “Kidding. I see your ID pokin’ out of your bag. You from here, or they got you workin’ on the holidays?”

“Work,” you respond. Paige whistles lowly. “I’m a marketing consultant. Been up here for a few days working with the Sun, then I’m heading to Minnesota to fix the Lynx’s bullshit.” You blink, registering your words, blushing as Paige laughs. “You did not hear that. I’m usually nicer to my employers.”

“They got you workin’ and flyin’ out on Christmas Eve,” Paige points out. “You should be meaner.”

You incline your head in a nod, huffing. “All of this for office potlucks and dental coverage,” you joke. “Don’t quit basketball.” Paige grins again and you’re suddenly reminded of your manners. “Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” You do as such, only mildly surprised when she stands to shake your hand and introduces herself, too, which is honestly kind of endearing. Then, she plops into the empty seat next to yours, smiling widely.

“So, marketing consultant,” she says, her tone nonchalant as she gets comfortable next to you, extending her long legs across her suitcase. “How often will I get to see you?”

You glance at her, raising a wry eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” you ask.

Paige shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “A little. Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit. You can see the pride that shines in her eyes. You roll your eyes in amusement, still in slight disbelief, but you redirect back to her question. “Honestly, probably a lot. The league is super messy from a business perspective and their actual marketing sphere isn’t that great, either. As soon as you get drafted I’ll probably have to fly down to whichever poverty team you land at and teach them how to market you.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and despite the tease in her tone, she does seem interested. “How would you market me?”

“How much time do you have?”

“Well…” Paige glances down to her watch, then out the windows where snow falls in heavy sheets. “Looks like a lot.”

You snicker. “Alright. Bear with me, okay?” Paige nods in earnest, her attention fully on you as you begin to ramble. Truthfully, you did like your job when you were able to do it. The issue is and always will be the idiots you have to work with who overlook your credentials. “So, I’m not thinking about your personal brand at all. Like, that one’s already incredible. Your PR team did their big one with you. But the issue with athletes like you, wide-eyed and fresh out of college with an insane resume of endorsements, followers, deals, whatever – the issue is that whatever team you get drafted to is gonna want to rebuild their entire image around you. Think Clark, Brink, Reese, Jackson, Cardoso. It’s textbook – you advertise the person who’s gonna get you the most clicks, the most sales. So, how can we use that to actually grow the game, the league? I’m talking about longevity. There’s so many people tuning in for you that don’t know shit about basketball, and honestly, they’re gonna be scared to ask questions.

“So we push something corny. Social media segments with a catchy name like Ball With Bueckers or some shit where you break down basketball plays, rules, the stuff you’re gonna see and hear when you watch a game. What’s a pick and roll? A screen? Why is she getting fouled for blocking that shot, isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Education, interest, loyalty, and competition sells. Stories sell, too, which is why the league is still trying to push the Clark/Reese rivalry. That’s old news, though. A more compelling story would have been the Fever/Sun rivalry, especially after the Sun beat the Fever and the Fever hired their coach. Or Fever/Wings, for reasons I’m not gonna ruin your night with.” Paige laughs at that, and you smile, clearing your throat and trying to find your train of thought. “So, when I’m undoubtedly called in to fix your team’s mess, that’s what I’d be suggesting. People already love you. Using that connection to get them to love ball, too, is my goal.”

“You’re really passionate about this,” Paige comments, her lips quirking into a slight smile. You can’t help but preen a little, flushing. “Like, about basketball. You really care about the sport. Feels like that’s harder to find lately.”

“Well, I was too short to play it, so gotta settle for something, right?” you joke.

Paige looks you up and down. You’re wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt from college, but her gaze is shameless, appreciative despite your casual airport wear. She chuckles, a disbelieving noise building in the back of her throat. “Nah. You’re what, 6’5?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Try a foot less. But I appreciate you for believing in me.”

Paige smiles, nudging you a little. “I was serious, though. You’re super passionate. I like that.”

“Still flirting?”

“S’not everyday you get snowed in at the airport with a pretty girl,” Paige says, her gaze warm, and you can’t help but blush again. “Gotta shoot my shot, you know?” She mimes throwing a ball, her wrist bent, and you shake your head fondly. Admittedly, she did have you – hook, line, and sinker. You enjoyed the conversation, her company. There were certainly worse people to be stuck with, but you’re glad it was with her.

You shrug your shoulders. “Shoot away,” you say. Her subsequent grin is wide and you find yourself drawn in just a little further.

She asks you virtually everything under the sun – where you grew up, where you went to college, the team you were rooting for, and you answer. You tell her you’re an Atlanta native, born and raised, although you moved up north to study at Columbia. You were 8 when the Dream was founded and that was your team, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. At 10, you watched them win the eastern conference finals on your birthday and that was easily the moment your life changed. Basketball was your future and that much was certain. She asks how you landed the league job (connections, a thick resume, and lots of persuading), how you adjusted to the constant traveling (lots of caffeine and really good concealer), and the hard-hitting question of, are you satisfied?

For that, you really had no answer. Sure, you’re always busy, and that’s better than the alternative of sitting in your office and watching the seconds tick by. You’re good at what you do and your job makes a positive impact on the league. Your colleagues will be who they are; your work speaks for itself and that’s what you pride yourself on. But there’s always going to be a small part of you that yearns for something more, like someone else to share your life with. Someone who sits, and listens, and engages with you; someone who loves basketball just as much as you do (even if it’s a different type of love), someone who’s steady and spontaneous and adaptable.

Then Paige is smiling at you, her gaze warm and soft despite the below freezing temperatures outside; she’s listening, and engaging, steady, spontaneous, adaptable, and probably the only person in the world whose love for basketball could rival your own. You’ve known Paige for all of three hours and it’s nearing midnight in an airport in Connecticut, but it’s Christmas Eve and she feels so right. You would really like to see where this goes, and judging by the way her fingertips brush your knuckles, you think she might like to see that, too.

The two of you talk all through the night, waiting for the weather to ease up. The conversation never slows and you’re certain you’ve never smiled or laughed this much in a long time. It takes you twelve hours of delirious conversation to realize that your luck never depleted. Paige was your overwhelming karma, sent by some sort of Christmas miracle to answer all of the wishes you’d kept to yourself for years. The stars aligned not to fuck you over, but to trap you in an airport with Paige Bueckers, and you find that she’s possibly the best Christmas gift you could have ever gotten.

When the weather finally clears and your plane arrives, you find that your seats are right next to each other – and, well, fate works in funny ways, doesn’t it? You’re both exhausted, but when she lowers the armrest and wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into your side, you can’t help your relieved sigh, leaning into her chest. You and Paige sleep through the entire flight. You dream of soft blue eyes, the lingering scent of her cologne, the promise of how this could last.

You land in Minneapolis and you eventually have to go your separate ways. The two of you exchange numbers, saying your goodbyes, although Paige doesn’t let you get anymore than three feet away from her before she’s catching you by the wrist and pulling you into her. Her hands are cold against your cheeks as she kisses you gently, something deep and lingering and a confirmation that tastes like ‘you and I aren’t done here.’ The falling snow lands gently on your cheeks, melting under the heat of your blush, and you can’t help your smile, interrupting your kiss as the both of you dissolve into laughter. Paige kisses you again, something softer that leaves you feeling warm all over despite the chill, and you thank your Christmas miracle for leading you here.

[star2fishmeg]

can you please do prompt 12 with quinn hughes!

Thank you for requesting <3 - Merry Christmas!

FLUFF #12 "Just pretend to be my date."

📞 dialling…

She stared at him directly in the eye, blinking like a deer in headlights at Quinn’s pleading face. Quinn Hughes, the man she had known since childhood, stood the closest he ever had before, minty breaths fanning over cheeks, in front of her in his parent’s empty kitchen with his hands clasped over hers. 

“Please, just pretend to be my date. Even if it’s for the next few hours or so, you know they ask every year, and I don’t need her doing that speed dating shit again.” He begged so quiet his voice rumbled in her ears and flushed heat up her neck, heart hammering in his chest hearing his aunt and uncle’s voices announcing their arrival from the other room. “Y/n, I swear I’ll make it up to you-”

“-Okay.” She smiled as his eyes lit up brighter, a familiar pull in her chest that tugged every time she was in the room with him, like two magnets trying to meet. They’d been through this same annual Hughes-l/n Christmas event for years, since they were kids, and every year it was always his nosey aunt who asked him if he had a girlfriend, fiancée or wife yet to which he always awkwardly had to think of some excuse. 

“Quinn! There you are my superstar!” his nosey aunt’s voice rang out into the kitchen. Quinn stood up straight, arm automatically wrapping around y/n’s waist and his hand finding comfort on her hip. Something about the gesture felt alleviating, perfect, natural, y/n responding with her arm winding around his torso, palm soothing over his back for reassurance periodically. “Y/n! Oh my, you look as gorgeous as ever! Look at you both, so grown up.”

“Aha, yeah,” he forced a laugh, feeling her beady eyes flicker between himself and y/n. Y/n leant her head into him, his whole charade starting to feel less like a favour and more real with the longer they held each other. 

His aunt gasped, making them both flinch and his grip tighten. She soaked in the sight, the way that even after all the years, they still fit in each other’s figures and still looked at each other the same way. They were still the kids who would sneak off to Quinn’s room, and on one occasion, had their first kisses there. 

“You two!? How long? Tell me everything, I must know! Has he proposed yet? When’s the wedding? I have to write this down, am I getting a niece or nephew? Oh finally! Y/n, Quinn’s been talking about you for years and the way he looks at you, oh my-” 

“Caroline, relax,” y/n smiled, heart almost stopping when his thumb rubbed her hip gently, “It’s been a year, so we’re still at the start. We’ve only just discussed living together.” 

No other words were spoken, and his heart swelled, Caroline took her dramatic exit to find her husband. Quinn and y/n exhaled, bodies slumping into each other and melting into each other’s embrace, her ear pressed to his chest while her hands gave his back a reassuring rub. 

“So, you’re moving in huh? At least let me take you on a date first, show you what I can offer.” He chuckled softly, pulling away to cup one of her cheeks, her eyes glistening under the bright lights as she leant into his palm and one thousand little fireworks exploded inside her chest at once.

“Talking about me for years, huh? Damn, couldn’t even tell your best friend who you had a crush on,” she joked, catching his genuine smile creep into his face with rosy cheeks, “But a date sounds nice, I’d like that.” 

They basked in a pleasant silence between them, the world pausing in each other’s steady eyes until choruses of surprised voices echoed from the living room. Quickly, he slipped his phone from his pocket, using his free hand to text his brothers the situation before slotting it back, cupping both her cheeks with his hands and puffing his chest out. They had only a few minutes to figure out a story, but in hindsight, they’d been in love with each other for so long, it wouldn’t be that hard.

[winchesterwild78]

Merry Christmas, Dean Winchester 

Master List

Characters:  Jensen x Reader, Dean Winchester x OC Wife, Jared, Eric Kripke, Robert Singer, Sam x Eileen 

Warnings: Fluff, Smut!, more fluff

A/N: Final Story in my holiday fics. I hope you’ve enjoyed this short series. I was really excited about it. All work is my own, please don’t take it. Reblogs and likes are welcomed. 

This is a work of FICTION. Jensen is divorced from Danneel. If you don’t like that, then don’t read it. Sorry, but shit happens in life, and this was a story that popped in my head to round out this Christmas Series. 

This one is a combination of Jensen and him stepping back into the role of Dean one last time. I hope you enjoy it. 

Written fast and edited fast, please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

Jensen sat in his office on the phone with Eric Kripke and Robert Singer. I knew what the call was about. They wanted him to step back into the role of Dean Winchester one last time. 

Jensen had previously said he wanted to do at least one more season, maybe not 22 episodes, but at least a couple more. 

Jensen had always felt Dean deserved better. I always felt he and Dean deserved better. 

I had been a fan of his and the show well before we got married. After his divorce from Danneel we met and things progressed between us. We got married and I’ve been by his side ever since. 

Jensen came out of the office with a smirk on his face. “What’s so funny?” I asked him as he snaked his arms around my waist. 

“I think we are finally moving forward. I’m going to help write the season and direct a few episodes.” I smiled, turned and put my arms around his neck. 

I kissed his lips, “I’m so happy for you baby. You’re going to do amazing.” 

“Yeah, now we have to see how to get some of our cast back. I’m sure Jared will be on board, not sure how we can write Misha back in, but we will figure it out.” 

“I know the fans are going to go wild.” He nodded. “Yeah. I can’t wait. Eric is planning on dropping hints on Instagram once we get the green light.” 

I smiled because I knew how the fans were going to react. 

I touched his face, “Does that mean you need to practice the “Dean” voice again?” I giggled. Jensen smirked, placed his lips close to mine and in his best Dean Winchester voice he said, “You better believe it sweetheart.” 

Then he walked away. I gasped, “You’re such a tease.” He turned and grinned, crossed the room and grabbed me by the waist and placed his lips on mine. 

I moaned and melted in his arms. Jensen smiled against my lips, “Still got it.” He winked as he pulled away. 

I playfully rolled my eyes, “Jensen Ross, you better get back here and give your wife a proper kiss.” He smirked and walked up to me, grabbed me by my waist and placed his lips softly on mine. His plump lips pressed against mine as his tongue darted out and licked my lips. I parted them and he deepened the kiss. His hands moved to my hair and pulled me further into him. Our tongues moving in tandem with a familiarity. 

When he pulled away our breathing was fast and shallow. My lips were on fire. Jensen rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip, “Damn baby. I’m glad I came back.” “Me too.” 

Over the next few weeks Jensen worked with Eric and Robert to secure cast and writers for the show. Jared was on board and so was Misha. The other cast members were willing to come back for an episode or two, so Jensen worked with the writers to bring people back or figure out some way to make it all make sense. 

The season was going to be 10 episodes long and the final episode was going to be a Christmas episode. The consensus online was Dean and Sam deserved a normal holiday if they got nothing else. Jensen agreed. The decision was made to leave Sam and Eileen together, married and having a son, but the writers and Jensen wanted Dean to survive and have someone too. 

Jensen spent the next few months helping write and rewrite episodes. Then came time for shooting. Off to Toronto we all went. Jensen and I went ahead and found a place big enough for his kids to come. Jared and Gen moved up temporarily with the kids. They still had their place and just found it easier to live there than for Jared to fly back and forth. 

The first day of filming arrived and Jensen was visibly nervous. All the way to set his leg bounced in the car. I placed my hand on his leg, “Hey, you’re going to do great. It’s like riding a bike. Dean is part of you and will always be. You know how to play him, and you’re finally getting to give him the proper send off he deserved.”

Jensen leaned over and kissed me, “Thank you, sweetheart.” I smiled and nodded. 

When we arrived at set Jensen got out of the car and we walked hand in hand to his trailer. 

Hanging in his closet was Dean’s costume and his boots. Jensen smirked and took a deep breath. I touched his arm, “You’ve got this baby. I’ll be here every step of the way.” 

Jensen changed and stepped into the living room and we were transported a few years back. He was Dean Winchester and never looked so good.

He went to get his hair and makeup done while I waited in the trailer. When he came back it was time for him to go to the set. “You ready baby?” I asked and he nodded. 

The first few episodes were great. I couldn’t wait to see how fans reacted to the show. Eric, Jensen and Jared had all dropped hints online and the fans were rabid about it. Not to mention the carefully leaked photos of Jared and Jensen on set in their “Sam and Dean costumes”. 

Eric wanted all the episodes filmed before they were released and we were approaching the final few. The hunt was on for a wife for Dean. The idea was to do a slight time jump and have her and Dean get married with flashes of the wedding during an episode. 

The search for an actress who was believable for Dean was proving difficult on such a short notice. So Eric and Robert cooked up an idea. 

I sat in the trailer reading when there was a knock on the door. Opening it I saw Eric and Robert. “Hey guys. What’s up?” Eric stepped in first, “We have an idea. We want you to play Dean’s wife.” I laughed, “You can’t be serious. I’ve never acted.” “We are serious. You and Jensen have incredible chemistry and that will work well for the show. I’m sure you could do it.” 

“How about I try. If I’m crap we will find someone else.” They were excited and nodded. I was handed a script and told to be in wardrobe in 2 hours. 

I was incredibly nervous. Jensen came in and looked exhausted. He noticed how nervous I was. “Hey, Y/N, what’s wrong baby?” “Um, they found the person to be Dean’s love interest.” 

Jensen looked confused, “Okay, who is she? Why are you so nervous about it?” I took a deep breath, “it’s me.” I said softly. 

Jensen’s smile grew until it reached his eyes. “Really?! I get to act alongside you as my love?” I nodded “I’m not an actress, Jensen. I’m so nervous.” 

He cupped my face, “Baby it’s going to be fine. It will be just like any normal day we’re together. You’ll just have to call me Dean. I see we have a love scene coming up too.” He wiggled his eyebrows, “Now that’s going to be so much fun.” 

I blushed. “Should we run some lines or practice?” “Sure darlin’, let’s go into the bedroom and practice that spicy scene. You know, just so we can get it right.” 

I laughed as he chuckled, taking my hand and he led me to the bedroom. 

We made love over and over again. Each moment made me feel less anxious. 

There was a knock on the door, “Y/N, you’re needed in wardrobe and Jensen you’re needed back on set.” 

We got up and got dressed. He kissed me one last time as I walked to wardrobe and he left for set. 

On set I took my mark. My character was meeting Sam and Dean for the first time. I was Jody’s niece and I came to help her on a case, thus meeting the boys. 

“Okay everyone, you all know Y/N, Jensen’s wife. She’s going to play Dean’s love interest. Alright, places and action!” 

“Hey boys! It’s so good to see you two. It’s been far too long.” Jody hugged Sam and Dean. “You two know almost everyone here, except my niece, Ashley.” I spun around, making eye contact with the boys. Extending my hand, “Hey guys! Nice to finally meet you two. Aunt Jody has talked about the famous Sam and Dean for years.” 

Sam shook my hand and then Dean. We were supposed to look each other in the eyes and pause for a moment, but of course Jensen had to improvise. “Hey sweetheart, you helping us out on this case?” I just ran with the improv, taking his advice to heart. 

“No, I figured I’d just stay here in the kitchen and wait by the door with a drink in hand until you returned.” Laughter ripped through the set. Jensen smirked his famous Dean smirk and I went weak in the knees. 

Dean stepped closer to me, lifted my chin, “Well Ashley, as much as I’d love that I’d much rather have you by my side on the hunt.” “Oh would you now? Dean, tell me something. Does that line ever work?” 

Sam laughed. Jody stepped in “Alright you two, leave the flirting for later. We have a job to do.” 

Before too long the director was calling cut. Everyone congratulated me and told me I was a natural. Jensen walked over, pulled me in a hug and kissed my lips. “Damn baby, you were incredible.” “Oh Jens, I was so nervous. Are you sure I did okay? When you started to improvise I almost lost it.”

“Darlin’, you were great! Come on, let’s get ready to go home. We’ve got some more practicing to do.” I giggled as he pulled me towards the trailer to change. 

The next few days on set were long and grueling. I messed up a couple of times and got so frustrated with myself. Jensen was directing the episode today so it made my nerves worse. I honestly felt like I was going to throw up. 

Jensen sat behind the camera and I was delivering lines to Sam. I fumbled because I was so nervous. “Cut!” Jensen’s voice boomed causing me to jump. 

Jensen walked up to me and took my hand, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? You seem off.” “I’m just really nervous today and it’s making me nauseous. I’m sorry.” 

Jensen cupped my face and pressed a soft kiss to my lips, “You’re doing great baby. For someone who’s never acted, you’re doing an amazing job.” 

I nodded and took a deep breath, “Okay. I’m ready.” 

We continued shooting and Jensen finally called cut for the last time of the day. I was mentally and physically exhausted. 

Jensen had some things to do before he could leave the set, so I went back to the trailer, took a shower and curled up on the bed. Before too long I had fallen asleep. 

Jensen walked in and saw me asleep on the bed and smiled. He was used to these long shoots. He knew I was not . Slipping out of his boots and down to his boxers he climbed in the bed with me. 

Wrapping his arm around me, I moaned and snuggled closer to his warm body. “Mm, baby should we go home?” I whispered. Jensen tightened his arm around me, “No, let’s just stay here tonight.” I nodded and fell back to sleep. 

The next few months were filled with shoots and reshoots. Long days and early morning calls. Dean and Ashley’s relationship was taking shape on the show and the leaked information seemed to be met with excitement. The fans were rabid for more information. Eric was very careful with what was released. 

Jensen was sitting on the couch at home, pencil in his hand and a furrowed brow. He tapped his pencil on the paper and let out a long sigh. “Jens, are you okay?” He looked up, his green eyes red with exhaustion and full of frustration. “Yeah, I’m just trying to get this ending perfect. Dean deserves it, so do the fans.” 

I moved closer to him, took the pencil and paper out of his hand and straddled his lap. “Honey, take a break. It’s going to be perfect no matter what you write, because Dean isn’t the only one who needs this ending, you do too. Come on, let's get you nice and relaxed.” 

He smirked and his hands grabbed my hips, he leaned forward and kissed me. His hands slipped up my back and held me tight. I could feel the arousal settling in my core. “Jens, take me to our room, please.” I breathed out in a soft moan. 

Jensen took me to our bedroom and laid me on the bed. His hands slid up my thighs and to the waistband of my pants. I nodded and lifted my hips. He unzipped my pants and pulled them down with my panties. 

Jensen threw them to the side and let out a low growl as he stood up. I sat up and pulled my shirt over my head and Jensen unhooked my bra. “Damn baby, I am one lucky man. Look at you.” 

I blushed. “Jens, you’re over dressed.” I smirked. He pulled his shirt over his head and I clenched my thighs together at the sight of his toned body. 

I bit my lip as he removed his pants and boxers. 

Jensen’s fingertips brushed up my thighs as he climbed in between my legs. I felt the bed dip down as he positioned himself. Jensen leaned forward and kissed my lips soft at first, then full of need. His hands found my folds and his fingers delicately pushed past and to my entrance. “Damn baby, you’re soaked.” 

I moved my hips as his fingers pushed inside me. He hooked them up, pulling a moan from my lips. The sound his fingers made pushing in and out of me, and the moans from my lips filled the room with the most pornographic, erotic sound I’d ever heard. It turned me on more. 

“Mmm, that’s right baby. Cum for me. Let me hear how good it feels.” “Jens, I’m so close. Oh god baby!” I felt myself getting closer to my release. He was the only one who could ever make me cum as quickly as he does.

Jensen’s fingers moved faster and he started rubbing my clit. “Come on baby, let go. I’m right here.” My body responded to him and I came hard. My body was squeezing his fingers inside me as he helped me ride out my release.

My heart was beating fast and my legs felt like jello. Jensen smirked, leaned down and kissed my lips. “Jens, I need you, now!” I growled against his lips. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Jensen pumped himself a few times, lined himself up and pushed his engorged cockhead past my glistening lips and into my waiting core. His head dipped into the crook of my neck as he bottomed out. 

Lifting my legs up he pushed in deeper. His movements were steady and slow. Leaning down to kiss my lips and kiss down my body. 

The bed squeaked with every thrust. Jensen and my bodies tangled together and moved in perfect harmony.

My fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulders as he picked up the pace. Each thrust pushed us both closer to the edge. “Jens, don’t stop…fuck! Yes! Just like that..” “Yes baby! Oh fuck, Y/N. I’m going to cum.” 

My second release hit as Jensen’s thrusts picked up. My release pulled his out with a grunt. His seed coating my insides white.

Jensen held onto me as he emptied inside me. He leaned down and kissed my lips softly, “God I love you. So much, Y/N.” I smiled against his lips, “I love you too, Jensen.”

He got out of bed and grabbed a washcloth to clean us both up. After we were clean he pulled the blanket over us and held me tight. 

“Jens, why not give Dean a baby? The fans would eat that up. They’ve always wanted Dean to have a wife and a child.” Jensen laid in the bed, quiet. I could tell he was thinking. 

“I tell you what, let’s write it out and see how it looks on paper and if we could make it work.” I nodded.

As he tried to get up, I pulled him back down. “Absolutely not, Mr Ackles. You’re staying right here with me for a while. I’m not some cheap floozy you can bang and then leave.” I smirked. 

“Oh believe me, you’re not cheap. Far from it sweetheart.” Jensen smirked and I gasped. I feigned hurt. “Aww sweetheart, I was only kidding.” “I bet Dean Winchester wouldn’t treat me like that.” I stuck my tongue out and Jensen laughed. “No, he wouldn’t, but your husband loves to banter with you and would do anything to make you happy, even give you a baby.”

My eyes shot up and I looked at him, gasping softly. “What?” “Sweetheart, I know you want a baby, our baby. Maybe after we wrap, you and I can try.”

“Jensen, are you sure? I know you already have 3.” 

He cupped my face, “Yes, I’m sure. What do you say?” I kissed his lips, peppering his face with kisses, “Yes, Jensen! Yes, I want to try.” 

The next few weeks the finale was written and Jensen seemed satisfied with it. The shoots and reshoots were really starting to take its toll on me. 

Jensen would often find me curled up on the couch or the bed in between shoots. Today was no different, except I had a cold that was making the exhaustion worse. 

I didn’t have any scenes today, so I stayed in the trailer. Around lunchtime I walked to craft services to get something to eat. I grabbed a little of everything and carried it back to the trailer. Sitting on the couch I ate my fill, grabbed the blanket and fell back to sleep. 

About an hour later Jensen came in for his lunch break and saw all the food. He laughed, “Hey sweetheart, looks like you’ve gotten your appetite back.” I stretched and rubbed my eyes, “Yeah, I wasn’t sure what I wanted so I grabbed a little of everything.” He chuckled, “Looks like it. How are you feeling?”

“Still really tired. I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon, I really hope I don’t have the flu. I have an early shoot tomorrow.” Jensen looked up, “Do you need me to go with you?” I shook my head no, “I’ll be okay. Besides, you have an afternoon shoot.” 

The afternoon appointment provided answers, ones that brought even more of a challenge. Arriving back on the lot I went to the set to see how filming was going. They had just wrapped for the day and Jensen was meeting with Eric and Robert about the finale. 

Jensen saw me and motioned to me. “Hey baby. How was your appointment?” “It was good. So, how did you two like the finale writing?” 

“It was great! What do you think?” I placed my hand in Jensen’s, “I think it’s perfect.” 

“Great, we start shooting the last episode in about a week. You rest and take care of yourself.” I nodded, “I will, doc said it’s nothing bad and it will pass.” 

The day to shoot the final episode was here and I was so nervous. Jensen had gone to set early and I was meeting him there. I grabbed my stuff and headed to set. 

Changing into my costume I walked to set. Jensen and Jared were already on set when I walked in. “Hey baby. You ready?” I nodded, “Yep, let’s do it.”

Robert took his place behind the camera, he and Jensen were directing the final episode, but because Jensen was in this scene he was in the hot seat. 

“Alright, places! Action!” 

“Come on Dean, Sam, Eileen and their son will be here any minute. I need you to help me set the table.” “In a minute, sweetheart. I’ve got to finish wrapping this present.” 

Ashley sighed. Hearing him fight with the paper and tape had her giggling. “Knock, knock. Dean, Ashley, we’re here.” “In the kitchen, Sam.” Ashley yelled from the bunker kitchen.

Sam and Eileen walked in with Sam Jr. in her arms. Ashley smiled and held out her hands for the baby. “How is the cutest nephew in the world?! Auntie Ashley missed you so much.” Placing a kiss on his head, she handed the baby back. 

“Okay, y’all go make yourselves comfortable, dinner is almost ready.” Dean walked into the kitchen and snaked his arms around her waist. “Need any help, baby?” “No, go spend time with Sammy, your sister in law and your nephew.” 

He nodded, walked over to the plate of cookies and swiped one. “Dean Winchester! You’re going to spoil your dinner.” He laughed and walked out, popping the cookie in his mouth.

After dinner and dessert everyone gathered around the Christmas Tree to exchange gifts. Ashley and Dean bought Sam a new briefcase, because he was headed back to law school. “Guys, this is awesome. Thank you!” 

Other gifts were exchanged and Ashley had one more for Dean. She walked over towards Dean with a small box in hand. Taking a steady breath she handed it to him. 

Dean’s green eyes sparkling with excitement, “What’s this?” Ashley smiled, “Just open it.” Dean carefully pulled the paper off and opened the box. In the box was a picture frame, and in the picture frame was a black and white photo. Dean’s face contorted with confusion. “What is this picture of?” 

“Dean, look closely at it.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I was so nervous, because this wasn’t just a gift for Dean, it was meant for Jensen too. 

Dean looked closely at it and realized it was a sonogram. “Wait, does this mean you’re pregnant?” I nodded, “Yes Dean, you’re going to be a daddy.” Jensen was confused because this was not part of the script. He looked closer at the sonogram and saw my name on it. His eyes shot up to mine as the realization hit him. He whispered as tears filled his eyes, “You’re pregnant?” 

Tears filled my eyes and they started to fall, “Yes, we’re having a baby, Merry Christmas, Dean Winchester.” Jensen leaped out of the chair and threw his arms around me, pulling me into a kiss. 

“And Cut! Perfect you two!” We were too wrapped up in the kiss to pull apart. Eric and Robert came up to us and as we parted congratulated Jensen and I.

Jensen’s eyes went wide, “You two knew?” “Of course we did. How else do you think it got written in?” They laughed. 

Jensen and I walked back to our trailer, his hand on the small of my back, his other holding the sonogram. I was so nervous. “Y/N, are you okay?” I nodded.

“Jens, I know we talked about waiting until later, but I guess fate had other plans. I’m sorry.” 

He cupped my face, “Shh hey, no. This is amazing. We’re having a baby! I can’t believe it. Dean’s getting the ending he deserves, with a beautiful wife and a baby, and I get to have a baby with my beautiful wife. Everything is perfect.”

“I love you, Jensen so much.” “I love you too, Y/N, (he placed his hand on my belly) and I love you too.”

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.  

Tags: 

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573 

@k-slla @jackles010378 

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx 

@roseblue373 @cheynovak 

@jassackles  @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa 

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27 

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2 

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi 

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

@spxideyver @reignsboy19

@deans-baby-momma @deansimpalababy

@ladykitana90 @quietgirll75 

@superrey @kamisobsessed

@obliviousap @ninii-winchester

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @whimsyfinny

@bobbdylan @star-yawnznn

@reignsboy19 @monkey-d-hoshizora98

@depressionbarbie2023 @livingdeadblondequeen

@mandee7 @barnes70stark

@spnaquakindgdom

[moody-alcoholic]

I wanted to write something Ghoap related. Why not continue this weird hurt/ angst kick I've been on.

CW: attempted date rape, non-con drugging, alcohol, violence, blood.

A guy in a bar attempts to 'pick you up' the best boys Johnny & Simon come to the rescue.

Merry Christmas/ happy holidays. <3

You’re mad, she said she wouldn’t do this again, leave you alone at a bar while she went home with some stranger. But here you are yet again alone finishing on your 4th? 5th? drink. Who cares, you signal the bartender over for another. 

The fresh gin and tonic went down like a treat numbing your anger and making you relax. You pull your phone out getting ready to send her a long 'fuck you' message. You’ve only just started typing when someone comes up on the stool next to you. 

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?” You frown looking up at him. He’s cute black hair, nice casual suit, kind of gives you a sleazy salesman vibe. 

“I’m good, thanks.” You say going back to the text. 

“C’mon, what is it, vodka tonic?” He asks, you look back over at him almost rolling your eyes. He’s not that bad looking. You sigh, not responding for a second. You don’t want to have to owe this guy. ‘It’s just a drink’ your drunken brain tells you ‘don’t turn down a free drink.’ 

“Gin and tonic.” You correct him. He smiles, waving the bartender over. You finish your short angry text to your friend and put your phone back in your bag. 

“I saw your friend leave earlier.” He says paying for the drinks. You pick yours up and he signals for you to cheers with him. You clink your glasses together before taking a sip. 

“Yeah, she went off with some guy.” You say a little more bitter than you wanted to.

“Shit, think she’ll be coming back?” He asks, sipping his drink, coke and something.

“No fucking clue. Probably not.” You sigh. 

“Shame, at least the drinks are cheap.” he jokes. You smile at him, getting a better look at him. He’s skinny, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

“So you from round here or not?” 

“No, only here to see my friend. It's her birthday tomorrow.” You say. 

“Wow so she ditches you the day before her birthday for some twink?” He chuckles. 

“Yeah.” You scoff, he was a twink. There’s the sound of a crash behind you, a woman screaming. It pulls your attention as you look at the commotion playing out behind you. Two men are squaring up to each other with smashed glasses on the floor. It’s not long before security are running over them, pulling them apart.

The incident has your blood pumping and adrenaline rushing through you. You look back picking up your drink and finishing it off to quell your nerves. 

That’s it you’ve had your last drink you should go home. 

“Thanks for the drink.” you say to him as you jump off the stool. 

“Leaving already?” He asks. You nod. He reaches out and grabs your arm. It makes you uncomfortable and you freeze.

"Yeah. I have to get back to my hotel.” Shit, you shouldn’t have told him that. 

“Oh, I can walk you if you want?” He asks. 

“No, thank you but I'm okay.” You pull your arm out his grip walking away. The adrenaline from the drunken fight is still pulsing through your body. 

“Well take it easy.” He says as you walk away, you turn back, smile and nod at him as you leave. 

There is still a line outside to get back into the club as you leave it must not be that late. You pull your phone out to check where you need to go. You’re not used to the busy London streets. You must have drank the last 2 drinks a little too fast as your head feels particularly foggy. 

You’re turning down streets using your phone’s maps app to guide you. Your mouth goes suddenly dry, your head swimming more than normal. You sway all of a sudden feeling unsteady on your feet. You stop looking at your phone looking ahead of you trying to regain your balance. 

It doesn’t help and you lean up against a sign at the corner of the street. Maybe you’re going to be sick, you drank the drinks too quickly and now you’re going to pay for it. 

You retch but nothing comes out, your throat feels dry, your head swims as your legs give way. You fall to your knees. Panic comes over you, this is not a good place to be doing this. 

You curse under your breath, you’ve clearly had way too much to drink. 

Hands land on your shoulders, the grip is strong then the hands slip under your armpits. The person pulls you to your feet, you try to talk but it just comes off as a slur as your body is pulled into a private parking area behind some bins. 

You’re not sure what’s going on, your vision is fuzzy, your breathing picks up. You can feel someone trying to pull your jacket off you, maybe you’re being robbed.  You try to talk again but nothing comes out. You try to grip your jacket to pull it back on you but whoever it is, is stronger than you. 

You feel someone grip the waistband of your jeans. Panic overwhelms you, you get enough energy to push the person off you. It doesn’t last long before there is a sharp pain on your face. You yelp as your face stings.

“Stay. Still.” A voice says through gritted teeth. You whine trying to build up srength again but nothing happens. 

Silent tears run down your face. You hate this, you hate what’s happening. Your head is swimming, you close your eyes still fighting with the hands on your waist. Suddenly the person is gone, your body falls to the floor slumping against the industrial bin. 

New hands land on you pulling your jacket back around you. You try to push them off but they grab your wrists.

“Hey lass, it’s okay, you’re okay.” You don’t know what accent that is but it’s not English, maybe he’s Irish?

“Take it easy, what's your name?”  He asks, you stop fighting, looking up at him. He’s tall even though he’s crouched down in front of you. He has a mohawk, and even in the dark you can see his deep blue eyes. You’re not going to tell him your name. You stay silent.

“Okay, you don’t have to tell me. We’re going to get you somewhere safe okay?” 

We’re?

You look past him, you can see another hulking figure holding someone up by their collar. You see fist meet skin, it makes you gasp. The man-Johnny-pulls your attention back to him. 

“How you feeling? You look a little worse for wear, think you can walk?” He asks. You nod and he helps you to your feet. You sway against him but he supports you holding you up as you walk out the parking alcove. 

There’s another man, and one on the floor groaning. You see blood, you can smell it in the air. More hands are on you now. You look up at the tall man standing next to you. You feel sick, your head throbbing, your vision blurring. Your legs give way again as your arms start to tingle. 

“C’mon lass, can you hear us?” The dark haired man says as you collapse fully to the ground. 

“Yes,” You try to say but it just comes out as a slur, it’s barely English. You don’t care, you suck in one last breath of air before everything goes black.

[ineedpaigebuckets]

unspoken truths

pt. 2

warnings: angst

an: it's awful i know. someone please help like literally how the fuck do you write. i have such good ideas but they just can not be executed right. anyways i prob actually won't write any more because i literally just cant stand to read this shit.

------------------------------------------------------

paige pov

i knew azzi and i wouldn't get along just because of her boyfriend alone, but then at practice one day it kinda hit. out on court chemistry was unmatched, she'd always find me, id always find her, when we played together we played fucking amazing. i started to become more and more drawn in by her, i started to realize she didn't really have a lotta friends since moving. i figured, maybe i'd give her a chance.

the second her beautiful ass walks into the party hand in hand with jake my plan almost flies out the window. my face tightens but i try not to think of it. i head to the kitchen to get some food and see one of our teammates, kk.

"hey k!" i grin as i walk up to her. slumping against the counter. the second i speak i see azzi walk in, she looks sad, it makes my heart squeeze for her.

"az!" i try to give her a polite smile as i hold my hand out for her to dab me up but she just kinda loosely holds on to it for a second, something's wrong and i can tell. my gaze darts between kk and azzi, i know i shouldn't, but i need to make sure azzi is okay.

"hey, did something h-" before i can even finish my sentance my fuckass girlfriend is on my arm and azzis hopeful expression drops. her big sweet eyes fall into annoyance quickly as she walks out to f the kitchen back over to jake.

emma, my girlfriend has done nothing but make me mad the last month or two and she knew it. i drag her right past azzi and her boyfriend out to the porch and look at her, my eyes drifting to azzi on the other side of the door. "emma, babe i'm sorry we can't keep doing this." i give her a knowing look and she slumps down, she knew it, we didn't love eachother we just had some sort of unspoken agreement i guess.

"i know." i hear her say kinda softly but that fire in her eyes is still there. "don't come running back to me when it doesn't workout with that bitch." she seethe and it takes me back, her hands meet my shoulders pushing me back a little while she stomps inside, right past azzi.

i sigh and walk back in kinda lingering in azzis space just a little.

"fuckin dyke broke up again" i hesr jake turn to azzi and joke, i'm about to fucking punch this sucker but azzi gets to him first.

azzi pov

"jake what the fuck, this is what i keep fucking talking about." i seethe my voice loud and hard. "don't fucking talk about my teammate like that." without another word i walk upstairs curling up in one of the empty beds just sitting on my phone.

the door cracks open and there she is, paige bueckers and all her beauty. but then she starts to talk and i realize i'm

mistaken, again.

"azzi, what the fuck was that. you just embarrassed the shit outta me i can take care of myself i don't need no transfer butting in and fighting off people like a child. i can protect myself." the second she starts to yell i feel tears fill my eyes, id had such an awful day already i couldn't deal with her shit right now. i try not to make it noticeable but her eyes soften in a way i've never seen before.

"i'm so sorry." she breathlessly whispers as i stand up walking towards her, i lean past her to open the door signaling her to leave but she kicks the door shut and pulls me into her chest, her hand in my hair and her other on my waist. i waste no time comfortably holding my arms around her torso. no words said just calm. "break up with him." paige whispers and im taken aback my head pulled out of her neck as i look up to her with big eyes, her eyes sweet and sincere, and only because it comes out of her mouth i think it over.

"i- i will." i say, both of her hands not rest on my waist, somewhere they really shouldn't be. "but- we- let's go downstairs." i stutter out clearly a little flustered.

she nods which makes me let out a sigh of relief but her head tilts down her hand meets my chin as she kisses my cheek softly. as she pulls away i see the soft gentle hope in her eyes and, why not return the favor. i bring my lips up to her cheek but paige's head must have turned, her lips brush mine and i jerk back.

"shit- i'm sorry." i muster out quickly my fingers tracing over my lips, i'm disbelief but within seconds her lips are on mine.

i feel her soft wet lips against mine making a soft breathless moan leave my lips. they seem to absentmindedly part as paige's tongue slips into my mouth. her hands pull my waist as close to her as they can as mine pull her face into mine. within seconds there's a fire through my body, her kiss felt like no one else. i wasn't scared of her going too far, i wasn't uncomfortable with the way she was holding me, i felt safe and calm. and above all else i was fucking drenched through my leggings. "fuck." i mumble against her lips as her hand finds the back of my head gently pushing me against the wall but making sure my head doesn't hit it hard at all. the soft gesture so kind and sweet. my thoughts are interrupted when her knee pushes between my legs and i let out a gasp under her, leaning my head against the wall. "m not gay." i whisper as a kinda last resort to not let myself fall into her trap but her knee leaves my core, but she's wearing shorts there's a small glisten on the top of it and i curse myself.

"way to ruin the fucking moment." she grits out.

my hand flies out to her shirt and i yank her lips back to mine. i don't care how "straight" i think i am i want her fucking tongue in my mouth, and of course she obliges. but only seconds later there's loud voices outside bringing us both back to our senses. we silently pull away and look at eachother and i scramble out the door with her on my heels. the second we get downstairs some other bitch is in my boyfriends lap and i walk over to him. im gonna take paige's request.

"you wanna date this homophobic asshole go for it. cuz he's not with me anymore." i yell at the girl, and i go to say another thing but before i can he stands up. my eyes widen and im nervous but paige comes up behind me pushing him, hard, back onto the couch his head hits the wall and paige let's put a grunt. my eyes widen and fill with terror i grab paige's shirt and tug her outside.

"i can take care of my fucking self." repeating her words from earlier. i let her shirt go with a scoff and walk down the block back to my house leaving her there. and bam we're back to square one.

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 84 

Oh what a wonderful day! Why? BECAUSE I FINALLY GET TO SAY THE LAST OF MY STUPID ARBITRARY RULES! The Final Arbitrary Rule is: No Crossing Over with Other Franchises! Which I very clearly fuckin’ broke here!

I wanted to do my best to only make pieces working with just the base of Junkan itself, and AU’s I made had to be original and not just “What if Junkan but it’s in X series.” That way when I finished the project a bunch of new doors would open up for me to have fun with! I know last time we had Alice in Wonderland, but given the public domain nature of that story I don’t find it to be an infraction of the rule. There’s a future day coming up that also kiiiind of breaks it? But also i feel like it’s a slightly different case, not sure how to explain it while you can’t see it. None of that matters because today we have a blunt, no fucking around breaking of that rule, and why?

Listen I’ve seen some of ya’ll draw/write Junko and Mikan as Pokemon Trainers while waiting for this day to get posted, surely you understand. I’ve been wanting to draw a pic of these two with full teams for months at this point in the projects making, I couldn’t wait any longer, it was a moment of weakness!!!

Designing the outfits for these two was super fun. Once again I’ve fucking put Mikan in a Sweater, and this time it doubles as a dress! Will I ever be stopped? 

That does generally bring me to the thoughts I’m having in hindsight months after this pic, I think Junko’s side is on the weaker side. I like her fit though I might make small edits to it whenever the next time I draw her is. But the main thing is I think the team I put together is kind of lacking??

Mikan’s? I’m perfectly happy with, Frillish is just there because she vibes aesthetically with Mikan, Blissey is obvious, Lampent because it’s associated with hospitals due to floatin around them to steal life energy, Clefable I can explain in a second but it’s probably obvious, Spinda because she needs a cute buddy to be clumsy with, but my favorite was giving her an Applin.

Like the whole thing with Applin is that giving one to someone as a gift is a declaration of Love. So of course Junko would do that, she’s all about that shit (in my brain at least). I think it’s cute!

Junko’s half of things though, if I’m gonna be real a few months later I’d probably only keep two of them and just try to remake the rest of the team. Gengar (who is also the reason Mikan has a Clefable, I love that old fan theory), because he’s my favorite pokemon and I think he just vibes really well with Junko. And Hydreigon, because Junko deserves a giant nightmare dragon. 

This is another instance of me concocting something for this project and then not being able to draw any more of it because I have to wait for it to be posted. So now, assuming I have time, I can finally draw the Pokemon AU!~ Like I said i’ll probably do some minor reworks, and then some major reworks on Junko’s end. No idea when it’ll be but look forward to it I suppose!~ 

As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~

[alien-girl-21]

Since I won't see my friends until next year, I thought it would be a perfect time to do this again

Joker out and käärijä as random shit my friends say!!

(+ sneaky joost in one entry)

Under the cut because it's LONG

Kris: I actually miss Bojan, i'm going to tell him to come back from New York... but don't tell him I said that, it might get to his head that I actually like him

-

Bojan: writes on the board

Jan: is that arabic?

-

-Bojan's first time taking money out of the atm-

Bojan: what do I do now?

The screen of the atm: please select the language of your transaction

Martin: choose Slovenian, idiot

-

-at the airport-

Bojan: I'm going to get a pamphlet real quick

Jan: sure, I'll wait here

Bojan, coming back empty handed: I think I fell in love

-

Kris: in bojan's defense —not to defend him— but in his defense

-

Nace: hey, you wanna share this cookie?

Jan: sure

Nace: it doesn't break though, I already ate my half

Jan: you're an idiot, of course it can break, here, see? I broke it

Bojan: I ship you guys

-

Jan: -breaks a chair-

Jan: fuck, let me fix it -breaks the chair even more-

Jure: try to put the thing in that hole

Jan: -fixes the chair- Bob the builder 😎

-

(In the gc)

Jere: you want go party?

Bojan: I can't

Bojan: i'm sick and don't want to get worse

Kris: if Bojan isn't going, I'm not going

Jure: no fucking way 🤣

Bojan: I had to read that twice

Bojan: I was about to call him a bitch

-

Allu: if someone was killed while we were together, I think that Jesse, Jukka, and Jere would be the most level headed one's

Jesse: I think that Jere would be the one in charge to calm us

Jere: I would be making jokes like "at least we're better than that guy" and pointing at tommi's dead body

-

Jure: might go to this -shows a flyer for a singles only cruise-

Nace: only 99 euros? That's cheap... when is it?

Bojan: aren't you taken?

Nace: Oh fuck, I am

Bojan: apologize now

Nace, taking his phone out: I'm so sorry, babe

-

-during esc-

Bojan: okay, we're next, we can do this

Nace: -starts doing push ups for some fucking reason-

-

Jere: i go on stage now

Bojan: NOOO— i mean, YESSS

Jere: ?

Bojan: i'm just used to you leaving me alone :(

-

Jure and bojan: playfighting

Jure: now it's your turn, jan!

Bojan: jan wouldn't do that to me because he respects me 😌

Jan, getting ready to slap bojan:

-

(In spanish because there is no way to translate this dad joke)

Bojan: antes de que se me olvide, les quería contar un chiste: donde nacen las computadoras?

Jure: no sé

Bojan: en el mar

Nace: por qué?

Jan: porque navegan

Bojan: porque son peces

Kris: miren a los tremendos payasos que nos cargamos en esta banda

Bojan: 🥰

-

Host: for this, we're going to need groups of 6

Joker out: does a group hug

Bojan, tapping jere's arm: jere, jere

Jere: what?

Bojan: join us

Jere: really? Me? 🥰

Bojan: yes, you, you're part of the group 🥰

Kris: can you two stop?

-

Kris: do you have a pen?

Bojan, handing him a rainbow pen: yeah

Kris: gay pen

Bojan: at least it works

Kris: faggot

Bojan: I am! You have a problem with that?

Kris: I was talking to the pen! Not you!

-

Interviewer: Who would survive the longest in a deserted island?

Everyone: Jure

Bojan: I could survive, I think

Kris: I think that a coconut would fall on your head and you would die

-

Jesse: if a girl asked to peg you, what would you say?

Häärijä: no

Jere: skill issue

-

While watching a football game, in the gc:

Jan: well, i'm going to wait for the game to start while eating my cereal

Bojan: now I want some

Jan: the small box costs 2 euros in the supermarket

Bojan: you know what? I'm going to the supermarket now, i'm going to spend money because of you

Jan, sending a pic of the cereal box: here it is for reference 👍🏻

-

Bojan, after turning the washing machine on and somehow there was a power outage in the whole floor at the same time: ☹

Martin: hey, don't worry, it wasn't your fault, bojč

The electrician, a couple of days later: yeah, so, the outage was caused because someone used too much electricity in this apartment while someone was showering in the unit next to this one

Martin: so it was your fucking fault

-

Jan: I photoshopped us into some world cup images

Nace: it looks like Messi is kissing you, Bojan

Bojan: yeah

Jure: that's your dream right? Messi kissing you?

Bojan: yeah 🥰

-

Someone: yeah, so I spoke with the director, and he asked me if I spoke dutch and I said yeah

Jure: can you speak duch to us?

Someone, in dutch: I can, but what can I say? I just learned it to learn it, not because I liked it

Jan: okay, okay, Kris, it's your turn, reply in Dutch!

Jure: like we practiced

Bojan: literally jumping up and down like an excited puppy

-

Kris: this is bullshit, stupid fucking coordinators, they have shit in the fucking head instead of a stupid brain!

Jan: said the princess

-

-while playing volleyball-

Jure: just imagine the ball is your ex!

Bojan, cradling the ball in his arms: i'm so sorry, it was all my fault, I miss you everyday

Jan: great job, idiot

-

Nace: you look really good today, Bojan

Kris: yeah, your outfit is really well color coordinated

Bojan: thank you, krisko

Nace: and what about me?

Bojan: it's because Kris only bullies me, so a compliment from him matters more

-

Jure: idk if I'll be able to go out this Saturday, my parents are starting to make milk, and because of that I need to close their shop that night

Kris: making milk?

Jure: soy milk, yeah

Kris: Oh, I was about to ask since when did your parents have cows

Nace: moo

Jan: moo

^ they proceed to moo at each other for the next five minutes while the conversation carries on

-

Jere, just minding his business:

Häärijä, handing him a paper crown: you are now the queen of this realm

Jere: ❓

Häärijä: you will be the queen until we vote on who will be coronated next

Jere: thanks?

Häärijä: my pleasure, your majesty

-

Kris: I actually didn't call any of my exes while I was drunk last night, that's a great achievement!

-

Jere: hey guys, sorry if you hear me swearing, i'm playing a videogame..... FUCKING BULLSHIT

-

Jesse, after jere got the piña colada tattoo: hey can I see your prision tattoo?

-

Nace: remember to participate in the meeting

Bojan: i'm watching football

Nace: they're asking you a question bojč

Bojan: GOAAALLL!!!!!

-

Bojere, sitting chest to back in a bench:

Jan:

Bojan: Oh Jan, sorry that we're facing away from you

Jere: you want to hug me too? Join train?

Jan: yeah sure, let me just—

Jere: no! Don't touch me!

-

Kris: I would like to go back in time to meet Jesus and smoke weed with him

-

Käärijä: so, I'm walking to get to work, and I see a line of police cars and I'm thinking "I fucking hope that they don't want to do spontaneous searching because my bag is 90% weed, 10% my actual stuff"

-

Someone: yeah, this is my daughter, she's 4 and learning how to play drums

Bojan: that's your daughter? Oh my gosh 🥺

Kris: Bojan, you have a severe case of baby fever

-

Jere: where are the bathrooms?

Jukka, craning jere's head up to see the giant "TOILET" sign above them: over here

-

Kris: would you be with a guy?

Bojan: I'm bisexual, of course

Kris: what? 😱

Bojan: I already told you, you know this!

Kris: WHAT??

-

Joost, in the middle of having sex: babe wait, codnom broked :(

-

Kris: do you guys think the bouncer will let me in? I'm kind of tipsy

Jan: just go in confidently, he won't suspect a thing

Bojan: the last time he went in confidently he was banned from the club

-

Jan: so, how'd you sleep last night?

Kris: good

Jan: you don't seem so convinced

Kris: I slept in late

Jan: how late?

Kris: midnight

Jan: Oh, how blasphemous, how late

-

Kris, anytime they go to a new city: look at this door! I'm too tall to fit in it... look at this other door! I'm also too tall to fit in it... look at this door!

-

Bojan, about stephanie: she's the world cup and i'm bolivia.... but hopefully I'll be bolivia in '94 and she will still be the world cup

-

Jan: I'm not like Jesus, at all

Bojan: well, you kind of are in some ways

Kris: yeah, you only hang out with fags and prostitutes

Bojan, pointing at them: here you have three fags

Bojan, pointing at jure: and there's a prostitute

-

Jesse: why are you leaving everything for last minute?

Jere: because I fucking want to and I fucking can 😝

Häärijä, holding up the printed meme: 🐴🤝🏻🐴 no pelien

-

During a post-barcelona pre-party meeting:

Kris: I think that's all for today

Bojan: typing very loudly

Jan: who are you talking to?

Bojan: with someone 🥰 you know him already

Nace: ohhh the lovebirds 😏

Bojan: raising his hand up repeatedly

Kris: yes, Bojan?

Bojan: I'm really happy 🥰🥰 -instantly goes back to typing-

Kris: I'm happy for you, man

-

Jere after inflating five balloons for a party: well, my job here is done, time for my very well deserved rest

Jesse: get back up, you fuck, we need to move these chairs

-

Häärijä: bartender! Bartender! Bartender!!

Jere: I'm here, what do you want?

Häärijä: hi :) -leaves-

-

Bojan: sometimes I feel like I am batman and žare is the riddler

-

Jukka: you guys would be the worst clowns at a kid's birthday party. They would ask you for swords, and you would give them snakes

-

Kris, after seeing Jure having a sugar crash: someone give him a fucking celery or something, he's fucking melting on the couch!

-

Jere: you live life like it's last day, say sorry to people, hug people, even punch if you have to punch!

All of joker out: raising their fists to punch bojan

-

Jere: we only had a 5 euro budget for this secret santa so I bought one chocolate bar

Allu: it's not even wrapped!

Jere: wrapping paper is expensive!

-

During the secret santa:

Allu: I'm so fucking scared of seeing who jere got

Jere: so I had to buy something for...... Jesse!

Jesse: FUCK!

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 5

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours 

if you wanna be added to the tag list comment

Fic Playlist

Previous

Chapter 5: Where is the end?

Sukuna’s POV

I wanted to cry. It hit me in waves—this unbearable, gnawing ache that seemed to claw at every part of me, but I couldn’t. I felt numb, empty, like something inside me had shattered and I couldn’t put the pieces back together.

Who was I now? Who had I become?

I glance around the sterile hospital room, the white walls mocking me with their coldness, and everything suddenly feels even more suffocating. The beeping of the heart monitor in the corner, the soft hum of the lights, and the scent of antiseptic all feel like a reminder of how far I’ve fallen.

I swallow hard, trying to steady my breath, but it’s impossible. My chest is tight, constricted like I can’t breathe properly. I close my eyes for a moment, forcing my mind to focus, but the images come flooding back—Y/N, her face twisted in pain when I left, the way she told me to leave her apartment. The coldness in her voice shattered what little was left of my heart.

I had been pushing her away for so long. Pushing everything good in my life away.

She never deserved this.

I can feel the pressure in my chest grow like the weight of my mistakes is threatening to crush me all over again. I can’t even get a fucking grip on myself anymore. This wasn’t the life I wanted, and it sure as hell wasn’t the life she deserved.

My hands tremble as I sit up in the hospital bed. The sheets are tangled around me, and the effort to pull myself out of them feels like it might break me. But I need to move. I need to get out of here, out of this fucking room, out of this cage I’ve built for myself.

I get out of bed, unsteady on my feet, and the sensation of dizziness makes me stumble. The heart monitor starts to beep faster, and I ignore it. I don’t care about the alarms.

I just need to get to her.

I move to the door, but I pause for a moment, looking back at the sterile, lifeless room. The cold, sterile world I’ve surrounded myself with. It’s suffocating. The truth is, I don’t belong here. I don’t belong in this hospital bed. I belong with her.

But how the fuck do I fix this?

I don’t even know where to start.

I move slowly toward the door, but as I reach for the handle, my hand hesitates. My reflection in the window across the hall catches my eye.

Who is that person?

I don’t even recognize myself anymore. The guy who I used to be—the guy who could shrug everything off, who had his shit together—he’s gone. The reflection in the glass shows a man broken, desperate, someone who has lost his way. A man who has fucked up his relationship with the only person who ever made him feel alive.

What have I become?

I drag a hand through my hair, frustration building up again, but my body feels like it’s failing me. I want to scream, to let it all out, but instead, I just stand there, staring at the man in the glass.

I should’ve done better. I should’ve been better.

But now it feels like it’s too late. Maybe it’s too late for me to fix anything, too late for me to make it right.

But fuck, I can’t just give up. Not now. Not after everything.

I turn my gaze back to the door, my fists clenched at my sides. I can feel the weight of everything bearing down on me, but I can’t let it stop me. I don’t care if I’m not strong enough. I don’t care if I’m fucking broken.

I’ll find a way to fix it.

Even if I have to crawl my way back to her, I will.

I won’t give up on her.

The door bursts open and a few doctors and nurses rush in, all looking panicked. Their eyes dart around the room, and then they spot me, standing unsteady at the edge of the bed, trying to make my way to the door. One of the nurses immediately steps toward me, her voice gentle but firm.

"Mr. Ryomen, you need to get back to bed. It's not safe for you to be up right now."

I don't even put up a fight as they guide me back to the bed. I let them help me sit down, the weight of my body feeling heavy, like I’m sinking into the mattress. They start explaining something about observation for the next 24 hours. My mind is too clouded to pay attention to the details.

One of the doctors looks at me with a concerned expression. "We need to keep you under observation for now. You’ve been through quite a bit, and we must monitor your condition."

I nod, not really hearing them. My thoughts are still miles away. 

I need to see her... I need to fix things.

A moment of silence passes before I speak, my voice thick with frustration. "I can't afford this," I mutter, looking at the machines around me. The hospital bill, the treatments—it's all piling up in my mind. It feels overwhelming.

The nurse just smiles, as if she’s heard this before. "Don't worry about it. It's been taken care of."

I frown, confused. "Taken care of?"

"Yes," she says, nodding. "Satoru Gojo took care of it."

I blink, still in disbelief. Of course, Gojo would pay my bill. That guy never hesitated to throw money around like it was nothing. I let out a low, sarcastic chuckle.

"Gojo, huh? That bastard," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head. I can’t help but laugh again, the sound is bitter but relieving in its own way. Of course, he’d swoop in and fix this mess, like always. I don’t even know why I’m surprised anymore.

As the nurse steps away, giving me a moment to process, I lean back in the bed, letting out a deep sigh. My head is pounding, and my heart is still heavy with everything I’ve done. But as I lay there, I felt the sting of reality hit me again, a constant reminder of what I’ve lost. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix me.

But Gojo’s money... it's a small, pointless distraction from the bigger problem.

The bigger problem of not knowing how to live with the mess I’ve made.

The door creaks open, and I feel it before I see them—their presence filling the room like an uninvited storm. Gojo strolls in first, his usual cocky smirk plastered across his face. Behind him, Geto follows, his steps measured and serious, while Toji hangs back a bit, his eyes scanning the room with that usual disinterest.

They’re here to check on me, but all I can do is focus on the sterile white walls of the room, anything but them. I’m not ready for this, not ready to face the people I’ve let down.

Why am I even hiding myself from them? 

I think, my gaze drifting to the floor. Maybe it’s because I don’t have any answers. Maybe it’s because I’m ashamed.

I don’t want them to see me like this—broken, and vulnerable, but that’s exactly what I am.

Gojo’s footsteps approach, and before I can even think to react, he’s there, his hands gripping my shoulders in that casual, almost annoying way of his. He shakes me slightly, the weight of his touch pulling me back into reality.

"Hey, come on," Gojo’s voice rings out, louder than I expected. "What the hell are you doing, man? Hiding from us?"

I glance up briefly, meeting his eyes—his blue eyes that never seem to falter. He’s not surprised, not at all. He’s always had a way of looking at me like he’s seen everything already, like nothing I do can shock him. But right now, I don’t want to be seen.

I try to pull away, but his grip tightens, and he forces me to face him.

"You’re not getting out of this, Sukuna," Gojo says, his tone now serious, the usual sarcasm gone. "We’ve been trying to keep you together, but you’ve been shutting us out. Why the hell do you think we’re here?"

I feel the anger start to rise in me—

he has no idea what I’ve done

but I bite it down. 

What’s the point of fighting anymore? I can barely even hold myself together.

Toji moves around the side of the bed, his gaze cold and unwavering, while Geto just stands by, his silence speaking louder than words ever could.

"You're a mess," Toji says flatly. "But you already know that."

I stare down at my hands, trying to keep my breathing steady.

"Don’t try to make excuses for yourself," Geto finally speaks up, his voice calm, but his eyes are sharp. "You’ve got to face what you did. All of it. And you can’t do that if you keep running away from it."

I don’t know how to respond. I’ve always been the one in control, the one who called the shots. But right now, I feel completely out of my depth.

"I fucked up, okay?" I mutter, my voice raw. "I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix me."

Gojo squeezes my shoulders harder, his grip firm but somehow reassuring. "You’re not alone in this," he says, his voice softer than I’ve heard in a long time. "But you’ve got to stop running from it. You’ve got to stop hiding."

I look up at him, at all of them. They’ve been with me through the worst of it—through my rebellions, my anger, my bullshit—but this? This is different. And I don’t know how to ask for help.

But maybe... maybe I don’t have to.

"Yeah, maybe you're right," I whisper. "I’ve just... I don’t know what to do anymore."

Toji huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, but there's a flicker of something softer in his eyes. "It’s simple, Sukuna. You start by fixing what you broke."

I nod, slowly. I know that’s the first step. But for the first time in a long time, I’m not sure if I can.

And that thought hurts more than I can explain.

I could feel the shame burning in my throat as I finally let the words slip out.

"She told me she hates me," I say, the words barely a whisper.

There. I said it. I got it out.

But its weight doesn’t lift; it only sinks deeper.

I can feel all their eyes on me, silent, waiting.

"And then what did I do?" I continue, forcing myself to look up, to meet their gazes even though I want to look anywhere but at them. "I fucked her. Even after she told me she was done, I couldn’t... I couldn’t let go."

Toji’s face shifts, his usual smirk gone, replaced by something I can’t read. Gojo just stares, his expression hardening. Geto... Geto’s eyes look almost sad.

"So you made it worse," Toji mutters, crossing his arms. "And now she’s gone."

I nod, swallowing hard. "She’s gone," I say, the finality of it hitting me like a punch to the gut. "For real this time. She told me to come and get my stuff, and when I left, I—" I break off, the words catching in my throat.

Gojo sighs, his hand running through his hair. "You let your pride get in the way," he says, his tone blunt. "You always do."

I know he’s right. I let my damn pride and anger destroy the one thing that meant something to me. I try to breathe, but the pain is clawing up my chest, filling every corner of my mind.

"She... she was right to hate me," I admit, my voice cracking. "I did this. I pushed her away. I kept shutting her out, ignoring her calls, and her texts, and now... she’s done. She’s done."

There’s a heavy silence. They’re all just looking at me, and I know they’re judging me, hating me, maybe even feeling sorry for me.

But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Because I deserve this.

I drop my head into my hands, the weight of everything crushing me.

"And I can’t even blame her," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I did this to myself."

I took a few deep breaths, trying to keep the panic from rising again. The ache in my chest was relentless, pressing down like a weight that wouldn’t let up. I closed my eyes, telling myself to calm down. Come on, get it together, I thought. Another panic attack isn’t gonna help.

I glanced at Gojo and the others, watching their silent stares and attempts at empathy I didn’t feel like I deserved. Part of me wanted to tell them to get out—to leave me to whatever mess I’d made of myself. But I didn’t. I just sat there, caught in the trap of my own mind, barely holding it together.

“Maybe I should just sleep,” I mumbled, more to myself than to anyone else. “Just… get back to where things make sense, where it’s not… like this.”

I lay back on the bed, closing my eyes again, hoping sleep would just take me. Because in sleep, things didn’t hurt so damn much. I could see her again, hear her laugh, feel her hand in mine like it used to be. There, in dreams, she wouldn’t be gone. She wouldn’t hate me. There, I wasn’t this… mess of a person. I wasn’t the guy who had thrown everything away.

The others were still there, I knew that, but I didn’t care. Let them talk, let them do whatever. I just wanted out—out of this room, this body, this damn life that didn’t feel like mine without her in it.

I didn’t know how long I lay there, drifting in and out, feeling myself numb. Maybe I’d finally fall asleep and dream it all away.

Gojo’s POV

I looked over at Sukuna, finally out cold, his breathing shallow but steady. The relief was temporary; I knew he’d be right back to spiraling when he woke up. Turning to Toji, I shook my head, feeling that familiar sense of frustration bubbling up.

“What are we gonna do with him, seriously?” I said quietly, rubbing a hand over my face. “He’s a hot mess.”

Toji glanced at Sukuna, then back at me, his usual unbothered expression faltering just a bit. “Kid’s been through hell and back,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “But that doesn’t mean he gets to destroy himself, and everyone else along the way.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to him when he’s sober,” I said. “We’ve all had rough patches, but this…? He’s doing himself no favors.”

Geto leaned against the wall, arms folded. “He’s been drowning for a while. Maybe none of us noticed how deep he was in until it got this bad.”

Toji sighed, a hand running through his hair as he looked back at Sukuna. “Doesn’t help that he pushes people away the second they try to get close. Especially Y/N. Poor girl didn’t stand a chance with him.”

I clenched my jaw. Y/N. She’d put up with so much, tried so hard, and he’d just kept pushing her away. But if there was anyone who could make him realize what he was throwing away, it was her—only, we might be well past that point now.

"Maybe she was his last chance at something good, and he knows it,” I said, glancing at Sukuna, now oblivious in his restless sleep. “But he couldn’t let go of whatever’s eating him from the inside.”

Silence stretched between us, the kind that makes you feel every wrong damn thing. None of us knew how to fix him; all we could do was be here to try to hold the pieces together. But even that felt like a losing battle.

Geto’s voice was soft but steady, cutting through the silence like a knife. “He’s got survivor’s guilt,” he said, looking at us. “He was supposed to be with Jin that night. He’s been blaming himself for the past eighteen months.”

I frowned, sinking deeper into thought. Jin had been the one on a real path—a student at Pratt, always doing what needed to be done to keep things steady. Jin had plans, a future laid out. He’d had the kind of life Sukuna never thought he could touch.

“To him, Jin had it all figured out,” Geto continued, his voice tight. “Meanwhile, Sukuna’s always been... well, reckless, a total mess—parties, hookups, whatever he could do to forget himself. And now he thinks it should’ve been him instead.”

Toji shook his head slowly. “Survivor’s guilt doesn’t just go away, though. It’s got him in a chokehold, and he can’t see past it. He won’t let himself. All the drinking, the fights, pushing Y/N away—it’s like he’s set on wrecking himself because he thinks it’s all he deserves.”

“Eighteen months,” I echoed, swallowing down the weight of it. “He’s just been carrying that, all by himself?”

“Carrying it, dragging it, burying himself under it,” Geto said, voice low. “The fact that he even kept his grades up back then... it was like the one thing he had to prove he could do right. But now that’s gone too.”

Toji exhaled, leaning against the wall. “He never did let us in on any of that, did he? Couldn’t even tell Y/N. She’s been taking his shit, thinking he’s just distant or cold when the guy’s practically buried under guilt.”

I felt something tighten in my chest—anger, sadness, maybe both. Why didn’t he just tell us?

“So now what?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended. “We’re here, trying to hold him together, but he’s got no intention of letting us.”

Geto gave me a sad smile, his eyes dark. “The only thing we can do now is try to help him realize that even if he can’t forgive himself, maybe—just maybe—there are people around who can.”

Sukuna’s face twitched, and he murmured, half lost in sleep, “Jin… I’m sorry.” His breathing slowed again, and he drifted back to sleep, his face tight with something even unconsciousness couldn’t soften.

Toji shook his head slowly, his expression pained. “Poor bastard’s been apologizing to a ghost,” he muttered.

Geto looked away, jaw clenched, like hearing Sukuna admit even that much was almost too much to bear. I felt a sting of something raw as I watched him, realizing just how deep the cracks went for Sukuna.

“He’s got that wall up so high, he doesn’t even realize he’s been trapped behind it himself,” Geto finally said, keeping his voice low. “And he’s been living there alone for so long, he thinks that’s the only way to survive.”

A bitter thought crossed my mind. "And in the process, he’s been tearing apart anyone who tried to climb over that wall and help him, including Y/N.”

Toji sighed. “If he keeps going like this, he’ll lose everyone. And the worst part is, it won’t shock him—he’ll think he deserves it.”

I felt a dark resolve settle over me. “Then we’re gonna have to show him that he doesn’t have to go through this alone anymore. He may not believe it, but he’s got people who care. And no matter how much he pushes, we’re not going anywhere.”

Geto nodded, a shadow of determination in his gaze. “Right. It’s time we remind him he doesn’t get to decide when we’re done with him.”

Toji cracked a small, dark grin. "Sukuna’s been good at one thing his whole life: building a wall so damn high even he can’t see over it. But I say we knock that shit down, piece by piece. And if he tries to put it back up, we knock it down again.”

Geto smirked faintly. "We’re persistent bastards—he should know that by now.” But as he spoke, his gaze softened. “He needs us now more than ever. I think a part of him is terrified of even letting us in, but…” He paused, glancing at Sukuna, who was still mumbling in his sleep, fists clenched even in rest.

I watched him for a moment. “It’s almost like he doesn’t believe he deserves anything good,” I said quietly. “Like no matter how hard he tries, he’ll always be chasing ghosts.”

Toji leaned back, crossing his arms. “Well, maybe it’s time someone else starts chasing him. He’s been running for too long.”

Just then, Sukuna stirred, his brow furrowing, another murmur escaping his lips—something half-formed, an apology or a plea, tangled up in sleep. It was painful to watch him like this, broken down, raw in ways he’d never let us see if he were awake. I felt something tighten in my chest, the weight of all he’d been carrying alone for so long.

“Whatever it takes, we’ll be here when he wakes up,” I said, determination settling over me. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Toji let out a deep breath, his usual cocky attitude softened as he glanced back at Sukuna’s sleeping form. “This kid’s been dragging the weight of his own guilt and grief for too damn long. Ever since Jin...well, it’s like he’s got it in his head that he was supposed to be the one gone that night.” He shook his head, almost as if trying to shake off the absurdity of it. “Sometimes, when I look at him, it’s like he’s already halfway given up on himself.”

Geto nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sukuna’s never been one to talk about what’s going on up here.” He tapped his temple. “But ever since Jin’s accident, he’s just been… self-destructive. Like he thinks he doesn’t deserve to be here, doesn’t deserve any of this,” he added, motioning to the hospital room, “and definitely doesn’t deserve Y/N.”

I sighed, slumping into one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs, watching Sukuna twitch and mumble in his sleep. He murmured Jin’s name again, the sound almost like a child calling out in the dark.

“Do you think he’s ever going to let go of this?” I asked, more to myself than anyone else.

Toji’s gaze darkened, and his eyes narrowed in determination. “Not on his own. And not if he keeps trying to deal with it by pushing away everyone who gives a damn about him. He’s gotta wake up to the fact that he doesn’t have to carry all of this alone.” He leaned forward, his fists resting on his knees, the lines on his face tense and serious. “We all go through hell sometimes. It’s part of the package. That doesn’t mean we have to go through it solo.”

Geto gave a short, bitter laugh. “Sukuna’s not exactly the ‘share your feelings’ type.” He paused, and his voice softened. “But I don’t think he knows any other way. Hell, maybe he doesn’t even want to. But if he doesn’t learn how to start opening up, he’s just going to keep spiraling.”

As I looked at Sukuna, the stubborn, self-destructive side of him flashed in my mind—a side we’d all watched worsen over the past year. We’d seen him drink, fight, and smoke his way through the nights, using everything he could to keep his demons at bay. But all it had done was sink him deeper.

“Letting go of Jin,” I murmured, “doesn’t mean forgetting him. That doesn’t mean he has to lose that connection. But carrying this much weight…” I trailed off, watching as Sukuna’s face contorted in his sleep, pain, and guilt written across his expression. “It’s just eating him alive.”

Toji huffed, standing up and pacing the room. “And who else would he listen to? Y/N tried, and look what it cost her. I doubt he’s going to listen to anyone easily. Not even us.”

Geto looked at me, his eyes heavy. “So what do we do, Gojo? Just sit back and watch him fall apart?” His tone was frustrated, bordering on hopeless, a rare look for him. But in this situation, who could blame him? None of us knew how to pull him out of this spiral, but standing by and doing nothing wasn’t an option, either.

“No,” I said finally, with a slow nod. “We don’t back off, even if he tries to push us away again. I’m serious. We stay here, we check on him, and we make sure he knows—every single day—that he’s not alone. That he’s still got people in his corner, whether he likes it or not.”

Toji gave a small nod, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “Guess we’re just stubborn bastards, then. He’s not going to shake us that easy.”

Sukuna stirred again, his face etched in that same tortured expression, murmuring once more. His words were slurred and barely coherent, but we could all make out the quiet, hoarse words, “…Jin… I’m sorry…”

Geto took a deep breath, running a hand over his face, his voice low. “It’s hard to watch him like this. But if he’s going to make it, if he’s ever going to find his way out… he’s going to need us.”

I nodded, a newfound resolve settling over me. “We’re not just going to be his friends when things are easy,” I said firmly. “We’re going to be here through the ugly, the painful, the worst of it.”

And there, in that hospital room filled with the steady hum of machines and dim, sterile lighting, I felt the weight of our friendship shift, solidify. We were here for the long haul, whether Sukuna could see it yet or not.

[aerynwrites]

Peace

Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting anything lately lol - my writing motivation has been in the toilet. But hopefully it's back now and I just had to get this little piece out for the holidays. I hope you enjoy! Word Count: 4k Warnings: so much fluff, fluff galore, fluff mountain, slightly insecure simon, (possibly ooc simon??), mentions of praying before a meal, again just lots of fluff.

Simon “Ghost” Riley doesn’t get nervous. 

Nerves, anxiety, fear - it was all beat out of him by his piece-of-shit excuse for a father. Then further beat out of him in the military. Nervousness died with the first Simon Riley, buried six feet underground never to be heard from again.

So why the bloody fuck are his hands sweating?

He’s wiped them on the fabric of his jeans at least a dozen times as they drive down the desolate stretch of road in nowhere Scotland. Johnny talking his ear off the whole time - mostly about his family. 

The family Simon is about to meet. 

Fuck…what was he thinking, agreeing to this?

Thinking you don’t want to be alone again on the holidays, that’s what.

Simon shakes his head, chasing the thought away as quick as it’d come. 

He’s been alone all his life. He didn’t need anyone. Yet, when Johnny had whispered the request, a simple one really - into the darkness of the room one night as they shared a bed…Simon couldn’t say no. 

“Come home with me, Si.”

That was less than a week ago, and the Scott followed through on his promise, helping Simon pack his bags before all but whisking him away for a few weeks holiday with his family. 

His very large family. 

Of course Simon knew of Johnny’s parents and sisters and brother, but Johnny had warned him that the whole extended family gets together for Christmas. He’d been regaling Simon with dozens of tales from his childhood, each one with a different family member. And try as he might, Simon couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips as he continued, sweaty palms forgotten the longer Johnny talked. 

The small moment of reprieve didn’t last long, however, because sooner than Simon was ready for they were turning off the main road onto a side street. That side street quickly gave way to a long gravel drive, and before he knew it Johnny had parked the car behind at least half a dozen others in front of a large house. 

The first thing Simon noticed was the sheer normal-ness of the place. All the cars were practical ones, SUVs, sedans - made for families. The house was decorated modestly but tastefully. Colorful string lights lined the gutters and porch railings, a wreath hung on the door, and a large wooden sign leaned up against the front of the house beside the door that read ‘Merry Christmas!’ In bold red letters. 

But more than that, Simon could see into the house. The blinds are open and he can see many people milling about, talking, laughing, adults running after small children-

“This wasn’t a good idea, Johnny.”

The words are out before Simon can stop them, and he instantly regrets them the moment they bring a wounded look to his partner's face. But he can’t help it. His damn palms are sweaty again and his heart is racing and he can’t-

Johnny reaches over to slide a familiar calloused hand into his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“It’ll be okay, Simon. They’re gonna love ya’-”

Simon can’t help the small huff of bitter laughter that slips from beneath his mask. “Will they?” He asks, before gesturing to the cloth covering his face. 

“You’re tellin’ me the kids won’t run screamin’, the moment they see me? Or that your family won’t stare at the giant with a bloody mask-”

Simon cuts himself off, shaking his head. 

“I shouldn’t ‘ave come,” he repeats sullenly, “You go in. Enjoy the holiday with your family. I saw a hotel not too far back, I can-”

“No, no, no, none of that shite,” Johnny interjects, voice firm. A tone he doesn’t take with Simon often. 

“I’ve told them all about you,” he finally admits, “mask an’ all.” He laughs softly. “The only thing Ma ‘ad to say about it was askin’ why you chose a skull.”

Simon is silent, warring with himself as Johnny continues. 

“And…you don’t ‘ave to wear it if you don’t want to,” he suggests lightly, before squeezing Simon’s hand again. “I wouldn’t ‘ave suggested you come if I dinnae think they’d like ya’. My family is important to me, Si. And you’re part of tha’ now.”

Simon didn’t have time to respond this time before Johnny’s out of the car and opening the trunk to get their bags. He’s thinking out loud again, wondering if his mother made his favorite side dish or dessert, wondering if his nephews would be here.

Simon is listening but he also isn’t, his mind running one hundred miles a minute until the trunk slams closed and Simon lets out a muttered curse before ripping the balaclava off his head and shoving it in his pocket as he steps from the vehicle. He doesn’t miss the shocked raise of the Scott’s eyebrows as he comes around the car before it melts into that fucking smile that plagues Simons waking moments. 

Simon takes his bag from Johnny’s hand before following him up the drive then up the steps of the porch. He waits patiently as Johnny grabs the door handle, knocking when he finds it’s locked. Every moment of waiting feels like an eternity for Simon, all possible scenarios running through his mind. The door swinging open and everyone inside coming to a stand still as they take in the monster Johnny brought with him. The children pointing and whispering about the scars marring his features. Johnny’s parent’s frowning in disapproval at the choice their son made…

It’s all playing out in front of his very eyes until a soft feminine voice calls out from the other side of the door - ‘coming!’ - and then the lock clicks and the door swings open and an older woman that looks eerily similar to his partner beams up at them both.

“Johnathan!” She says reverently, wistfully, as she wraps her son in a hug so fierce Simon’s momentarily worried she might injure him. 

But Johnny just laughs and drops his bag as he wraps his big arms around his mother, stooping down to envelop her entirely as he embraces her, tucking his head into her neck. 

“I’m home, Ma.”

The embrace lasts for the perfect amount of time before they pull away from one another, and it’s then, as Mrs. MacTavish holds her son at arms length - looking over him - that her eyes flit over to Simon, and the inevitable has finally come. 

Except there’s no hatred. No disgust or disapproval or furrowed brows. Instead there’s a smile just as big as she gave Johnny and before Simon can react the woman is approaching him.

“You must be, Simon,” she says, voice gentle - warm and welcoming. 

All Simon can do is nod, gripping onto his duffel bag with white knuckles. 

“Johnathan never stops talking about you-”

“Ma!” Johnny reprimands.

“Talking about you and your team and how…” she trails off, a sadness settling into her eyes before she steps forward and wraps Simon in an embrace he hasn’t felt since his own mother passed. 

It’s strong and grounding, yet soft and inviting all at the same time, and it catches Simon so off guard that this woman who barely reaches his chest is hugging him - that all he can think to do is wrap his free arm lamely around her shoulders. 

“Thank you for keeping him safe.”

The words are so soft, uttered into the cotton of Simon's shirt, that he’s surprised he hears them. But he does, and he gives her a gentle squeeze. 

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to him,” he assures her.

He looks to Johnny as his mother pulls away from him, and he has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the smug ‘I told you so’ look on the scott’s face. 

Mrs. MacTavish smiles again before stepping back towards the house. “Well, come on then, you’re just in time, really. Dinner is goin’ to be ready within the hour.”

She opens the door back up and steps inside and Johnny follows close behind her, looking back when Simon hesitates. He gives him a reassuring look, shifting his bag to his other hand so he can reach a hand out to him. Letting out a small resigned huff, Simon takes the hand offer to him and lets himself be tugged into the house. 

Warmth envelopes him almost immediately- not only in the temperature sense because of the roaring fire in the fireplace at the center of the living room - but also in the atmosphere. The lights around the house are soft and welcoming, none of the bright fluorescents that litter the base. And the general sense in the house is one of pure love and happiness and joy. Children running around, adults laughing and chatting happily with drinks in their hands. Even the Christmas tree, bursting with colorfully wrapped gifts beneath it adds to the overall feel. 

It gives Simon whiplash - how different this place is than the environments he’s usually in. It’s not like the cinderblock dorm he usually stays in or the concrete gym he frequents or even the various dangerous countries he travels to for missions. 

Simon wants to both run and never leave at the same time. And unfortunately for him, he doesn’t get a chance to do the former. Before he has a chance to disappear into some dark corner (not that there’s many to be seen in this cozy home) Johnny is introducing him to all the family that stops them as they come in. 

Aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces, grandparents…the only ones Simon really has time to remember are his sisters because Johnny talks about them all the time anyways - and once again, Simon is startled into near silence. Not a single one of them gives him a sideways glance. They all just smile warmly at him when Johnny introduces him, giving him a firm handshake - or let’s be honest - most of them wrap him in a firm hug. He expected nothing less from Johnny’s family. 

And when Johnny does end up getting pulled away by rambunctious nieces and nephews and Simon is left alone, he still doesn’t get a chance to slip away because Johnny’s sisters are sliding up to him, chatting about anything and nothing and slipping a drink into his hand (spike eggnog which Simon pretends not to enjoy as much as he does). 

It’s how ended up where he is now, hating feeling useless and standing around, he’s bustling around the kitchen with Johnny’s sisters, Amelia and Isobel and Mrs. MacTavish.

“Call me Moira, Simon. Mrs. MacTvish is my mother-in-law.”

(He doesn’t. Can’t. Not yet at least.)

“Simon,” Amelia, calls from the gargantuan dining room table in the room connected to the kitchen, “Can you grab the trivets? Dinnae want to leave rings on the table-”

“Oh!” Isobel calls as well, from where she’s playing the silverware, “I forgot the napkins too-”

Simon, with trivets already tucked beneath his arms, swoops up the delicately folded napkins on his way into the dining room - “On it.”

He places the trivett's precisely where the sisters direct him, unable to stop the small smile from tugging at his lips when they practically groan in appreciation when he places the napkins on top of the plates that are set out.

“Finally,” Amelia explains, moving to help Isobel set the silverware, “A man who isn’t entirely clueless-”

“Right?” Isobel agrees, both of them laughing.

Simon lets out a chuckle of his own, shrugging his shoulders. 

“We didn’ do much as a family when I was younger,” he starts, slightly hesitant. “But my Mum never skipped a holiday meal. Showed me how to set the table,” he says softly, feeling like he revealed too much. 

But the sisters just smile brightly at him, and Simon has to shove down the voice screaming ‘wrong, wrong, wrong! You don’t deserve their kindness, their sympathy-‘

“Well, your mum sounds like a lovely, woman,” Amelia says, before Isobel pipes in. 

“Are you and Johnny going to visit your family after us?”

Simon freezes at that, shoulders tensing as he tries and fails to stop the frown from tugging at his lips. He pretends not to see the way Amelia elbows her sister, sending her a scathing look as he continues to place napkins, now avoiding their eyes. 

“I uh-” he clears his throat. “My family’s passed. Jus’ me now.”

It’s silent for a moment, before he feels a gentle squeeze on his shoulder and he startles slightly, not having heard Mrs. MacTavish come up behind him in his inner grief. He turns to see yet another one of those blinding smiles on her face, a smile so similar to Johnny’s. He freezes again as her hand slides down to cover Simon’s, her hand tiny against his own larger one. 

“Well,” she says softly, “You always have a place at our table, Simon. You’re our family now.”

She turns away before he can speak and as she calls out to the family that dinner is ready, he’s silently glad she did, because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to speak around the lump in his throat. 

———

The family helps carry the food out to the table, and Simon can’t help but be impressed at the bountiful display of food, his stomach rumbling at the sight. Johnny finds him in the slight chaos, taking his hand in his own as he leads him to two seats towards the head of the table, just as everyone else is taking their seats. Johnny’s mother is at the head of the table, Amelia and Isobel and their partners and children to her left and Johnny and Simon to her right. He can’t help but feel like he’s too high up on the totem pole that is family seating. Hell, he doesn’t feel like he deserves to be here at all. 

Yet, when Mrs. MacTavish insist they all hold hands to say a prayer and she goes through the typical spiel, any doubt he has melts away when she says thanks for Johnny’s safety, Simon’s own name falling shortly behind before the entire table closes the prayer and Johnny squeezes his hand in that loving way that always makes his heart stutter. 

As quickly as the silence that fell over the table during grace came, it was gone in an instant. Soft shatter and laughter soon starts up as everyone passes dishes of food around. A lot of the things Simon recognizes; ham, mashed potatoes, and various other comfort food sides litter the table. But there are also some dishes that are unfamiliar to Simon, and Johnny is quick to explain them. Most of them are Scottish dishes he’s never heard of, but some are family recipes that have evolved over the years - all of them Johnny’s favorites.

“Oh, you ‘ave to try this one Si, it’s my favorite-”

“You’ve said tha’ about the last three dishes, Johnny-”

The Scott just laughs, “But this time I mean it.”

Soon, Simon’s plate is piled so high with food he’s concerned he won’t be able to eat it all (he does…and goes back for seconds). And he has to constantly remind himself not to eat like a military man - hunched over his plate, shoveling food in as fast as possible to be done in time - something he notices Johnny has to do as well. 

Simon smiles - and for the first time since he left base a few days ago, his palms have stopped sweating. 

———

The night is quiet as Simon steps outside of the still chattering household. Dinner ended a few hours ago, and ever the dutiful guest, Simon helped clean up before the events were moved to the living room. Presents were shared among family, mainly the kids. Colorful wrapping paper littering the floor and the couches and the chairs (and even the fireplace on one occasion, a disaster Simon managed to catch and stomp out before it went too far.) He and Johnny sat on the couch, the latter watching and oozing happiness from every pore as he soaked in the family he hadn't seen in too long. Hell, even Simon was sated - a little too much like a cat in a sun patch with his belly full and his inhibitions slightly dulled from that damn eggnog. 

But now…Simon felt the ever present itch to step away, that familiar feeling of otherness creeping back in as he feels like an intruder to something so cozy and intimate. 

You don’t belong here, that voice mutters again, sounding strangely similar to his father’s rasping voice as he slides the back door open and steps onto the back porch.

He tugs a cigarette from the pack in his coat pocket, placing it between his lips before grabbing the zippo Johnny had gifted him almost a year ago. 

‘It’s the twenty-first century, L.T. quit usin’ matches.’

Simon huffed out a small laugh at the memory as he flicked the wheel of the lighter, a small flame sparking to life and warming his palm as he cups his hand around it and brings to the end of the cigarette, taking a deep drag to light it. 

The soft sound of the sliding glass door reaches his ears just as he flicks the lighter closed and stows it away, and he knows who it is almost instantly, the footsteps familiar to him. 

Johnny doesn’t speak right away, instead coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with Simon just as the first few flurries start to fall from the sky. 

Snow…

Simon can’t remember the last time he saw snow - well - saw snow in a pleasant way. Snow that wasn’t waist deep and in the Russian wilderness and keeping his team from reaching the safe house. Snow that wasn’t stained red or crushed into brown slurry beneath his boots. 

Maybe this trip would change that - like it’s changed a lot of things. 

“Thank you.”

The words are simple, but soft. Softer than they have a right to be coming from a man like Simon. A man who has more blood on his hands than most. A man who most people would run from the second they looked at him. 

But he means them. He means them with his whole heart and he hopes that Johnny understands everything Simon is trying to say with those two simple words. 

Thank you for inviting me here. Thank you for trusting me with your family. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for loving the unlovable and showing me this and -

Johnny shrugs, and the rustle of fabric breaks off Simon’s train of thought as he glances over at his partner from the corner of his eyes. 

“I want you ‘ere, Si,” Johnny says softly, eyes looking out into the wilderness beyond the backyard, into the stars littering the night sky, “I ‘ave for a long time, and I…”

He trails off, clearing his throat, and Simon doesn’t miss the way he fiddles with something in his pocket. 

“I love you, Simon,” he says gently, finally tearing his eyes away from the celestial lights above him to look at Simon in a way that he’s never been looked at before. “And I meant wha’ I said. You’re part of this now,” he gestures back to the house still brimming with life, love, and happiness. “And I was wonderin’…” he trails off again, letting out a frustrated sound. 

“Ah, I’m shite at this…”

Simon huffs out a laugh, “Spit it out, Johnny-”

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to laugh, shaking his head as he pulls out a little velvet box from his jacket pocket. “Your makin’ this real ‘ard to be all romantic an’ shit-” he rolls his eyes, but even in the dimness of the moonlight Simon doesn’t miss the way Johnny’s cheeks redden. 

Realistically Simon knows what’s in the box - he knows what’s coming. Yet, he still can’t help the way his heart leaps into his throat when Johnny opens the box to reveal a simple gold ring. No frills, no getting on one knee and professing his love, no fancy dinner. 

It was never their thing anyways. 

“Simon Riley,” Johnny says, voice slightly choked, nervous, “Will you marry me?”

Simon never truly knew what he would do in this situation- fuck, he never imagined this scenario. Ever. Not in a million years. And if he did - he always thought he’d be the one asking.

“Johnny…”

The Scott cuts him off, “now before you go an’ start all that self-deprecatin’ bullshi-”

“Johnny-” Simon tries again.

“I love you! An’ I know that-”

Simon lets out a low growl, once stemming from slight annoyance as he flicks his cigarette out and away from him in favor of taking Johnny’s face in his calloused palms and pressing lips firmly to his. It shuts the Scott up, and Simon can’t stop that stupid giddy feeling that he gets when familiar hands wrap around his waist. 

It doesn’t last long, just long enough for Simon to get the point across, and then he’s pulling away resting his forehead against Johnny’s. 

“If you’d let me get a bloody word out, I’d tell you yes.”

Johnny pauses at that - eyes widening slightly in that way that Simon always thinks looks like a puppy begging for more treats. 

“Really?”

Simon scoffs, not unkindly, and pulls away his hand still cupping warm cheeks. 

“Why’d ya ask if ya thought I’d say no?”

Johnny blushes at that, looking away, “Well I didnae think you’d say no…” he shrugs, “Just thought you’d take more convincin’ is all.”

Now it’s Simon’s turn to roll his eyes, as he finally drops his hands, holding his left one out slightly. 

“You gonna make me put it on myself?”

Johnny laughs then, a real laugh, the loud one that Simon pretends to hate but really truly loves - and then Johnny is taking the ring from the box and sliding it on Simon's left ring finger with more delicacy than he deserves. The metal is cool, smooth as it slides against his overheated skin, and as it sit snugly on his finger, Simon can’t help but flex them, the metal glinting in the moonlight.

“You picked good, Johnny,” he says lamely, not sure what else to say until he glances at Johnny’s left hand. 

“Now I need to get you one,” he says, “Can’t have people thinkin’ you’re single.”

Johnny smiles, digging around in his jeans pocket this time before producing an identical gold band to his own. “Way ahead of ya, L.T.”

Johnny goes to slide the band on, but Simon stops him, taking the metal ring from his fingers with a grumble of ‘hold it sergeant’ before he slips it over his ring finger. He doesn’t miss the way Johnny smiles down at their hands, all wrapped together as he gazes at the matching rings. 

Simon opens his mouth to say something, but a bright white flash of light from his left stops him and Johnny in their tracks. They both look over just in time to see Isobel fumbling with her phone behind the glass sliding door as Amelia scolds her and Mrs. MacTavish just gives her son a small thumbs up and watery smile. 

Johnny just groans and runs a hand down his face as the three women scatter, leaving them alone once more. 

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he rolls his eyes, “Sorry ‘bout them-”

Simon shakes his head, taking Johnny’s hand in his own as he turns to face the backyard again, thumb already running over the smooth metal ring. 

“Don’t worry about it, Johnny,” he says, waving him off. “I…it’s nice. Having a family again.”

Johnny smiles, giving Simon’s hand a soft squeeze before they both settle into a comfortable silence to watch the snow fall from the sky above them. 

And as the muffled sounds of Christmas music and soft chatter filter out from the house and Simon holds Johnny close…He can’t help but send a silent thought to his mother and brother. Wherever they are.

‘I’m not alone.’

The gentle kiss of a breeze answers him, whispering against his cheeks and wrapping around his legs, and for the first time since he can remember - 

Simon is at peace. 

[bayon-ett]

@keferon Hey I’ve been reading your TexAid and Mecha au and all of the short stories people have been adding. I love it!

@spector-author Ive been reading your chapters too! And I wanted to add a few of my own, you inspired me haha.

So my idea is…Everyone here knows of Eddie and Venom right? I was wondering, what if there was an instance where FirstAid figured out how to ‘download’ Vortex to save both of them? I’m also going for a Mark Spector/Stephen Spector vibe. Both those character dynamics were my inspo for this.

I Listened to TOOL while writing this. I just feel like Vortex is that kinda guy. Also the title of the song is fitting. I linked it if anybody wants to listen while they read :D

Story Under the Cut ⬇️

FirstAid woke blearily. And he was, the world was… sideways? He tried to focus on, anything. The cockpit was dark save for the flashing red light every few seconds.

It was quiet. An alarm should be going off with the lights. He should hear the sparking internals of the console.

Concussion. The vertigo, hearing loss, and splitting headache being anything to go by.

Green letters scrolled across the monitor. FirstAid tried to focus his eyes, his vision swimming.

YOU NEED TO RUN!

YOU NEED TO RUN!

YOU NEED TO RUN!

FirstAid blinked.

I CANT-

CANT CONTROL ANYTHING

GET OUT

THEY’RE COMING

FirstAid fumbled around for his seatbelt until he finally found the release button. He slid out of the chair and hit the side of the cockpit with a groan. He struggled to stand up. A sudden wave of nausea made him abandon the idea, gritting his teeth against the pain behind his eyes. The dull red light above causing a stab of pain in his head whenever he opened them.

“Whats iss goingonn-“ He slurred out, trying to remain upright.

DOESN’T MATTER. YOU NEED TO GO.

FirstAid chuckled weakly, slowly dissolving into somewhat manic laughter. Laughter that turned into a groaning and coughing fit.

“Vortex, I’m not m-making it fivestepsss.”

There was silence.

FirstAid tried to move towards the console. Every time he turned his back a certain way it would send pain shooting from his hip to his shoulders.

He drug himself along the console counter, trying to look at the cameras, the pop up display, anything to give him an idea of what was wrong.

FIRSTAID YOU NEED TO LEAVE

WHEN THEY GET HERE THEY’ll BE ABLE TO SMELL YOU

THEY’LL TEAR ME-THIS-THE COCKPIT APART TO GET TO YOU

“Worried about me are you?” FirstAid swiped his hand accross the control screen weakly, smearing blood across it. Where was he bleeding from?

From what FirstAid’s spotty vision could make out it looked like multiple hydraulic lines had been disconnected. The connection between the main frame and the rest of the relays to Vortex- The mecha’s body were not transmitting. A bright ‘SIGNAL LOST’ on the top of the screen.

“Shit shit shit-“

FIRSTAID I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DO NOT LEAVE I WILL SEND YOU TO JESUS MYSELF

“What about you?” FirstAid asked, more of a muttering to himself. Vortex could read his thoughts so it’s not like he needed to really say anything out loud.

ITS BEEN FUN DOLL BUT OUR TIME TOGETHER HAS COME TO AN END

NOW GO

BEFORE I END YOU IN A LESS PAINFUL WAY THAN THEY WILL

The main frame. The main frame was disconnected from the body. So Vortex was stuck in the main frame. If this were to translate to a human body, it would be equatable to a spinal injury at the neck.

FirstAid scrambled to grab the pilots helmet, putting it on gingerly.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?

“Something stupid.”

FirstAid swiped through the control consul quickly, synching his consciousness with the mecha, Vortex’s anger and more surprisingly, anxiety, filled his head.

WHATEVER YOU’RE DOING-

“GIVE ME A MINUTE TO THINK.” FirstAid ground out, “Please.”

FirstAid had never actually fully synched with Vortex. The mecha. Not the way pilots usually did anyway. Vortex controlled it on his own, FirstAid was only along for the ride most of the time. Vortex was in his head regardless.

After fully synching he heard Vortex in his mind clear as a bell, clearer as he’d ever heard him, shouting at him.

His finger hovered over the ‘DISCONNECT FROM MECHA, REURN FULL SYNC TO PILOT’ option on the screen.

FIRSTAID YOU FUCKER I SWEAR-

FirstAid slammed on the button, an electric shock like sensation going through him before everything went dark.

…

FirstAid woke up in the middle of the desert, puking his guts up onto the cold dry dirt. Lovely.

After dry heaving for what felt like forever he sat back on his heels, catching his breath.

He stood slowly, every twist or bend past a certain point making his back smart. He stood stiffly, slowly moving around to try and get a feel of his range of motion. Which was not very much at all.

He looked around, trying to get his bearings. After a few moments of spinning in circles he could say confidently that he had absolutely no clue where he was. No sign of beasts anywhere though. Small mercy that. The mecha, Vortex, was also nowhere to be seen. He sighed, picked a direction, and started walking.

It felt like First Aid simply blinked, and he was… on top of the mecha, elbow deep in the internals of the machine. He had enough time to turn away before retching again, his vision going spotty. He held his head gingerly, his hands smearing grease on his face and in his hair.

He blinked again, and he was sitting in the mecha, strapped in. His hands were on the controls! He abruptly let go of them, the machine stopping in its tracks as he did so. That never happened.

Did Vortex… did he die? For real this time? Did FirstAid accidentally delete his consciousness from the mecha or something? Did he-

He blinked again and was climbing out of the mecha onto the scaffolding. At the base. He was back at base. He almost tripped and fell onto the platform before catching himself.

He blinked again and Ratchet was standing in front of him looking, kind of freaked out. Ratchet never looked freaked out.

“Ratchet?” FirstAid questioned.

Ratchet blinked at him. FirstAid just noticed he was holding onto a wrench. Standing in the corner. FirstAid was crowding him into a corner.

“Who am I talking to right now?” Ratchet asked, searching FirstAid’s eyes.

FirstAid made a face. “Ratchet its me…”

The room spun, and the world went dark again.

…

Thats all I got for now. I’m going to keep adding to this cuz Keferon’s idea is so good! I want to add Ratchet and Vortex’s POV to this little snippet so… that will come soon.

I love everyone’s little snippets/chapters they’re adding to this au and I think its so cool :) This is not proofread so please point out any mistakes in the comments.

[lukass-r]

The urge to write more about this au.

It's basically just a highschool/modern au, the basic type shit. But it has shadowpeach. And au kids. And y'know. Ocs, self inserts, head canons etc etc.

This was a self indulgent au where the first part would've been a one shot abt Wukong and Mihou being reborn in the next world as humans and after going through a break-up/divorce, they get back together and Mihou becomes a teacher at the same place that wk also teaches. They make a bet on who'll figure out they're together. Yes, they flirt in public. Mk and mei try matchmaking and play cupid (context for the image ↑) and Mihou finds it funny bc they're already married.

Wk and Mihou have kids (idk if I'll add the fan kids from resurrection's bitter kiss; Rumble, Savage, Light, Despair) but one thing is for sure and that's MK is an honorary sun and Bai He is one of their adopted kids.

This was so self indulgent that me and my friend ( @fizxie-pop ) slapped our OCs in there. And they end up getting adopted. And then there's drabbles and tiny chapters about them causing shenanigans and then learning to live w Wk and Mihou as not just their students, but also their children. The twin ocs slowly get used to the idea that someone would take care of them— both of them! And not just leave one for the other twin like their past foster parents did. And that this time they don't need to be split apart for either of them to have a family. They can trust more than just each other but it's so hard to do when they were all they've ever known and needed.

Augh. Im ranting again. Might delete.

Teacher AU save me...

They have me in a chokehold, I'll be real. I'll post more of them later.

[pinkseas]

my genshin fics are so upsetting... yes im a xlmi girl but how r ppl who look at my ao3 gonna know that id kill and die for layla barbara & collei how will they know...........

[lucyshypemaster]

you will NEVER see anyone writing paragraphs after paragraphs hating on keefe like they do with sophie.

[the-kipsabian]

wrestling fic writers!!

i have decided to be the change i wanna see, so lets do a nice little thing for each other, as a community full of incredible and talented writers. yes this is writer specific only, but thats cause thats where the main problem of people not interacting with creative works lies in this fandom as far as i can tell and have seen people talking about it especially in the last couple of months

if you read this, please add links to your written works. it can be just a single fic youre really proud of, your writing blog, your writing tag, your ao3 account, anything where your works can be found

and if you leave your link here, PLEASE check out someone else that has left their works, and interact with them. leave them a comment, even just a kudos, REBLOG their fic, etc. interacting is the keyword i want to emphasize here, along with building a sort of a masterpost of where to find people writing in this fandom

and if you are not a writer, youre still highly encouraged to interact with this post and share it and show love to the writers in this fandom, obviously!! i think that should go without saying, but adding it in anyways

a bit more about my vision and resources and such under the read more, but thats the gist of it. happy linking and please be kind and supportive to each other!! 💜

nobody is too big or too small to add their things on this list. if you write and post anything in this fandom whatsoever, be it fics or drabbles or headcanons, any companies or any kind of ships or reader inserts or any content whatsoever no matter how 'dead dove dont eat' or hell even if its just meta, we welcome all here and nobody can say that one thing is less valid than another. just please tag your content accordingly, especially if theres content warnings, and feel free to mention what you write, who you write, any info you wish to leave that would help people before they click on your links. but even so, that should not and hopefully will not deter people from interacting, no matter what it is. someones trash is another ones treasure, i promise you

and unless the amount gets really overwhelming, im personally going to be checking out everyone that leaves something here. unless it squeaks me out, but even then, i'll spread the word. and i just wish as many people as possible will do the same, and not just use this as a potential board to only get eyes on their stuff. ofc thats also the point, but you should give as much, if not more, than you get. we need to be kind and supportive of one another (besides, from personal experience, if you show love to someone else, they are more likely to do it back than without you taking the first step, so... pay it forward)

as for resources, heres a few links that should be helpful in leaving comments and feedback. of course everyone does their own thing and no comment is too big or too small to leave, but for those who need them. if you have anything you'd like added to this list, dont hesitate to get in touch or drop it in the post yourself!!

101 comment starters

ao3 floating comment box

kudos html

dont know how to comment? easy solutions

a quick hot guide to commenting (by yours truly)

an overall guide to appreciating fanfic writers

and just in general.. leave people comments. leave them asks about their projects. just go over and gush about their work. i know it sounds embarrassing but writers love nothing more than to hear that someone likes what they are doing. if you find a fic that hasnt been updated in forever, comment on it. it might just be the spark the author needs to continue. while kudos and likes are nice, and just as valuable to some, its definitely in the words the people leave for them that matter the most. im not saying this to put pressure on anyone, its just how it is, and i feel like unless people are writers themselves, and even then sometimes, thats just hard to grasp, especially if the writer is a smaller and less popular one who doesnt get a lot of traffic in the first place

i think thats all. just be nice and considered to everyone, reblog peoples works, this post with others add ons and so forth. and if i find anyone talking shit here or at other writers for something they share, you'll be blocked and im probably taking your kneecaps. be fucking nice. we are all struggling here and we need to stick together

happy sharing and commenting 💜💜