#and whos the only one who ever had both of them at once

[shy-writer-999]

1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .

Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!

“Hello?”

You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.

He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.

At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.

He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.

It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.

“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”

With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.

“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”

“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.

He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?

“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”

You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.

“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.

You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”

He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.

His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.

You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.

But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.

“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.

He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.

You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.

When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.

---

“Hello?”

He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.

You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”

You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.

“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.

You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”

He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”

“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.

The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.

Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.

He vents about that, and you hear him out.

“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”

He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.

“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.

“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.

When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.

He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”

Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?

You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.

Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”

This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.

“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.

He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)

“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.

“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”

His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.

“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.

The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.

The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.

After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.

“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.

“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”

You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.

“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.

“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”

“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.

“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”

“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”

“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”

His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”

“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”

You laugh again. “How about both?”

“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”

“No way. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.

“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”

“And what’s going on underneath of those?”

He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.

He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”

Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.

“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”

You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.

“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”

Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).

“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”

His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.

There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.

“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”

He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”

He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.

“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”

His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.

You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”

“I would kiss every inch of you.”

Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?

“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.

“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.

Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me’ really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.

“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.

“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”

“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.

“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.

“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that licking your clit.”

You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.

“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.

He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.

At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.

“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”

You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.

Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.

“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”

His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.

“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”

“How would I know that you liked it?”

“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”

“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.

“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”

“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”

“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.

“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”

You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.

He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”

“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”

“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.

Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.

That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.

When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”

You hum in agreement. “Wow.”

He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”

He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”

Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”

You almost instantly regret oversharing, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.

“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.

It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.

“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.

“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

Sanji hangs up the phone.

In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.

But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.

And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.

---

A week passes.

It’s Friday again.

11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.

In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.

As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.

Was last time a mistake?

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.

You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.

You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.

There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.

Why hadn’t he called you?

You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.

Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?

You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.

It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.

Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.

---

Sanji does not call you back the next week.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Or the month after that.

You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.

It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.

But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?

When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.

In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.

But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.

You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.

You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.

But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.

You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?

No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.

That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.

Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?

You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.

---

It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.

You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.

Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).

Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.

Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.

“Hello?”

Your heart stops.

It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.

“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.

“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”

It is Sanji.

Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.

Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.

As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.

He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.

“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”

“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”

He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.

“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”

“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”

You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.

So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.

You pick up the phone. It is.

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”

“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”

“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.

“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”

You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.

“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.

He winces. He knew that was coming.

“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?

Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?

One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.

“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”

“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”

You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”

You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”

“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”

“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”

He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”

“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”

When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.

You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.

Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).

---

When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.

He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.

It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.

He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.

He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.

Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.

At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.

You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.

And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.

Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.

thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

divider courtesy of @cafekitsune tag list @eggrollforyou

[pshbites]

FOOLS ━ pjs

pairing : bsf!jay x fem!reader genre : friends to lovers, pure FLUFF!! warnings : none but erm not proofread! synopsis : 2 fools in love, who have no idea the other wants them wc : 1k a/n : yes this is inspo off of fool by nct 127, i love naming things after songs #sorry

if u enjoyed pls like & reblog, feedback is always appreciated!!

“would you just shut up” jake groaned out, glancing over at jay once more. ever since jay admitted he had a crush on you, his best friend, he’s been insufferable according to his friends. jay furrowed his brows, “what! i’m not even talking about her” he groaned out, making sunghoon scoff in amusement. “you mentioned that place that you want to take her to, like five times.” he sighed out, picking at his lunch in front of him. 

the history between you and jay wasn’t exactly.. ideal. the two of you had been friends since you were 12 years old and encountered many things together such as the time your braces got caught on a loose thread in jays shirt, or the time jay fell off his bike because he wanted to prove to you he could do a wheelie. all in all you two had stuck with each other through everything, including your relationships. 

jay never admitted it but he had developed a crush on you towards the beginning of college, that stupid saying that people really change in college or something was deemed to be true. he started getting annoyed by the encounters you would tell him about, wondering why you let stupid boys treat you like that when he was right in front of you. he thought he wasn’t obvious about it but when he finally told jake and sunghoon about having a crush on you, the two of them acted like it was a normal tuesday. 

“okay i did not say it five times” jay rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and jake and sunghoon gave each other a look, both of them sighing. “yeah man whatever” jake mumbled, making jay roll his eyes once more. he looked around the dining hall and his eyes landed on you, sitting with your two friends telling them something dramatically. you were talking with your hands again, which made jay smile. he loved when you did that it was so cute. if only he knew what you were talking about so passionately.. 

“honestly my theory is that he’s as equally obsessed with you as you are him” karina shrugged, popping one of winters fries in her mouth, making her slap her hand away. “that’s not possible” you sighed out, leaning back in your chair now. “yeah well..” as karina spoke, you looked in his direction, thoughts clouding your mind. you always had a small thing for jay ever since you were little but it was embarrassing to admit. those feelings halted when jay started getting in relationships which made you get into relationships to get his attention, but it never worked. 

now here you were, in your second year of college still pining for the boy you wanted when you were 13. “yn? are you paying attention.” karina waved her hand in front of your face, snapping you out of it. winter looked towards jay then you and laughed slightly. “she was too busy making oogly eyes at him” she said, making you slap her hand. karina groaned out. “it was not oogly eyes!” you retorted, rolling your eyes at winter. 

“there’s actually no hope for the two of you” winter sighed out as you three got up, going to put your plates away. “he doesn’t like me back, i’ll get over it” you sighed out, placing your place in the box and following karina and winter. “you’ve been saying that for years but okay yn” karina shook her head, laughing softly. as the three of you walked out of the dining hall you saw jake, jay, and sunghoon standing there. 

of course jake started up a conversation, now the six of you were walking as a group with you and jay lagging behind. it was quiet between you and jay, only the crunching of the leaves could be heard. jay glanced at you, smiling softly at the way you stepped over the leaves so you could hear the crunch of them. you had always loved doing that even when you were younger.

it hits jay now that he knows you, more than you may know yourself. because of him knowing you so well, that's why he fell for you in the first place. you were like a breath of fresh air to him, you always knew how to talk to him and make him smile, you also knew him inside and out and jay knew this.

but you were almost too good for him, after all you were a goddess in jays eyes and he was just a fool. what could he do? he knew confessing to you was a gamble because it could change the entire trajectory of your relationship, for the better or the worse. jay snapped out of his thoughts and cleared his throat.

“so.. what were you guys talking about? you kept moving your hands around dramatically” jay laughed a little as he finished the sentence, you rolled your eyes and elbowed him playfully. “none of your business” you mumbled back, making jay smile. 

he looked to you and smiled at your softly flushed cheeks, the way your nose was pink because of the fall breeze. “you wanna go to the diner tonight?” you looked to him, smile clear on your face. “i thought you were busy tonight?” he thought about it for a second then shook his head. “not anymore” he smiled softly. “okay, i’ll ask winter and rina.” you said and jay furrowed his brows. he hesitated before speaking. “no like, just us” he said, sounding a little uncertain. 

now was the moment, jay thought. the moment he had been waiting for, for ten years now. he knew you wouldn't want a really fancy date, so instead he opted for something a bit more you, something you were comfortable with. after all, everything he did was for you, and only you. so here it goes.

“no like, just us” he said, sounding a little uncertain.

you fully stopped walking causing jay to stop walking as well, forgetting about the group in front of you. “are you asking me out on a date park jongseong?” you furrowed your brows, looking in his eyes for an answer. there was no way he felt the same. “i.. uh you know if you want it to be?” he stuttered out, shoving his hands in his pockets. you smiled at his nervousness, the way he tried to act all cool about. “okay, are you paying? because you know a real gentleman pays.” you said playfully, the two of you resuming walking again. 

“is that even a question? of course yn” he sighed out, a little less nervous now. “well then yes, i’d love to go out with you jay” you smiled, looking at him. he smiled as well, the blush on his cheeks evident. “c'mon lovebirds! let’s go!” jake called out, his voice a little far in the distance. you giggled softly, making jay softly elbow you. karina’s theory was more than right.

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[aerichives]

fwb loser!minjeong

kim minjeong x reader

synopsis. minjeong was just your awkward, inexperienced best friend until one teasing dare led to late-night hookups, stolen touches, and a secret neither of you could ever admit.

genre. friends with benefits, smut

words. 837

note. guess what... ive been writing this on class bcs of an edit on tiktok. im so down bad for winter mmmhmmhmggf

loser!minjeong, the friend who always got teased for having zero game. the one who got flustered just making eye contact with a pretty girl, who would stammer through the simplest interactions while your friends cackled at her misery.

"you wouldn't even know what to do with a girl if she threw herself at you," ningning said once, snickering.

minjeong scowled, ears red, grumbling into her drink. "i— i could if i wanted to."

that only made them laugh harder.

and, honestly? you believed it too. she was cute, pretty eyes, a little awkward, with a charm that made people naturally like her. but inexperience clung to her like a neon sign. she was your friend, your loser of a best friend, and the thought of her doing anything remotely sexual was funny.

until the day you caught her staring.

you had been minding your own business, scrolling through your phone, when you felt it, her eyes, stuck on you like she was in a trance.

it took you a second to register. the way her gaze lingered a little too long on your chest, the slight part of her lips, like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

"like what you see?" you teased, snapping her out of it.

minjeong immediately choked. "i— i wasn't—"

you smirked, sitting up straighter, pressing her further just for fun. "if you're that curious, you wanna see what's under?"

you expected her to panic, to shove you playfully and change the subject but she didn’t.

she just sat there. swallowing hard. hands gripping her hoodie strings. not saying no.

something shifted.

"you serious?" you asked, voice dipping lower.

minjeong still didn’t answer, but the way she wet her lips, the nervous flicker in her eyes, it was enough.

and, well… who were you to back down from a challenge?

the first time was messy. minjeong was hesitant, unsure, hands shaking as they trailed over your skin like she was terrified of doing something wrong. but when you pulled her closer, let out the softest sigh against her lips, something in her cracked.

she kissed you deeper, pushed you down against the bed, her inexperience melting into something more raw, more desperate.

and god, the way she touched you. eager, like she needed to learn every inch of you, like she wanted to prove something. she was shy at first, but the second she had you gasping, thighs trembling as her fingers curled just right, she was hooked.

"this good?" she had whispered, watching the way your lips parted, drinking in the way you clenched around her fingers.

"fuck, minjeong… yeah, don’t stop."

her eyes darkened. and she didn’t.

what started as a joke, a dare, turned into something else entirely.

minjeong, who used to be hopeless, was now pressing you into the sheets whenever she wanted, leaving your legs weak and your voice hoarse from moaning her name. she learned quickly. obsessed over it. loved the way you squirmed when she kissed lower, the way you gasped when she buried her face between your thighs.

and somehow, you both agreed. this was nothing serious. just fun. no strings, no complications.

but then came the moment that almost ruined everything.

it was a usual night out with your friends, drinks flowing, laughter bouncing around the table. the topic turned to dating, naturally, and the teasing started again.

"i still can't believe minjeong’s never been with anyone," karina said, shaking their head. "you’d probably freeze up the second a girl took off her shirt."

minjeong, who was mid-sip, nearly choked on her drink.

you didn’t even think. just glanced at her instinctively, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

and that was a mistake.

because they saw it. the look you two exchanged.

the entire table went silent for a split second, before erupting.

"oh my god."

"no way."

"you guys aren’t—?!"

minjeong went rigid, eyes wide, looking at you like a deer in headlights. you, on the other hand, just shrugged, playing it cool, suppressing a laugh at how red her face had gotten.

"as if," you lied smoothly, rolling your eyes. "she’d probably cry if she saw a pair of tits in real life."

minjeong snapped her head toward you, shooting you a betrayed look. but she was too flustered to argue.

your friends weren’t convinced. they whispered amongst themselves, squealing like they had just uncovered the world’s greatest mystery.

and you? you just smirked, brushing your leg against minjeong’s under the table.

she sucked in a sharp breath. you knew exactly what she was thinking.

because if only they knew.

if only they knew how many times minjeong had already had you breathless, begging, shaking beneath her. if only they knew how desperate she got when she touched you, how her name sounded when you whimpered it against her lips.

but they didn’t. and they never would.

so you just sipped your drink, pretending nothing was wrong.

minjeong, on the other hand, was completely losing it.

[3igbootyl0ver]

doctor's in [pt.2]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: When you both couldn't stop thinking about each other, Fate had pushed you both together once again. And this time? Neither of you planned on fighting it.

word count: 4249

a/n: heyyy.......

“Mindy you don’t get it, they were so cute!” Tara groaned, covering her face with her hands to cover up the blush that was forming.

It’s been a week since Tara and her mind has been filled with you since she saw you at the hospital. She couldn’t help but wonder if you felt the same spark between you both. She wasn’t going crazy right? She definitely felt it, unless she was going crazy from the amount of attacks she went through.

“Okay, lovergirl,” Mindy teased, grinning as she nudged Tara’s shoulder. “You barely know them, and you’re already acting like a lovesick puppy.”

Tara groaned again, flopping onto the couch. “I can,’t help it! They were just…ugh, perfect.” “Have you checked if they’re not secretly Ghostface who wants to kill you?” Mindy quipped, watching Tara roll her eyes and ignore the comment

Mindy smirked. “So, what’s the plan? Gonna fake another near-death experience just to see them again?” Tara shot her a glare. “Not funny.” “Then find them,” Mindy said with a shrug. “You have their last name, their workplace, and yet, somehow, it never crossed your mind to look them up? Come on, Tar, get it together.”

Tara blinked. That… wasn’t a bad idea. “Why didn’t I think of that?” She muttered, already reaching for her phone.

Mindy snorted, “Because you’re too busy daydreaming about them like this is some rom-com—where they’ll show up at your doorstep if you think about them hard enough.”

Tara ignored her, already unlocking her phone. Her fingered hovered over the keyboard. Was this weird? What if you don’t remember her?

Mindy sighed dramatically after seeing her hesitation. “Oh my god, just do it. Worst case? Nothing comes up. Best case? You find them, fall madly in love, and live happily ever after.”

Tara rolled her eyes but took a deep breath and typed your last name into the search bar.

———

“Holy shit, they are cute. And here I thought you just had a weird thing for old geezers,” Mindy tease, leaning over to peek at Tara’s phone. “They look way too young to be a doctor, though” 

Tara didn’t respond—mostly because she was too busy staring. Yeah, she was definitely drooling. 

She’d gotten lucky, stumbling across a picture of you on the hospital’s website; It was a group photo, one where you were right beside the nurse that Tara had met before. You were all in your glory, looking effortlessly alluring dressed in a crisp white coat, your hair neatly styled, with intelligent eyes that seemed to see right through the screen. The slight tilt of your head gave you an air of quiet confidence, and the tortoiseshell glasses resting on your nose only added to your charm. 

Tara’s faint smile slowly faded as her eyes landed on the nurse beside you—the same nurse Tara had met; the one that stitched her up.

Her hand was casually wrapped around your arm. Of course, you were taken. Tara let out a quiet sigh, ignoring the pang of disappointment settling in her chest.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, debating whether to keep looking or just close the page altogether. She hated this feeling—the stupid twist in her stomach, the sting of something that felt too much like jealousy for someone she barely knew.

“Whoa, hold up—why do you look like you just got stabbed again?” Mindy asked, finally noticing Tara’s expression. Her teasing tone softened just a little. “What happened?”

Tara hesitated before muttering, “They’re probably dating that nurse.” Mindy glanced at the screen and snorted. “That? Please, that’s not dating. That’s just coworker touchy. You’re seriously overthinking it.”

Tara frowned, her grip tightening on her phone. Could that really be true? Just harmless, casual touching? She wanted to believe it—but the doubt still lingered.

“Anyways, we need to hit the library tomorrow for the project,”Mindy said, stretching. “College is gonna kill us if Ghostface doesn’t get to us first.”

Tara barely registered her words, too caught up in the whirlwind on thoughts of you spinning in her head.

———

“Nice work on the surgery, Y/L/N,” Your chief said, offering a brief but approving smile. “By the way, you’ve got your paper due soon. Don’t forget.”

You nodded, trying to hide the rush of adrenaline still coursing through you from the successful procedure. “Got it, I’ll have it ready,” you replied, but your mind was already spinning between the surgical success and the looming deadline. You’d been chipping away at the paper for weeks, yet there was still so much left to do.

“Guess I’ll have to do another all-nighter then,” You murmured under your breath, stripping off your gloves and beginning to clean up.

As you scrubbed your hands, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling the air, your thoughts drifted to something—or rather, someone—else. The girl you met a few weeks ago. The way she had looked at you, eyes warm and filled with something you couldn’t quite name, had lingered in your mind far longer than you expected. It was ridiculous, really. You barely knew her. And yet, the memory of her smile, the quiet ease of your conversation, had carved its way into your thoughts, slipping in when you least expected it.

Would you ever see her again?

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if that would clear her from your mind. You had too much on your plate to be thinking about someone who was, for all you knew, just a passing moment. Still, as you finished cleaning up and pulled off your scrub cap, you couldn’t quite ignore the way your heart skipped at the thought. 

You scraped through the rest of the day on autopilot, your body moving through the motions while your mind remained elsewhere—split between the surgery, the looming deadline, and the memory of her. The hours blurred together, a constant cycle of rounds, notes, and half-heard conversations. You barely registered the passing faces, too preoccupied to truly engage.

It wasn’t until a firm hand landed on your shoulder that you jolted, your heart lurching in surprise.

“You good?” A familiar voice asked, tinged with amusement.

You turned quickly, exhaling when you saw your colleague—Stacy—watching you with a raised brow. “Didn’t mean to spook you,” she added, though the smirk on her face suggested she wasn’t exactly sorry.

You forced a tired smile. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

“That is much obvious.” She crossed her arms, tilting her head while eyeing you knowingly. “And let me guess—it’s not just the paper that’s got you looking like a lovesick zombie.”

You blinked, thrown off for a second. “What?”

Your colleague scoffed, shaking her head. “Please. You’ve been spacing out all day, and I know that look.” Stacy smirked. “It’s her, isn’t it? Tara?”

At the sound of her name, you felt warmth creep up your neck. You opened your mouth to deny it, but the knowing glint in her eyes told you it was useless. Instead, you sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“I don’t even know if I’ll ever see her again,” you admitted.

Stacy shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But if she’s got you this distracted, you definitely want to.” She nudged your arm playfully. “So maybe you should do something about it.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Like I have time for that.”

“Right, because pulling all-nighters over your paper is such a better use of your time,” She teased, crossing her arms with a smirk.

Rolling your eyes, you redirected the conversation before she could drag you any deeper into this mess. “Oh, by the way, I need you to come with me to the library to work on my paper. And don’t forget—you have one too,” you said, keeping your tone deliberately casual, as if you hadn’t just been caught daydreaming about a patient.

Stacy, of course, saw right through you. She just rolled her eyes, nodding along, but her knowing grin didn’t fade. “Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, clearly entertained. “Look, I’m just saying—if she’s still on your mind after all this time, maybe it’s worth figuring out why.”

You wanted to brush it off, just like you had all day, but her words lingered, sticking in your chest in a way you couldn’t ignore. Maybe she had a point. Maybe this wasn’t just some fleeting thought you could dismiss.

Then, just as you started to shake the feeling away, Stacy added with a sly grin, “Oh, I mayyy have forgotten to mention this, but the little birdie was asking a lot of questions about you when I was fixing her up.”

Your stomach dropped. “Wait, what?”

Stacy grinned wider, clearly enjoying this.

“Stacy!”

“See you at six tomorrow!” Stacy called over her shoulder, her tone far too casual for someone who had just casually detonated a bomb in your brain. She walked off without a care, completely ignoring the way you stood frozen in place, struggling to process what she had just dropped on you.

Your mind raced. Tara was asking about me?

You wanted to demand more details, to chase after Stacy and wring the full story out of her, but your body refused to move. Instead, you stood there, replaying her words on a loop while she disappeared down the hall, acting completely oblivious to your impending mental breakdown.

Great. As if you didn’t already have enough on your plate.

———

Dragging yourself into the library, you exhaled tiredly, already dreading the long night ahead. Stacy, walking beside you, nudged your arm with a smirk.

“See? I showed up. I can be responsible,” she said.

“You showed up to watch me suffer,” you muttered, earning a laugh from her.

You weaved through the aisles, looking for an open table in a quieter corner. The library was busier than expected, with students hunched over laptops and textbooks, the soft hum of whispered conversations filling the air. You finally spotted a table near the back and made your way over, dropping your bag onto the chair. And then—

Thunk.

You flinched as another bag landed in the chair across from you at the exact same time.

Your gaze snapped up, and your breath hitched.

Tara.

She blinked at you, clearly just as startled, her hand still resting on the back of the chair.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Neither of you had expected to see the other, and for a long second, you just… stared.

“What are you—”

“What are you—”

You both started speaking at the same time, then immediately stopped.

“Oh. My. God.” Mindy’s voice broke the silence as she came up behind Tara, amusement practically radiating off her. “Of all the tables in this library… really?”

Stacy, not missing a beat, leaned against your chair with an expression that screamed this is the best thing that’s happened to me all week. “Huh. What are the odds?”

Tara cleared her throat, shifting her weight. “We… just needed a place to study.”

“So did we,” you said, still trying to process the fact that she was standing in front of you.

Mindy grinned. “Well, I don’t see any other free tables, sooo…” She dramatically pulled out the chair beside Tara and plopped down. “Guess we’re all studying together. How convenient.”

You turned to Stacy, who was already sitting down, looking way too entertained. She shot you a wink (which Tara wasn’t pleased about). You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. This was not how you thought your night would go.

But as you stole a glance at Tara—her eyes flicking to yours for a brief second before she quickly focused on pulling out her laptop—you weren’t sure if it was entirely a bad thing.

You couldn’t hear it, but Mindy leaned over Tara’s ear to whisper, “You’re not lying, they look even better in person.” She teased, which earned a glare from the shorter girl.

———

It seemed as if Mindy and Stacy knew exactly what was happening—and, even worse, had silently decided to team up against you.

You weren’t sure how, but the two of them had effortlessly fallen into some kind of unspoken alliance, exchanging glances and barely hiding their smirks as they settled into their seats. Tara cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly as she opened her laptop. You could tell she was just as thrown off as you were, but neither of you had a chance to process it properly before Mindy spoke up.

“So, funny how you two just happened to pick the same table,” she mused, tapping her fingers on the desk. “Like, out of all the places to sit, here? What are the chances?”

Stacy hummed in agreement, resting her chin in her palm. “Crazy, right? Almost like fate is trying to tell you something.”

You shot her a glare. “Don’t start.”

Tara, meanwhile, was already rolling her eyes at Mindy. “It’s literally just a coincidence.” Mindy gasped dramatically. “Is it though? Is it?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Can we just work on our papers?”

“Of course,” Stacy said innocently, pulling out her notes. “Wouldn’t want to distract you.”

“Not at all,” Mindy added. “You two just carry on. Don’t mind us.”

You didn’t trust them for a second. Neither did Tara, if the suspicious glance she threw Mindy was anything to go by.

Still, despite the heat creeping up your neck, and the undeniable energy lingering between you and Tara, you forced yourself to focus on your laptop screen. You were here to study. That was it.

Even if Stacy and Mindy were whispering to each other like middle schoolers passing notes.

Even if Tara was sitting just close enough that you could pick up the faintest scent of her perfume.

Even if your heart definitely shouldn’t have been beating this fast.

Your train of thought was abruptly derailed when Mindy cleared her throat—loudly, as if she were about to propose a business deal.

“Well,” she started, sitting up straighter, “Stacy and I will be going to grab coffee for us.” She stretched dramatically before giving you and Tara a pointed look. “Behave while we’re gone, kids.”

Before you could even respond, she was already standing up, her grin far too smug for your liking. Stacy, ever the enabler, immediately followed her lead, but not before briefly squeezing your hand—a small, reassuring gesture that, under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have thought much about.

But Tara definitely did.

You caught the way her expression shifted—just the smallest flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before she quickly refocused on her laptop, fingers poised over the keyboard as if she were suddenly very interested in typing.

Stacy, who definitely noticed too, smirked as she walked off with Mindy, whispering something that made them both chuckle.

You exhaled, rubbing your temple. “I hate them.” Tara let out a dry chuckle, though she still wasn’t looking at you. “They’re insufferable.”

A pause.

The air between you felt heavier now—charged with something neither of you acknowledged, but both of you felt.

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat. “So… what are you working on?”

Tara finally glanced at you, her lips twitching as if she were fighting back a smirk. “Are we really doing small talk?”

“Well, considering our mutual friends just abandoned us for their little matchmaking scheme, I figured I might as well try to act normal.”

Tara hummed, tilting her head slightly. “And you’re sure Stacy’s not just your girlfriend?”

Your brain short-circuited for a second. “Wait—what?”

Tara shrugged, feigning nonchalance as she focused back on her screen. “Nothing. Just… looked like flirting to me.”

You blinked, still trying to process the fact that she had even said that. And—was that a hint of something else in her tone?

You shook your head, exhaling a laugh. “Stacy? No. Absolutely not.”

Tara raised a skeptical brow but didn’t press further. Still, the fact that she even asked made something flutter in your chest.

“Well, how’s your injuries holding up? Your stitches healing okay?” You asked, genuinely curious, but also trying to find a way to keep the conversation flowing.

Tara gave you a sidelong glance before shrugging. “Yeah, they’re fine. Stacy did a good job.”

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin forming. “Oh, so now you’re saying Stacy’s the one to thank for that? I’m hurt, Tara.”

She chuckled, rolling her eyes at you. “Don’t be dramatic. You did your part. And don’t pretend you weren’t already planning on making a joke about my stitches anyway.”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “What can I say? I’m a professional.”

Tara shot you a skeptical look, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, well, professionals don’t flirt with their patients.”

You gave her a playful shrug, deciding to go for it. “You say flirting, I say charming.”

Tara raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “You’re full of yourself, huh?”

You leaned back, casually adjusting your posture. “Only when I’m in the presence of such impressive company.” Tara couldn’t suppress a smirk this time, but she quickly shook her head, pretending to go back to her work. “You really think you’re smooth, don’t you?”

“Just speaking the truth,” you shot back, a little bolder now. “You’re hard to resist, you know.”

Tara glanced up at you, her gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.” The playful back-and-forth settled into a comfortable rhythm, neither of you pushing too hard, but both of you enjoying the easy tension building in the air. 

Every time Tara’s eyes flicked to yours or the corner of her mouth quirked up, you couldn’t help but feel like there was something more beneath the surface. “Just for the record,” you added casually, “If I had been the one stitching you up, I would’ve made sure those stitches were extra perfect.”

Tara raised an eyebrow. “Oh, would you now?”

“Absolutely,” you grinned. “Can’t let a beautiful patient like you go home with anything less than perfect work.”

Tara laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“But I’m charming,” you teased.

Her smile softened as she met your gaze, and for a brief moment, the playful banter was replaced by something warmer. “Yeah, you might be right about that.”

———

The slight banter had toned down once you both were “focusing” on your work. As much as you would’ve liked to keep up the ‘flirting’, you really had to get something—anything—done before the night was over.

Tara, on the other hand, was panicking.

Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, occasionally typing a few words just to make it seem like she was working. But in reality, she wasn’t processing a single thing on her screen. Her mind kept replaying the way you’d leaned in, the way your voice had dropped just slightly, the way you’d so effortlessly called her beautiful—like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She barely suppressed a groan, shifting in her seat in frustration.

Get a grip, Carpenter.

“Alright, nerds, we’re back,” she announced, placing a tray of coffee cups on the table. “And we come bearing life-saving caffeine.”

Stacy set down another tray beside her, grinning. “Each of these has at least three shots of espresso. If we crash, we crash together.”

You raised an eyebrow as you grabbed your cup. “So basically, we’re all risking heart palpitations tonight.”

“Exactly,” Mindy said with a smirk, handing Tara her drink. “But hey, maybe some of us need the extra boost. You looked a little distracted over here.”

Tara froze for half a second before glaring at her. “I was working.”

Mindy smirked. “Sure you were.”

You took a sip of your coffee, trying to hide your amused expression as Stacy slid into her seat next to you, nudging your arm. “So,” she whispered low enough that only you could hear, “how was your study date?” You rolled your eyes but didn’t answer, which only made her smirk widen.

Tara, meanwhile, was gripping her cup a little too tightly, her face heating up all over again. She swore she’d get Mindy back for this later.

Tara had to admit it—the whole time you were talking to Stacy about your… doctor stuff, her heart was doing that annoying fluttering thing she couldn’t control.

She wasn’t even following half of what you were saying, something about procedures and techniques that had no business sounding as good as they did coming from your mouth. But there was something about the way you spoke—so confident, so passionate—that made her yearn for more.

The way your lips moved, the occasional smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth when you made a sarcastic remark, the way your eyes lit up when you explained something in detail—Tara was done for.

She hated it.

Well.

She tried to hate it.

But as much as she wanted to focus on literally anything else, all she could think about was how easy it would be to just close the space between you, to press her lips against yours just to see if you tasted as sweet as you sounded.

God, get it together, Carpenter.

She snapped out of it just as Stacy nudged your arm, laughing at something you said. Tara clenched her jaw.

She was definitely not jealous. Not at all.

———

After what felt like an eternity—and far too much caffeine—you finally stretched in your chair, letting out a deep sigh. Your brain was fried, your eyes burned from staring at your screen for so long, but at least you had something to show for it.

“Done,” you muttered, closing your laptop with finality.

Across from you, Tara let out a breath of relief, mirroring your actions. “Thank God.”

Mindy and Stacy, who had been whispering to each other suspiciously for the past twenty minutes after apparently, “needing a break from work”, perked up at the sound.

“Finally!” Mindy groaned, dramatically throwing her head back. “I thought I was gonna die in here.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Tara scoffed, standing up and stretching.

Stacy grinned, nudging you again as she gathered her things. “So, was this the most productive study session you’ve ever had?”

You shot her a glare, but before you could reply, Mindy cut in.

“I don’t know, Stacy. I think our dear friend here got a lot out of it.” She wiggled her eyebrows, looking between you and Tara. “Maybe not just in an academic sense.”

Tara groaned, rubbing her temple. “I hate you.”

Mindy beamed. “I know.”

You sighed, standing up and slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Are we leaving or are you two just gonna keep being insufferable?”

Stacy looped an arm through yours with a smirk. “Oh, we can do both.”

Tara shook her head, but you caught the way she fought back a smile. As you all stepped out into the cool night air, the exhaustion was undeniable, but so was the warmth lingering from the night’s unexpected turns.

Maybe Stacy and Mindy’s antics weren’t entirely awful.

“It was nice seeing you again, really. I’m glad you healed up well.” You announced, trying to create a conversation after all four of you packed up and left the library. You couldn’t help but notice how both of you slowed down your paced, trying to match each other’s steps without really meaning to.

Tara glanced up at you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her eat. “Yeah… you too.” Her voice softer than before, lacking the usual sarcasm she used as a shield.

You smiled, shoving your hands into your pockets as the cool night air settled around you. “Hopefully next time we see each other, it won’t be because of an injury.”

Tara smirked. “So you’re saying you want to see me again?”

You chuckled, tilting your head slightly. “I mean… I wouldn’t complain.”

She bit her lip, looking away briefly before glancing back at you. “Well, if you ever get tired of pulling all-nighters over medical papers, maybe we could… I don’t know, run into each other somewhere else.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin forming. “Are you asking me out, Carpenter?”

Tara rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she reached for your phone—the one you had been absentmindedly holding—and swiftly typed something before handing it back.

You glanced down at the screen.

A new contact.

Tara :)

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you looked back up at her. “Oh? Giving me your number now? Bold move, Carpenter.”

She shrugged, but the slight flush on her cheeks gave her away. “Just in case, you know… you ever need to run into me again.”

You chuckled, saving the contact without hesitation. “Noted.”

Tara lingered for a second, like she was debating something. Then, with a small smirk of her own, she added, “Don’t keep me waiting too long, doctor.”

You smiled. “Get home safe, Carpenter.”

Tara bit her lip before responding, her voice softer this time. “You too, doctor.”

And with that, she turned and walked toward Mindy, who was very clearly trying to contain her excitement. Stacy nudged you as you stared after her, shaking her head with a knowing grin.

“Don’t say a word,” you muttered as you walked off with her.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Stacy teased. “I don’t need to. That look on your face says everything.”

You just shook your head, unable to stop the small smile forming on your lips.

“Oh, you’re so done for,” she teased.

Maybe you were.

And for once?

You didn’t mind one bit.

———

a/n: i know i said i would posted this like at least a week ago but i was literally sick for the whole week guys lol mb. anyways i do have a few pics planned out, but it's not confirmed when or if I'll ever do it lol since i don't really have much time to write nowadays. ok bye i hoped you liked this fic hehehe

p.s any doctor stuff that's inaccurate don't blame me idk how med school works and stuff; blame google instead :p

[moonpjs]

pairing. nerd!haechan x fem!reader | cw. smut, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms

a/n: thank you to the lovely anon who requested this, i hope you like it <3 the request can be found here!

Pussy drunk Haechan just can’t get enough of how you taste ever since the first time he was between your thighs. Always bringing up how you taste better and better each time, never wanting to get bored of it.

After inviting him around to your dorm, initially to help you study for an exam, things took a turn in a way that both of you had hoped for. You remembered more about what makes Haechan tick than anything about the topic you were about to be tested on.

And since then he’s been so entranced by your pussy. He feels like he could be there 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. He can forget about everything and focus all his attention on you and what felt like a blessing between your legs.

Once again, you and Haechan found yourselves in your dorm after your shared class. You both lay on your bed with his arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling you closer nearly every second as he practically made out with your pussy.

You squirmed beneath him, sweet moans slipping through your parted lips, feeling his warm tongue circle over your clit. Occasionally sucking on the bundle of nerves.

His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose every few minutes, having to push them back up every time. Only keeping them on so he could see the pleasure on your face perfectly, taking pride in how he’s making you feel.

“Fuck, you taste so good baby” he whined into your pussy.

You had already cum once, but you know Haechan’s not quite finished at that point. Never hesitating to get at least one more orgasm out of you, only stopping if you tell him to.

A hand found its way to tug on his hair, pushing him onto you, eliciting lengthy whines out of him every time your grip tightened.

The feeling shot straight down to his cock, causing his hips to grind against the bed, trying to find some sort of friction through his shorts. His moans vibrated against your heat, creating a new sensation for you.

You loved the sounds he made, making your core dripping every time you hear them.

The grip on your thighs became stronger as you noticed him rubbing himself onto the sheets.

The view of Haechan at that moment turned you on even more, loving how desperate he was getting, making your back arch and brows knit together.

Haechan continued to lap at your cunt like he was a starved man. Like it was a necessity to live. Never giving either of you a break. Especially when you’d cum for the second time, eyes screwing shut.

Your moans grew more beautiful and lewd at the same time. Your clit felt so sensitive as he licked you clean, not wasting anything.

You’d think he was tired by now, having been at it for about 30 minutes. His forehead showed a sheen behind his locks. But other than that, there was no indication that he was going to stop any time soon.

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the loss of contact from his tongue.

Your eyes slowly opened. He raised his head from where he nestled in between your legs, looking up at you. Your hand dropped from his hair to cup his right cheek.

Even after having cum twice and your pussy feeling overstimulated, the way Haechan looked gave you butterflies. He made you shudder and bite your lip. Suddenly not wanting this to be over.

His eyes gazed at you with desire while his lips were plump and covered in your slick. He looked so good, you just wanted to devour him right then and there.

He panted, licking your juices off his lips. He planted wet kisses along the soft skin of your left thigh and then the other before looking up at you again.

“Can you give me one more, baby please?”

[loving-family-poll]

Ultimate Incest Tournament - Semifinals

Propaganda under the cut:

Liam/Noel:

The Gallagher brothers have a very intense relationship that doesn't make any sense to the outside viewer unless one considers the possibility of incest. For 30 years now they have been utterly unhinged about one another in the public eye. Noel has often made incest jokes; Liam once said on-stage once "we had sex last night" referring to him and Noel. Even people writing in actual books and magazines have picked up on the vibes (some stuff that has been printed about them fully feels like it was written by tumblr incestinas except it's like. actual fucking journalists). Also there was this one time in 1996 where they kissed each other with tongue in front of 40 thousand people.

They have been described as “in love with each other” by both themselves and third parties. the lyrics “you’re my lover, i’m your brother.” they kissed with tongue at loch lomond in 1996 and have also been photographed/videoed kissing on the mouth other times. liam regularly groped noel onstage. liam’s entire twitter is just propaganda too. liam talked about impregnating noel once. noel frequently talks about how physically attractive liam is. liam claims that he’s noel’s muse

their song guess god thinks im abel has the lyrics "i could be your lover" while comparing themselves to you guessed it abel and cain. and like. a thousand more instances of them being weird about each other. also noel REALLY wanted a sister and he mentioned it quite a few times and said well liam IS basically a sister or something like that. normal behaviour

Liam literally called himself Noel's good boy on twitter, and called him god a few times after reunion. Noel said he loves make women cry and the only thing that's better is make Liam cry so he can laugh and call him a woman. They literally kissed with tongue and loch lomand is not their only kiss they have two more photos of different kissing to, they literally used the japan kiss video for reunion video. YES THEY DID THAT TF. Noel said they are head over heels in love and said it's illegal in many countries. Also Noel said Liam is like his ex-wife a few times or shit like those cunts are fucking crazy

Other people have described them as more like boyfriend/girlfriend than brothers and said they’re in love. someone on twitter asked liam “if you’re john lennon, who is noel?” and liam said “yoko ono.” another time someone said on twitter “you defo rimmed noel when you were younger” and liam replied “you jealous?"

Deeply weird about each other getting married (them not attending each other's wedding which occurred month apart and then getting divorce around the same time and they stayed at the same hotel for months), intense infamously love-hate relationship and is everyone's favorite soap opera, noel saying "on stage i just wanted him..there's only two of us that will ever get this", prominent theme of shame and crime and impossible dream in noel gallagher works, the elusive meaning of wonderwall which noel insisted is not about anyone but there's good amount of evidence that it referenced back to their childhood and their shared bedroom, liam having mental breakdown several times on twitter about noel, liam's my brother is getting a divorce playlist to which he shared with his 3 millions twitter followers, incest-baiting on main ever since the reunion, brother and lover being interchangeable for noel when writing lyrics, noel (allegedly) lying to liam that his girlfriend cheated on him in order to sabotage their relationship before oasis took off, liam hating noel's latest (ex) wife (sarah), noel writing "the owner of the star on stage" after liam's autograph and so many more insane shit

"[Liam] thinks all the songs are about him. He even thinks Wonderwall is about him." –Noel Gallagher (1997)

"It's all about me it always was and is" –Liam Gallagher (2023)

Japan kiss (kiss is at the end) loch lomand kiss

PLUS they’re back together after 14 years of estrangement! The narrative!

Amma/Camille:

Off the charts messy vibes. Grief over losing dead sister mixed with complicated feelings of having new sister. Possessive, jealous, manipulative.

Camille is lowkey infatuated with Amma and Amma is highkey infatuated with Camille. Great annoying younger sister trying to get her older sister's attention material. Plus murderous, intense, dangerous and clingy younger sister trying her damnest to capture her emotionally stunted but ultimately survivor older sister as a means both of getting out of the family sickness and drowning in it through a more compatible dynamic.

I mean. They literally make out. It's incest and pedophilia and weird family trauma and murder. I mean it's literally the perfect sicko ship.

In the book camille is obsessed with her 14 year old sisters big ol titties. truly insane.

I love these teeth sisters so much. Camille obsession with Amma in the book and the way she can’t stop talking about how beautiful Amma’s looks. The drug kiss at the party and the way Amma/Camille can be consider a form of mother/daughter incest due to their age gap and the way they’re recreating the trauma of past relationships like their mother and late grandmother.

[autumn-sweet-fae]

Zaun Fam + Jayvik fic concept that I don’t have the time or energy to write myself.

After Viktor and Jayce vanish at the end, instead of dying like they fully expected to, they are instead sent to an alternate reality where Viktor first awakens as his past 11 year old self.

An orphan living in a group home in the fissures, Viktor does not cope well with the immense guilt of his past life, the confusion of being a child again, and the loneliness he’d be forced to suffer through for years to come. So, in his darkest moment, the boy goes and finds a cliff edge near one of the old mines.

Meanwhile, Vander and Silco were on their way back from their hide out when the two spot a kid about to jump. They both break into a sprint to stop him, Silco is faster and reaches him first, ripping him away from the edge at the last second. He clutches the child tightly to his chest as the boy tries to fight him, only to break down into tears once he sees Vander, apologizing over and over again.

Refusing to leave the kid alone, they take him home with them, and just accept that this traumatized yet brilliant kid is theirs now. It’s not easy, but parenthood never is. They both do their best to help Viktor through his worst, and to draw out the genius sarcastic kid from his quiet shell.

Years later, Jayce finally arrives in this reality, one moment accepting his death together with his partner in the astral plane, the next, being 17 years old and his mom telling him he’ll be late for school. Jayce of course skips school and instead desperately searches for Viktor.

Except… Viktor isn’t at the academy… and no one he could talk to there has ever heard of him either. Worried, Jayce tries to crossover to the Undercity, only to find that the main bridge is shut down, as it had been for weeks since the bloody riot.

Jayce manages to eventually sneak across on one of the smaller bridges into Zaun to continue his search. There, he discovers the terrible rumors, that Viktor was known in the community, but now many believe him dead after his disappearance at the bridge riot.

But there’s one man who should know the truth behind the rumors, Vander, his adopted father.

Meanwhile, Viktor is hiding away in doctor Reveck’s lab, sitting at the bedside of his other father, Silco, holding his hand as he suffers the fevers from the toxins of the river he was almost drowned in.

[slimybeth69]

Part 3- Your People

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

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

w/c~ 8k

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

Reader warning- While it looks real pretty, this is a Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. If ya do and then come complaining to me that you ate a dead dove-- I'm gonna fight you. I warned you. I'm coming from a place of love and respect for my readers who have ever gone through anything traumatic and maybe don't want to relive that, it's in here. I try and do it tastefully and respectfully in the best way, i'll mark it with a lil divider where you can skip the part I'm worried about. it's smut but it's sad. There is your warning. I love you.

You gotta sleep, kid. You need it.

Mister-J looks so warm and comfortable… go on and crawl in beside him.

He does look so comfortable and inviting, especially from your spot just out of his reach if you were to fall asleep. His chest rises and falls slowly as he breathes in his sleep. It’s memorizing, and almost hypnotic enough to make you forget all of your fears— forget all of the things that made laying next to him with his arms around you physically excruciating.

S’okay, Baby. You’ll get there, it’ll get easier ‘n he won’t seem so big ‘n scary anymore.

There is a reason he seems big and scary, kid. Your gut is telling you not to trust him, so don’t.

Oh, stop it. If he wanted to kill her, he would have— he would have done it by now. He’s big ‘n strong— he could, and he hasn’t.

That sweet, soft voice does have a good point…

Doesn’t mean he isn’t waiting for a better opportunity.

The dark, serious voice has a point too…

This always happens, the voices say things that conflict one another, but they both have a point. They both make sense but never about the same thing. And they argue. And they’re loud. It’s only when you need them, that you really, really want them to say something that they are quiet.

The little flashlight that had been attached to the backpack Mister-man—

Joel… he has a name. He’s a real person, kid.

You flick the flashlight off quickly so it’s dark again.

Mister-mans, Mister-J… Joel… it don’t matter none, Sugar. He’s yours, and you can call him whatever you want.

You flick the light back on so you can watch him sleep. It’s incredible how calm he is, and how he fell asleep as soon as you laid down next to him after saying he couldn’t sleep.

Sometimes that happens to you though, sometimes you need to touch yourself, and make yourself squirm and moan and come, and then sleep finds you. Sometimes the whiskey puts you to sleep before you even have the desire to do that to yourself.

Whatever Mister-J did with his tongue was so much better than your fingers, wasn’t it?

It most definitely was. It was probably the most incredible feeling you’ve ever experienced. Not that you hadn’t ever experienced it before, but this time…it was soft, gentle— and you wanted it more than anything. That made it feel even fucking better, how badly you wanted to sit down on Mister-mans face and grind down onto his mouth.

He was making out with your cunt. Deep, long, tongue swirling kisses. He would open and close his mouth, and suck. He would lick and lap at all spots you didn’t even know could make you feel good.

When you would take his cock deep in your throat and gag on it, he would moan- loudly-and the vibrations from that were like earthquakes, they touched parts inside of you that were left unexplored by anyone before Mister.

He was perfect.

The idea of laying your head down on his big, muscular bicep was nice until you were actually doing it, and then everything about it felt foreign. It was like sleeping too close to the fire, surrounded by too many blankets.

You had gotten so used to sleeping alone, that the feeling of someone next to you didn’t feel right anymore. It made you sad and you’re not entirely sure why.

So that’s why you’re here on the floor and not snuggled up against Mister-man. It’s like the universe played some cruel joke on you- and you got your favorite food but when you bite into it, it’s rancid.

But your fingers twitch toward him anyway—like roots in dirt searching for water. His arm is right there. His breath is slow and steady.

Go on. He’s warm as fresh bread.

You shift an inch closer.

Dangerous as a snake in the grass.

But his skin smells like leather and sweat and you want to taste him again. Want to run your tongue from the tip of his cock, to the spot just in front of his ear that makes him sigh when you kiss him there.

Crawling—quiet like scared prey— you move until your face hovers over his chest. His shirt rides up just enough to show a scar on his perfectly doughy stomach. And another on his rib cage. It looks newer, still old enough to be a scar, but pink instead of white.

You wonder if it aches when he breathes. If that’s the reason his voice sounds like gravel sometimes.

He’ll crush you.

He’ll hold you.

It sounds like a song the way the sweet voice says it.

You touch the scar with your pinky finger, feather-light—and he doesn’t stir. But then he sighs—a rumble deeper than thunder—and your guts twist.

You scramble back, heart slamming against the back of your throat.

The sweet voice clucks at you.

You’re spooking yourself. 

You’re alive because you spook.

The flashlight rolls under your knee when you shift—plastic clattering loud enough to wake dead things—and Mister’s brow tightens. For one gut-drop second, his eyes flicker open, staring up at you, before he grunts and turns onto his side, back to you now.

He’s mad again? How, and why? What did you do wrong? You had done everything right.

You keep poking that bear and you’re going to get mauled, kid.

He ain’t mad…look’it his hands, Sugar.

They’re not balled up into fists, they’re relaxed. His whole body is. Everything about him seems so at peace.

Your stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten— and then you only had half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and some whiskey.

Joel’s boot shifts with a dry scrape of leather—and your lungs forget how air works. But he just mumbles something that sounds like “goddamn horse” with his face smushed against the pillow.

Mister-J talks in his sleep? He’s precious.

He is. It’s hard to contain the feeling in your chest when he sighs loudly, rolling onto his stomach, curling his arms under the pillow.

Instead of trying to face your fears of crawling into bed with him and falling asleep next to someone else, you crawl on your hands and knees back to the chair across the room. The whiskey bottle is still tucked between the cushion where you left it.

--

Even with almost half of a bottle of whiskey in you, your eyes won’t close. You only know what time it is because the soft whir of the solar powered generator kicks on, and the singular lamp in the corner flicks to life. It’s dark outside now. 

The electric hum from the bulb makes your skin crawl, and your head buzz.

Part of you feels bad for keeping Mister down here like this. He doesn’t even know what time it is, he’ll probably wake up soon, getting ready to start the day. You wonder if he misses the sun, if he ever walked barefoot in the grass and if he misses that feeling too.

When you weren’t allowed outside, you missed the sun. You missed the grass between your toes. You missed being able to jump into the river and swim around with your brother whenever you wanted. There were a lot of things you missed when you weren’t allowed to go outside.

Unscrewing the whiskey cap, you take a swig and relish in the way it burns. It drowns out the voices, but it doesn’t dull the ache between your legs— the memory of his mouth makes you shift in the soft recliner.

In the soft, pale light spilling into the room from behind the aged, yellow lampshade, you can see Mister-J… and how excited he is. He’s on his back, shirt riding up over his stomach again, the bulge in his sweatpants clear as day now.

There is a new voice you’ve never heard before, and it’s not saying anything— only screaming. Loud, and high pitched. It’s excruciating. It’s the only thing you hear now, not even the sound of your own voice telling you what to do, or what to think or say.

When you stand, the whiskey sloshes between your temples. It makes you sway and almost lose your balance, but you press your hand to a support beam that juts out of the floor and into the ceiling.

Heavy, clumsy, limping feet and a swollen ankle carry you to Mister-J.

His cock is hard and heavy in your hand and he tastes just like he did last night. He stirs under your touch—a low groan vibrating through clenched teeth—and your pussy tightens around nothing. Mister arches his hips up against your slow moving fist, trying to fuck your hand momentarily before stilling and settling back down into the mattress. His eyes are still shut tight beneath furrowed eyebrows.

It’s pathetically cute how bad he wants this. How badly he needs it.

The screaming inside your head morphs into static.

Your fingers rub slow circles over damp fabric between your legs while your rib cage starts to feel like a hive of wasps. Everything inside of you is buzzing as you lean over and swirl your tongue around the ridge of his cock.

Wrong.

That dark voice sounds like it’s coming through the static like old radio stations.

You pull your hand away from Mister-J's cock and cover your face with it, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. This is all wrong, all of it.

S’right. It’s all right.

The static transmutes into tornado sirens.

Your hand finds his cock again and it throbs in your grasp. There is no hesitation when you take him into your mouth with a gentleness you didn’t know you possessed when you’re this intoxicated. Delicate movements and laps of your tongue along his shaft make him moan softly, still slumbering.

Salt and musk take over your senses as he pulses against your tongue—wanting even in his unconsciousness. Your throat spasms around him as you gag, tears hot on your lashes. One hand brushes against his thigh as you move to steady yourself on the mattress while the other slips into your own waistband. Two fingers slide into you with no resistance. You’re so wet that you almost feel embarrassed.

Inside.

The sweet voice sings to you over the cacophony going on inside your head.

Mister’s hips jerk again, involuntary, desperate. A string of saliva connects your lip to his cock when you pull back to breathe. The room tilts—whiskey and shame on your tongue—but you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when his thighs were trembling just a moment ago.

After kicking your shorts off, you climb on top. Mister feels so hot pressed up against your cunt. Yours and his breath catch in your throats when you sink down into his lap. Your eyes close to hide from the stretch that burns in a slippery, and shameful way.

The wasps behind your ribs sharpen their stingers as you slowly start to rock your hips against his. Mister’s eyelids flutter but he doesn’t wake-up, not fully. He just hovers in that feverish space between dreaming and drowning. A place you’re familiar with.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Good. Good. Good.

You want to carve yourself into his bones before the tornado sirens rip your skull apart.

The oven mitts make useless fists at his sides as he arches beneath you, tendons in his neck pulled wire-tight. His hips stutter upward instinctively, chasing more friction, seeking the deepest, warmest parts of you.

His eyes snap open, “The fuck are you—” Mister-man’s voice is rough like sandpaper but you don’t let him finish before you slap your hand over his mouth.

“Shhhh, makin’ you feel good,” you moan quietly, your hips never faltering. His cock slides across a spot inside of you that whites the edges of your vision.

He mumbles something, his teeth scraping along your palm as he does so. It vaguely sounds like, ‘Get off’a me’ or ‘get off on me,’.

“M’tryin’,” you groan, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Your cheeks are wet, but from tears or sweat, you don’t know.

How can everything make sense up here on top of Mister-J, and still feel so incredibly… wrong?

The oven mitts start to drum against your thighs as he squirms underneath you.

It…hurts? Mister is hitting you? 

Hurting you.

You like it. 

“Knock it off!” You press harder against this mouth with your hand, your fingers digging into his cheeks. It’s impossible to stop riding him, to stop yourself from needing this brutal closeness with Mister. 

You’re being bad. 

You like it. 

His muffled growls vibrate against your palm—angry or pleading or both—but your cunt clenches harder around him anyway. Release is so close, you can feel yourself teeter on the precipice, but you can’t seem to push yourself over.

“Please, please, p-please— jus’ wanna, I just wanna— please, please, Mister-J,” you whine, face wet with perspiration and tears now, they’re flowing freely from your eyes. “I want it, need it—”

“Stop, goddammit—” he shouts at you from behind your fingers.

It makes you flinch but you don’t stop, and your pussy pulses around him. Your hand presses harder, fingernails leaving moon crescents in his flesh mingled with his stubble.

You just want to feel good, to be able to fall asleep once this is all over.

Oven mitts thump and scrabble at your hip, and that only makes your thighs clamp tighter around his waist. You want to swallow every twitch of his cock, everything he can give you– you want it. 

He bucks his hips up into you and touches a place inside you that leaves you gasping for air. “Yes, yes, yes—” you groan breathlessly, leaning forward to lay your body on top of his, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

Mister bucks his hips up into yours again— once, twice, three times and suddenly you’re being shoved off of him, pushed to the side like you’re weightless.

Before you can really even know what hit you, Mister-man has his entire body weight pinning you down underneath him. He has his forearm forced against your neck.

Your thumb instinctively presses against down, searching for the shock collar button but you just end up pressing against your own palm.

The static, and the sirens and the screaming— the voices. It all goes completely silent and the only thing you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears.

Mistake?

Mistake. 

“Got’chya,” He growls down at you, his eyes dark and blown wide.

“Get off me! Get off me! Get off of me!” You scream at him as loudly as you can, “Get off of me! Get off! Off, off, offoffoffoff! I’ll fucking kill you, you stupid fucking sonofabitch- get the fuck off me!”

“Awhh, lil crazy puppy don’t like it?” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your tear stained cheekbone.

Your legs begin to flail wildly in an attempt to dislodge him, push him, get him off. Your hands flying to his face, scratching and clawing at the soft skin, and his vulnerable, delicate eyes. You can’t find the words for how much you don’t like it, so you scream— it’s loud and rattles in the back of your throat as Mister-man clamps his hand over your mouth to silence you.

His breath is hot and ragged against your ear, the oven mitts clumsily grappling at your wrists as you thrash. "Stop—fuckin'—fightin’—," he grits out, but his voice cracks on the last word.

You taste copper—your teeth sink into his palm at some point, his blood smearing your chin. He pulls his hand back back to look at the broken skin, and you clench your eyes shut, flinching away from the incoming blows.

The room tilts and suddenly Joel’s weight isn’t just on your body; it’s inside your head, like pressure forcing memories that had buried deep to the surface like lava from a volcano.

Different hands holding you down. A different room. Different voices in your ear.

“Nononononono,” you whimper in a shriveled voice you don’t recognize. 

“Hey!” Joel’s voice is sharp and grounding.

His arm lets up just enough for you to suck in a shattered breath. You’re both trembling now, your chests heaving against one anothers. His beard scratches your temple as he turns his face away from your clawing hands, but you don’t miss it—there is a  flicker in his eyes when your choked sob hits the air between you. 

Something wet smears your cheek. His blood? Your tears? It’s hard to tell. 

“M’gonna make you feel real good, crazy girl.” His lips brush your earlobe as his hips grind down into yours, the length of him sliding between your folds, the tip notched at your entrance.

“Stop,” you whine, but the force has left your voice. Something about him breathing in your ear, something about the sound he makes as he shifts his hips and slips himself inside of you. The tears continue to fall, even as you gasp and clench around him. 

“She’s suckin’ me right in baby,” Joel purrs in your ear while his hips start to move. 

You can feel every fucking inch of him, every vein, and every single beat of his heart through the slick walls of your cunt. “Oh god,” you groan, your stiff, frightened hands curling in the hair on the back of his head, the other gripping one of his strong, strained biceps. 

You're terrified, but Joel's words and touch are overwhelming you, making your body respond in ways you didn’t know could in a position like this.

He thrusts slowly at first as he sinks deeper inside you. But soon his pace quickens and the slapping, wet sounds coming from between your legs fill the small basement room. "Yeah just like that," Mister groans, his lips ghosting over your cheek. "Take it all, baby girl.”

Your walls clench around him, pulling him in as if eager for more. You feel delirious with fear and an unbidden arousal. Tears stream down your face, but soft moans spill from your lips.

Joel licks at your tears and leaves gentle kisses in their place, his beard scraping against your sensitive skin. "Shhhh, I got you," he murmurs between thrusts.

The room spins and blurs as the pleasure builds. Nothing exists and nothing is real anymore; Mister-man’s weight pinning you down, his cock splitting you open, the sour, sweaty, musky scent of him.

He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real and he’s good. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good. He’s not killing you, not hurting you.

So good. It’s so good.

You turn your head to capture his salty, tear stained lips with yours, opening your mouth to let him in. His lips press against yours desperately, tongue licking at your teeth as he slips inside.

Your body arches up to meet him, craving more of his touch even as fear still coils in your gut. It’s like you’re two separate people wrapped up into a whole. One part of you wants him with everything that you are, and the other is ready to hide, ready to slip into the cracks into the wall and never come out.

His oven mitts move to your waist and fumble with the threadbare shirt you have on, trying to push it up over the swell of your breasts.

“Fuck,” he grunts, nipping at your bottom lip as he pulls away from the kiss. He sits back on his knees, cock still throbbing inside of you while your walls flutter around him.

“Don’t, oh god, no. Please don’t go-” you sob, hands and fingers clawing at his forearms, desperate for him to come back. “P-Please don’t leave me,” you whine sadly, 

Mister says nothing as he places both mitt covered hands inside your shirt where it’s fastened with buttons. He pulls the two pieces of fabric apart like paper. The buttons fly in every direction, scattering across the floor and some landing in bed with you. Joel stares down at your naked body and you feel more exposed than you ever have in your entire life.

“Jesus christ,” he murmurs, eyes tracing every single one of your curves. His mittened hands cups the swell of your tits, thumb swiping over the stiff buds

It’s like you’ve been zapped by the shock collar. Your back arches into his hand, your eyes clamp shut.

“Nuh-uh, watch me,” he growls. He waits until your eyes are on him before he leans over and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue swirls and teeth graze and bite down.

“Oh my god,” you groan, your fingers gripping his hair tighter, your nails dragging red, almost bloody marks down his arm.

Mister releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air across it almost like he’s teasing you. Goosebumps erupt across your skin as he takes the other into his mouth, alternating between harsh sucking and tender kisses.

You mewl softly as he begins to thrust again, each movement slow and deliberate. He drives deep inside of you and hits that spot that blurs the edges of your vision again, and again, and again.

You stare up at him in awe- his beard is longer, thicker than it was when he first came here, his hair disheveled and damp with sweat hangs in his forehead. He leans back and pushes the loose strands away from his face with an oven mitt.

Handsome.

He is.

Strong.

Being so gentle.

With you, Sugar. So gentle—

With you.

"Please," you whimper, spine bowing as pleasure coils tight in your belly as his hips snap against yours loudly. “More. Need more…”

He grins down at you, eyes crinkled at the corners, “I’ll give ya’ more, sweetheart.” If you thought Mister was handsome before, when he smiles your heart swells. and the pressure and tightness inside of you feels like it’s about to burst.

He wraps one hand underneath your knee and brings it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder by his ear, repeating the process with the other leg. He grips your thighs, the scratchy fabric of the oven mitts drags across your skin. Joel never lets up, never slows down the brutal, bruising pace he sets. 

A string of expletives and maybe his name more than once spill out of your mouth quickly, stumbling over the words as your body trembles underneath him.

All of the air is pushed out of you as he leans over, pushing your knees up to your chest and starts fucking into you with deep, long strokes. His pelvis grinds against your swollen clit with each powerful snap forward, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"I can feel her squeezin’ me," he rasps hotly in your ear, licking the shell before biting down on your earlobe. “Come on my cock, crazy girl.”

That does it. It’s more than enough to push you over the edge. “Oh—” Your head tips back with a silent scream as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, making your entire body shudder and convulse beneath him. “Fuck… Joel!” Sparks burst behind your eyelids as pure rapture consumes you.

Mister sucks your earlobe as you come, his sweaty temple pressed against yours as the waves wash over you. He’s kissing and licking down to your neck, and bites down hard right over your pulse point, sucking hard enough to hurt. "That's it baby girl," he grunts against the spot he just bit.

It’s like your whole body is on fire, everything is too much, it’s all too good.

You feel a new pressure, a new sensation and it’s familiar, but foreign all at the same time. A new release, it’s different and it’s happening so fast.

“Stop! Oh my— Mist- Joel, p-please,” you plead for some sort of relief. “I’m gunna—”

Joel presses his lips to yours again, silencing you. You twist your head to the side, pulling away from his mouth as he kisses down your cheek to your jaw. “S’okay— let go...”

"I...I don't...can't..." You gasp out between ragged breaths. Hot, wet tears still leak from the corners of your eyes as the intense pleasure builds to an unbearable peak.

“Ya’ can,” he pants, resting his forehead on the side of your head. “Cryin’ only makes it feel better, baby girl.” He shifts his hips, angles them differently and fucks you harder- faster.

“P-Please,” you whimper, unsure if you’re begging him to stop, or to keep going. “S’too much!”

“Shut up,” he growls, nipping at your cheek gently, teeth scraping skin as he pistons into you relentlessly. “Let it happen, crazy girl.”

So you do- body obeying his command even as your mind reels with what’s about to happen. A second climax crashes over you, more intense than the first. It erupts from you in a wet splash against Mister’s lower stomach and pelvis, it drips down the curve of your ass and you feel it seeping into the mattress underneath you.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises breathlessly. “Such a good fuckin’ girl cummin’ on Mister’s cock again.”

You sob in pleasure and embarrassment simultaneously as he fucks you through it, his deep voice rasping in your ear.

“Crazy,” He murmurs. His thrusts grow clumsy, and he’s panting in your ear, kissing the side of your face. His tongue captures the tears on your cheeks again like they’re his favorite drink as your fingers dig into the soft flesh on his shoulder. “Makin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he snaps suddenly, pulling back and out of you completely.

You whimper at the loss but he presses your thighs together tightly with his hands and forearms, and slips his cock between them, the length siding through your wet folds.

Mister-J kisses your ankle, his teeth biting down on the skin as he groans loudly, warmth spreads and seeps between your thighs, and slick lower lips, the crease where your legs meet your pelvis.

You stare up at him, watching as his eyes close, his brow furrows, his hips jerking back and forth clumsily as he empties himself onto your lower half.

Your legs tremble as he slides his softening cock out from between your thighs. 

That was the most incredible, and intense feeling you’ve ever experienced and you’re not sure if you should love him, or hate him for what he just did to you. The wet spot on the mattress is an embarrassing reminder of what happened seconds ago.

“S’good for ya’?” Mister asks, running one of his oven mitts over his forehead, wiping the sweat away. His eyes move from your face, down your still naked body, his cum smeared across your mound and lower stomach.

You pull your shirt closed around your bare torso, holding it closed with one hand. You use your good foot and the other hand to push yourself onto the cold concrete floor— skin scraping roughly as you shove yourself away from him.

His brows pinch together tightly, and he narrows his eyes on you. “Where’re ya’ goin’?” He sounds… concerned? Angry? Disappointed?

The words don’t find you, thoughts don’t come to you anymore as you hold the shirt over your chest and glare at him. All you can do is scream at him. It comes from somewhere deep and your lungs hurt, your throat feels like it could bleed from how raw it is after.

“Where’re ya’ goin’?”

He watches as tears continue to pour down your cheeks, your face twisting up tightly. You inhale deeply, and it looks like you’re trying to regain your composure.

Then you scream at him. It’s long and loud and hurts his ears, but he stares at you until you’re done. He continues to watch as you scurry away from him in a clumsy, stumbling crab-crawl until your back bumps into the leg of the table. 

You flinch and stifle a sob, and finally take a deep, shaky breath. You use the table to push yourself to your feet, turning away from him finally. You shove the table in his direction, grabbing the shock collar remote before you turn, and limp into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

The dull roar of the infected grows louder from upstairs. They’re still there, and that means the two of you are stuck together for at least another day or two, maybe longer.

The door opens again, and a metal bucket comes hurdling out of the bathroom and through the air. It hits the wall, and drops to the floor noisily with chaotic, metal clangs until it comes to settle in the corner by the mattress.

The door slams shut again.

You’re broken, he can see it in your eyes almost all the time, but there was a moment when he was on top of you where he thought you might have completely checked out– gone somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t mean to take you. 

Traumatized the poor puppy. Pro’lly in there cryin’.

He’s not worried that you’re crying. Nope. Not even a little. 

Alright- that’s what you wanna keep tellin’ yourself, go right ahead. 

He’s worried he just signed his death certificate. 

Joel wasn’t trying to take anything from you— not like that. You were already on top of him, riding him, but you just looked like you needed some help, like you needed him to take control. Like you didn’t know what you were doing up there, rolling and swirling your hips in any direction. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t ever going to get you there- where you wanted to be so badly.

Joel took you there, made you fucking squirt all over him and he took some sense of pride in that. 

Joel helps himself to jerky and bread, he drinks as much water as his body will comfortably allow. For the first time in weeks, he’s actually full. His stomach feels like it’s stretched like he might actually burst. 

–-

At first Joel thought you just needed a couple minutes. Maybe you wanted to clean up in the privacy of the bathroom without his eyes on you. But hours go by and he hears nothing coming from the separate room. Nothing. 

It’s silent. Completely. No shrieking or clicking of the infected from upstairs either. 

It’s the lack of control that’s pissing him off more than he would care to admit. Being captive was of course at the top of his ‘things to be pissed off about’ list,  but if he was going to be stuck here with you, he wishes he could at least have a say in what goes on. 

Hasn’t seen the sun, hasn’t had a proper shower in god knows when, hasn’t had a real meal in just as long. If you would give him just a little more freedom, things wouldn’t be too fucking bad here. 

Now you’re gettin’ it. 

You’re making Joel crazy, now he’s thinking about complying?

Y’been complyin’, Mister. Complied real damn good in that bed just then.

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. 

Has Joel been complying? What the fuck is going on? Why didn’t he kill you in bed? Why didn’t he strangle you, bite your jugular out of your throat. He could have, he felt your heartbeat on his tongue. He could have ended all of this right then. 

But ya’ didn’t! 

He sure fucking didn’t. He was so unworried about killing, that he made sure you came– twice – before he finished. 

Looked so sweet comin’ on your cock, perfect tits bouncin’, fuckin’ pussy was immaculate. 

Joel presses the oven mitts into the sockets of his eyes and groans loudly. 

--

Joel’s eyes snap open at the rattling coming from inside the room. He shoots up, looking around with crusty eyes and blurry vision. He expects to see you but is met with the sight of that fucking opposum sitting on the table with a piece of Joel’s jerky in his clawed little fingers, munching happily on the dried meat. 

“Git!” Joel shouts. The small animal doesn’t even flinch at Joel’s outburst, just continues to eat that precious protein. “Y’little fuckin’--” Joel grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He stands in front of the table, looking down at it- the opposum- Puddin’. 

He just stares right back up at Joel, chewing quickly and swallowing. 

Kinda cute.

“S’fuckin’ gross,” Joel grumbles. He doesn’t really want to touch that thing, he doesn’t want to get whatever diseases that thing could be carrying. 

He’s got a collar on. 

Puddin’ does have a collar on. Joel imagines you taking your time picking it out for him, going through all the colors and designs. He can see you finding the teal and pink collar, holding it up against his fur and saying it’s perfect. That Puddin’ would be the most handsome opossum this mall has ever seen. 

It makes him smile. 

--

It feels like two fucking days--two goddamn days since Joel saw you walk into that bathroom and slam the door shut practically in his face. 

You’re either dead in there or plotting the most painful ways to kill him. Both choices make Joel sick to his stomach. 

–--

Joel watches you behind the metal grate that keeps the mattress store all locked up nice and tight. He’s on the wrong fucking side! He’s on the mall side and you’re tucked under the covers of your comfortable looking bed. Seven mattresses stacked on top of each other like you’re in some fucking story he’d read to Sarah when she was really little. 

Joel almost wishes he could go back to the basement because this is more dehumanizing than being tied up by the elbows or roped up to a chair. 

The metal chain around his neck is tight, and it digs into his skin. It’s thick,  heavy and has prongs on it– like he’s a fucking dog. A violent dog that lunges, and bites and attacks. 

You opened the door to the bathroom an hour ago with the choke chain in your hand, the shock collar remote taped to the other, and the most exhausted look Joel’s ever seen on anyone's face. Big dark circles under your eyes, disassociated stare like you weren’t even really looking at Joel when you spoke to him in almost indecipherable mumbling.

Joel fought you a little when you padlocked the choke chain to his neck, and added a smaller lock to the shock collar. But he stopped when you said you were gonna take his oven mitts off his hands. 

Where are all the infected? It sounded like there had been a horde of them up here two days ago and now there is not a single sign that they had even been here. 

When Joel had questioned you about what he would do if more infected came, you very confidently said that no one could get in or out that easily anymore; that you had made this place nice and safe for your ‘mister-man’.

Ain’t ever had no one like that before, have ya’?

No.

That had always been Joel’s job; to keep everyone else safe. 

Who made sure that he was safe? 

There had always been give and take with everyone else, even Tommy and Tess. There was love there, sure– but never just someone absolutely and completely tearing themselves open to make sure that Joel was taken care of. 

The only thing you wanted in return was his company. 

Might’a never touched ya’ if you hadn’t asked for it. 

He wonders what your name is. How old you are, where you came from. How long have you been out here…

Joel grabs the metal cord wrapped in some sort of plastic or vinyl material that goes all the way up to the ceiling and gives it a shake as he looks up. You’ve attached it to some other sort of rope or cable that’s been tied from one end of the mall to the other. 

The other end is connected to Joel’s choke chain. 

As soon as your eyes closed he attempted to unclip himself from it but it wouldn’t budge. He tried everything but it was like you welded the clasp closed. 

Joel wanders. That’s all he can do. He’s got more than enough slack to go into whatever store he wants and walk around, inspect.

As he does this his mind doesn’t stop thinking about you. Why didn’t you sleep with him? What did you do while he slept on the bed? Did you sleep? Have you eaten? What the fuck did you do in the bathroom for two whole days?

Joel finds a place where the sun is shining through a hole in the ceiling and faces it with his eyes closed. He could fucking cry. He didn’t realize how much he missed this, how important it was for a person to come in contact with the sunlight. He chokes down the lump in his throat and stands there, following the sun as it moves in the sky, the light coming in at shifting angles and directions. He follows it, stays in the warmth- basking in it for as long as possible until dusk settles and the sky slowly starts to turn pink. 

Joel has his backpack with him. You packed him some food and water, his flashlight. A clean long sleeve shirt in case it got cold. You even threw in some whiskey for him, which he was enjoying sip by sip. 

He pulls his flashlight out and uses it when he goes into an old bookstore. Some shelves are empty; nature guides, atlases, hunting and fishing- basically the entire outdoors section is gone. 

The romance novels are almost bare. 

Who needs those when lil puppy’s got you, right?

There are still self-help books on the shelves, almost untouched and whatever is left looks like it would fall apart in his hands if he tried to touch it. 

Why’s you even in this section?

Joel wanders to the comics and takes a look at whatever is left. Some are in alright condition, wrapped in plastic away from the elements. Some do disintegrate before he can even get them out of their place on the shelf. 

He grabs a Batman comic still in a vinyl sleeve and tosses it in his pack for later. There are tons more strewn all across the floor, some he remembers reading with Tommy as kids. He picks through them, looking for any worth saving and finds two more still in decent condition. 

There are several department and clothing stores that look bare from the outside, but he wanders into one anyway just to see what might have been missed.

There’s an exit to the outside that's been all boarded up, with what looks like every empty clothing rack pushed in front of it. He thinks about moving all those things, breaking through the boards… but where the fuck would he go? Ten feet outside of the mall where the infected were apparently moving through? 

No. 

He’ll stay inside.

He paruses the homegoods section all the way in the back of the second floor and finds a wall of empty shelves except for one. 

It’s filled with books- he reads through the titles: The Beginners Guide to Foraging, An Introduction to Wildlife Rehabilitation, LIVING WITH WILDLIFE- How to Enjoy, Cope with, and Protect North America’s Wild Creatures Around Your Home and Theirs, The Big Book of Skill Makers, The Complete Beginners Guide to Greenhouse Gardening- A Month by Month Planting Book to Grow 365 Days a Year, You Will Find Your People- How To Make Meaningful Friendships as an Adult. There are several Batman comics featuring Harley Quinn and The Joker. 

They all look like they’ve been read thoroughly and many times. 

On the same shelf there is a pink balloon animal made of glass, it has fresh flowers in it, with clean water. It takes him several seconds to realize that it’s supposed to be a bong. For smoking weed. And you’re using it as a vase. 

Joel chuckles to himself and continues to look at the shelf of your important belongings. A couple rocks of different colors, an old makeup compact that has a broken mirror in it. And a small glass picture frame of a family– a mother and a father, a little girl, and a young man but his face has been scratched out beyond recognition. 

On the wall behind the shelf Joel notices lines carved into the wall.

| | | | | | | | | | |

Twelve. Is that how old you were when this all happened? Is that the number of men you did this to before Joel came along? Are you going to add him to this fucking list?

Is that how many months you've been out here?

All of this suddenly feels like someone he can’t see punched Joel directly in the stomach. 

Sad. 

Joel makes his way to a different part of the mall, checking every entrance that he finds along the way and they’re all boarded up better than they were when he used to walk around here before you captured him. He does appreciate the effort you went through to make sure nothing could get in if you weren’t going to give him a weapon, and he couldn’t escape. 

There is an old music and entertainment store where you must get your princess movies and cartoons to watch. He picks through a couple, finding a couple classics that he watched before the outbreak Office Space, Dirty Harry, The Thing, Top Gun. 

He grabs a couple more that he watched as a kid with his dad and grandpa; The Magnificent 7, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. He grabs the three original Star Wars movies as well– the best ones, the only ones worth watching. The ones that started to come out right before the outbreak– Joel can’t even talk about it. 

He’s done his exploring and now he sits outside of the mattress store waiting for you to wake up and let him back in. As soon as Joel unwraps the sandwich and jerky you made him, that stupid fucking oppossum comes scampering along like this is it’s dinner too. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Joel grumbles, waving his hand in its direction, trying to scare it off– but it persists. 

Inching closer and closer until Joel could kick it if he wanted to. 

Kinda cute in the little collar.

Joel tosses a piece of his sandwich a good distance away and Puddin’ chases after it while Joel digs into his own portion. 

Hours and hours go by, you sleep for so fucking long. He reads all of the comic books that he grabbed and even goes back to the bookstore to look for more. He finds nothing else that interests him so he goes to your bookshelf in the department store and grabs a couple from there to look at. 

He’s flipping through the skill maker book when you finally wake up and open the grate. 

Joel scrambles to his feet, watching as you rub your eyes with your one free hand, the other still has the remote tapped to your palm. 

The two of you stare at each other for several silent moments before you notice the book in his hand. 

“Just put it back where ya’ found it when you’re done with it, ‘kay?” Your voice is deep and filled with sleep. 

Joel nods his head, and puts the book in his backpack. “Yeah, sure– hey where did all the infected go?” He questions as you toss your own pack over your shoulder and head in the direction of the food court. 

“Cleared ‘em out the other day.”

“How the hell did you do that? When? After we–”

“Yup.” You cut him off with a sharp, short response. “Wasn’t that many. Kinda easy when you get high ground on ‘em.” 

Joel eyes dart up to the rafters and wonders how good you are with a bow and arrow. He knows Ellie is a great shot, loves her bow and arrow. “And you moved ‘em all out on your own?” 

“Yup.” 

“How did you even get out of the bathroom?” Joel’s been wondering that this whole time. 

You walked into the bathroom, slammed the door and the next time he saw you was coming down the stairs to the basement. 

He wonders if you’re even real. 

Ohh our lil puppy is real alright.

If you knew that Mister-J was going to ask all of these questions you might not have ever taken the duct tape off. 

Where did the infected go? What if more get in? How did you get out of the bathroom? Where are you going now? When will you be back? Are you okay? Are you mad? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering me? 

He’s so nosy! Asking more questions than any of the other guys combined. 

Why does he even care? 

Shhhhh, this is what makin’ friends is, Sweetheart. 

“Used the vents to get out of the bathroom,” you sigh, not stopping or slowing down but Joel keeps up anyway, his arm brushing yours as he walks alongside you.

“What about the infected– you know the spores–” 

“I burn ‘em outside at night when it’s real dark–” you explain to him quickly. “I ain’t stupid. I know ‘bout the spores. I know how the fungus works. I paid attention,” you huff softly as you reach the ladder that takes you up into the rafters and eventually out onto the roof.

Mister is too big, and probably too clumsy to follow you up here. 

“M’just goin’ to get some more food… I’ll be right back– couple of minutes, okay?”

Mister looks relieved when you say this, his face relaxes and he sighs softly. “Okay, just be careful.” 

— -- --- ---

“Is that my shirt?” He asks about the green and red flannel you have on when you come out of the women’s restroom in the food court. Your hair is clean, your body feels refreshed after taking a shower. 

Mister looks good too with his hair slicked back, and his beard trimmed neatly. 

You nod, not taking your eyes off of him. It’s almost impossible when he looks like a brand new man- handsome. He looks like he’s lost weight since he’s been here with you. 

You’ll fix that. He needs to eat more than you, and he wants meat so… you’ll go get it for him. Real meat this time, even if it makes you sad how you have to get it.

“Yeah, I took it ‘cause it smelled like you.” You admit with no shame. That’s exactly why you took it. So you could sleep with it so he could warm up to his new house, with his new friend. 

Mister-J chuckles, and shakes his head at you with a smirk plastered across his face. “Someone told me I stink once,” he says through his laughter. 

This makes you smile because he’s happy. He looks happy, like he doesn’t mind talking to you, he’s not saying mean things. He’s sharing. 

Told ya’ he’d get comfortable. Just had to be patient. We figured it all out eventually. 

“You do stink sometimes, but you smell real, so I don’t mind.” You share with him as you lead him back to the mattress store. He carried the TV up earlier and said he found a couple movies he wanted to watch. They don’t really look like movies you want to watch, but you’ll give them a shot.

Anything for Mister-Joel, perfect, sweet man. 

It doesn’t make this easier. Mister wants to sleep in the bed next to you, said he wanted to warm you up, but now you’re next to him again and it feels like you could burst into flames and tears all at the same time. 

“What’s your name?” He whispers into your ear, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you tightly from behind. 

“Why?” The sirens go off inside your head. No one’s asked you that in so long, it makes your stomach flip and you feel like you could be sick. 

“Told’ya mine,” He murmurs into your hair. 

Joel. 

When you go to answer, the words don’t come because the memories are gone. You can see your mom and dad talking to you inside your head but their voices are on mute. The name never leaves their mouth.  “I don’t remember…”

OFC thank you @pedrospookie for making this cutie banner and letting me scream at about all of this!!

I need to give an extra special shout-out to the couple of other people I screamed at about this. @almostempty @gothcsz( your music recs inspired me) and thanks to @probablyreadinsmut and my unnamed friend who helped me with the TW of the chapter.

I was especially nervous to post this because I didn't want to ruin anyone's day or send anyone into their own spiral. I hope you all are OK!

thank you to everyone who has been reading!! I've never gotten such incredible feedback on a fic before and you are all so nice and make writing this story that much more fun. I LOVE YOU

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

please don't hate me if I forgot you, I have a hamster brain, ok?

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

GOLDEN HOUR

PAIRING : jensen ackles x actress!reader

SUMMARY : jensen admits his adoration for reader during an interview at the boys season 3 premiere in paris. karen, who already knows of reader’s infatuation with jensen, overhears and plays matchmaker. and you two couldn’t be more grateful.

WARNINGS : age gap. strong language. crushes. flirting. love. lust. cheating. mentions of previous cheating. smut. unprotected p in v. rough sex. semi-public sex. creampie. praise kink. size kink. breeding kink.

A/N : this is my first jensen oneshot—yay! got the inspo from all the pics and videos from the paris premiere and he just looked scrum-deli-um-ptious. imo jensen deserves more attention from this premiere and i’m here to give it! i also made the two pictures to the right and i’m semi-proud of them, please don’t hate if they suck. hope y’all enjoy this!

Jensen stands in front of 'The Boys Prime Video' backdrop, posing for the countless cameras before him. He was solo, his wife choosing once again not to accompany him. The flashes would've blinded him if it weren’t for his sunglasses. It was his first time being in Paris for work, and he was ecstatic. He went from one backdrop to the next, making his way down the line.

His smile was wide and bright, fueled by nerves and excitement. Like a pro, he jumped from one news outlet to another. Jensen was enjoying the love the show was receiving, and he was thrilled to be a part of it. With each interview, he felt more confident and comfortable in his skin. It had been a while since his last premiere, and if he was being honest, he missed the attention.

"So, Jensen, how was it working with a new cast?" The interviewer asks before turning the microphone toward the star.

"You know, i-it's always nerve-wracking being the new guy. I starred on Supernatural for the last 15 years, so it's been a while since I've been 'the new guy' on a show. Everyone's been here since season one, and now Grandpa’s coming in!” He jokes, making the French man laugh. “No, but uh, everyone’s been incredibly welcoming, both cast and crew. I think they're all wonderful. There was never a dull moment, that’s for sure. We had a lot of fun."

"Is there any actor or actress you would've liked to work with this season?"

"Are you referring to actors in previous seasons or in general?"

"Anyone. Anyone in the world, who would you choose?"

Jensen's smile grows, and without hesitation, he answers, "Y/N Y/L/N."

"Ooo. Y/N Y/L/N, great choice. ‘Great actrice."

"The best! She’s extremely talented." He couldn't help but gush once he began speaking about you. "Her range is beyond anything I’ve ever seen. She can act in every genre, and what’s great about this show is that it pushes you out of your comfort zone, and I think she would have handled it like a boss. And I, for one, would have loved to see her in action. Not only does she have the skills, but I’ve watched interviews and promotions she's been a part of, and she's just—she's so hilarious and so sweet. I think she would've fit in perfectly."

The interviewer cocks an eyebrow and slyly accuses, "Sounds like you have a crush on Ms. Y/L/N."

"I mean...who doesn’t?" Jensen confesses. He had a major crush on you, and as silly as it was for a 43-year-old married man to have, he wasn’t ashamed. He chuckles, trying to suppress the blush from rising to his cheeks just thinking about you. "No, no. I, uh, I'm a huge fan of hers. I think she's incredible. I respect her work and her as a person. I'd be thrilled if I ever got the opportunity to work with—let alone meet her."

"Well, it's rumored she'll be ‘ere tonight."

Jay's eyes widen, and his smile falls. He wasn't expecting to hear that. He quickly skims through his brain, trying to remember if he saw any mention of you attending tonight’s premiere via your Instagram. No, he would’ve remembered. He would’ve been searching all over if you announced your attendance. His heart begins to race at the thought of seeing you tonight. Suddenly, he felt as if all eyes were on him. He forces a smile and tries to act aloof.

"Really? Well, I, uh, well, that's—wow. That's awesome." But his attempt fails. He was a stuttering mess. “Hope she enjoys the premiere.”

The man laughs, amused by Jensen's reaction. It was indeed true; You would be in the audience. He finishes his last few questions before moving on, trying not to let the possibility of seeing you distract him too much. Little did he know Karen Fukuhara heard everything. She smiles to herself and carries on with her interview.

The cast had left the blue “red” carpet and moved into the venue. Their teams escort them to a designated room where they wait for the audience to fill Le Grand Rex. Jensen talks with a few people near him before keeping to himself as his nerves climb. And not for the reason everyone thought. Is it true? Would Y/N be here? Would I be lucky enough to see her in the crowd? Questions flood his mind, keeping him occupied until Karen pulls him from his thoughts.

"Is it true?"

Jensen glances at his costar, furrowing his brows in confusion. "Is what true?"

“What you said about Y/N.”

“W-what? What are you talking about?” He tries to play it off, hoping to avoid the conversation.

“Oh, please. I overheard your interview. You like her!” She quietly accuses.

Blush rushes to his bearded cheeks. "’Course. She’s a great actress."

Karen shakes her head. "No, I mean like her like her."

Jensen rolls his eyes, trying to draw the attention away from the implication. "What are we in middle school?"

She giggles, then admits, "Well, she likes you too. Hell, she's obsessed with you! I swear half our conversations about this season revolved around you."

"Wait—you’ve talked about me?"

“More like her bringing you up every chance she got? Yeah, we’ve talked about you.”

He was stunned. Sure, he’d seen your interviews where you raved about your favorite show, Supernatural, and how in love you were with Dean, but he figured that was the extent of your adoration. He thought back to all the praise you gave to the show and the actors themselves, wishing he could’ve DMed you his appreciation but instead sparing himself an argument with his nosy wife, well aware his accounts weren’t safe from her. Maybe if he ran into you, he could vocalize his gratitude. He knew how much trouble he was getting into, especially after that interview but learning that you mirrored his infatuation made it worth it.

"You talking about Y/N's crush on Jensen?" Tomer joins.

Ackles's jaw drops from the shock of his other co-star's knowledge, too. He shakes his head, not believing the news. "You guys are screwing with me, right?"

"No."

"Not at all."

His mind begins to wander. What should he do with this information? Was this a sign to act on it? Would you even let him? Tomer watches as Jay's mind turns.

He smirks, only imagining what his friend was thinking. “Don’t forget that you’re married, my friend.”

“Tell that to my wife,” Jensen mutters under his breath, but loud enough, they hear.

Before they can question or comfort their friend, a crew member enters the room and takes Kripke, telling everyone else to “get ready.” Jay was so preoccupied with the thought of you that he hadn’t found the time to realize he would soon be facing a crowd of a thousand faces. His once confident demeanor had vanished. The thought of you liking Jensen should've given him that boost; However, between his starstruck state and the sea of fans, he was a nervous wreck.

The next thing he knows, they’re being ushered toward the front entrance of the auditorium and waiting to be introduced. His heart pounds, and he pushes you out of his mind. Suddenly, the doors open, and one by one, they walk down the aisle as Eric calls out their names in order, and fans scream over the speakers. Jensen was last in line, grateful he wasn’t first. At the steps, he’s handed a microphone and noticing Claudia’s lack of one, takes hers too. He graciously hands it to her as he takes the stage, immediately feeling the bright light beating down on him.

He smiles, interacting when necessary, and when the light allows him to, he scans the audience. He was in awe of the premiere’s turnout. Yet nothing prepares him when his eyes find yours. You’re in the front row, on his side of the theater of all places! His smile’s wide, heart thumping against his ribcage. You bite your lip as your eyes look him up and down, taking in the delicious sight. Seeing your not-so-subtle action, he winks at you.

Your heart, amongst other areas of your body, flutter. With your lips parted, you dramatically fan yourself, earning a smile from your celebrity crush. Jay glances elsewhere but can’t help the return of his eyes. You smile lovingly, overjoyed that he pays as much attention to you as you do to him. In all honesty, you hadn’t listened to the panel. You’re so captivated by his charming smile—hell, even the tiniest of movements, that you miss your friend’s answers.

Usually, you’d feel guilty, but not when it involves the love of your life as the center of your attention. You don’t even realize that the interview ends until everyone claps, snapping you out of your trance. Your hands join the applause before the stars step down the stairs to their reserved seating. The lights dim, and the first episode of the season begins.

The premiere ends, and the after-party begins. You couldn’t get Jensen out of your mind—as if it were different from any other day of your life. But this time, it is. This time, you have the opportunity to speak to him. Just thinking of it fills you with nerves. Would you actually talk to him? Would he even talk back? Your mind begins to race with questions until you conclude that you’d at least have a conversation with the man of your dreams. Who could that hurt?

You were so excited to see him. The longer you wait, the more anxious you become. The anticipation of seeing him again is all you can think about, even when you distract yourself by talking to others. Your eyes dart toward the door of Le Rex Club, and as if you have a sixth sense, the cast members walk in. Their presence elicited a roar across the guests, hooting and clapping for the stars. And that’s when you see him, walking in last once again.

With a grin, he scans the energetic crowd, refusing to admit he was looking for you. Finally, he finds your pretty eyes, and the room suddenly becomes empty. You were the only one he could see and the only one he wanted to. If it weren’t for others physically grabbing his attention, he would’ve made a beeline straight towards you. As he speaks with a few producers, Karen finds and gives you the warmest hug.

“Hey!”

“Hey! Congratulations! You were AMAZING.”

You pull away but stay close as the crowd grows louder. “Really? You think so?”

“Of course! Not many people can play a character without any lines,” you nudge her arm playfully. “That’s talent.”

“Awe, thank you, Y/N. That means so much.”

Jack comes over to greet you, pulling you into a side hug before introducing you to his girlfriend. Claudia wears the biggest smile on her face as she shakes your hand. Her giddiness was lost on you, but her confession of being “a huge fan” struck clarity. Fame was something you tried to forget. Sure, you loved acting, but it came with a price, and it wasn’t always an equal trade. Despite being in the spotlight, you refused to let it change who you are.

After some small talk, they left to mingle with others, leaving you alone with Karen. When she sees your eyes linger on Jensen, she smirks to herself.

“Do you need a napkin?”

“Huh? For what?”

“To wipe that drool off your lip,” She points to the corner of her mouth.

You swat her arm gently, but it doesn’t stop your blush. “Shut up! I am not drooling.”

“Might as well be. Could it be any more obvious that you want him?” She giggles.

“Please. He’s married.”

“Do you see his wife anywhere?”

Your eyes grow wide at your friend’s insinuation. You’ve known Karen for almost two years, and this was never something she’d condone. Ever. So why now? Why was this time different?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She gets closer, speaking low enough for only your ears to hear. “No one knows this, but his wife cheats on him.” Your widened eyes grow wider as if it were possible. They wander to Jensen, and his eyes shift to yours. A smile brightens his handsome face, making you melt. How could anyone EVER cheat on him?! “She’s been doing it for years, and he pretends not to know.”

Directing your stare towards Karen, you demand, “How do you know all of this?”

“He got really drunk one night and confessed to me and a few other cast members,” She frowns with sorrow, then shakes her head, “He’s a great actor; He hides his pain well, but there’s days when we all see it.“

It would be a lie to say you were surprised. You’ve had your suspicions over the years, but there hadn’t been any solid evidence. The way they’d speak and act towards one another pointed to a deeper marital issue. Sure, some relationships were more teasing than others, i.e., the Reynolds. However, their body language suggests otherwise, and not what everyone excused it to be.

“And until today, I haven’t seen him interested in anyone else.”

You slowly nod, taking in the information. Despite the terrible news, you felt a rush of excitement from Karen's statement. Was it true? Was he interested in you? No, he couldn’t be.

“You’re lying. He isn’t—he can’t be.”

“Now, Y/N, why would I lie? And why’s it hard to believe?” She crosses her arms.

“I—I don’t know. He hasn’t even met me.”

“Well to be fair, you haven’t met him either.”

She got me there, you thought.

“God, Karen, what do I even say to him? “I love you, and I wanna have your babies. Please choose me, and we’ll raise our children as one big happy family.””

“Well, you better think of something quick ‘cause he’s coming over.” She hurriedly tells you before her eyes shift behind you. Plastering a huge smile on her face, she greets, “Hey, Jensen!”

“Hey!”

You turn around, and there he was, in all his glory. He was breathtaking. His perfectly trimmed beard complimented his gorgeously styled hair. You swallow hard as he stares down at you, a crooked smile on his beautiful face. Annnnddd cue the wetness.

“This is—“

“Y/N,” He extends his large hand, and you shake it, your skin tingling at his touch. “I’m a huge fan.”

Your eyes threaten to widen, but you force yourself to play it cool. With a smirk, you tease, “You took my line.”

He chuckles, then clears his throat, nodding. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

You lay your hand over your heart. “I’m a huge fan!”

“Feel better?”

“Much.”

You both stare into each other’s eyes, dazed and amazed.

“Well, I have to go. I‘ve gotta say hi to a few other people. I’ll catch up with you later, ‘kay?” She leans in and kisses your cheek. Before she pulls away, she whispers into your ear, “Get ‘em, tiger.”

Karen walks away, leaving you and Jensen alone. Your hearts race in the presence of one another.

“So, congrats on The Boys. Soldier Boy looks badass. ‘Can’t wait to see more of him.”

“Thanks. And trust me when I say you’ll definitely see more of him. More than I would’ve liked.“

“Oh?” You raise a brow, intrigued.

“Let’s just say I was exposed more in my 40s than I ever was at your age.”

Your eyes widen. “What? You have to tell me more!”

“Hey, man!” You and Jensen stare at the male who came over to disrupt. He grabs Jensen’s hand and pulls him into a bro hug. “Congratulations on Season 3. How’s it feel to be done shooting?”

“Uh, good, man. It was fun while it lasted, but I can’t wait for everyone to see it.”

“I heard you got traumatized on set.”

“Uh, yeah. ‘Shooting Herogasm.” Jensen looks toward you as he explains, “During an episode, there’s this massive orgy between supes and non-supes.”

“Ahh, I see.”

“That must’ve been something. I was just talking to Antony and—“

“That’s great, man. Listen, we’ll have to catch up another time. I was in the middle of a conversation.” Jay gestures your way.

“Oh, dude, my bad.” He shifts his attention to you, and his eyes widen. “Wait, you’re Y/N Y/L/N! Oh man, I’m a huge fan. Can I take a picture with y—“

“And we’re done.” Jensen pats the rude individual on the shoulder before turning him away. “Look, there’s Eric. Why don’t you talk to him.”

He lightly shoves the man in the direction of his boss, earning a grin from you. “Sicking him on Kripke?”

“I gotta get back at him somehow.”

“Right. For participating in Herogasm?”

He laughs, the crinkles around his eyes on display. “Not quite,” He shakes his head. Even in the dim lights, you can see his blush. “My, uh, ass is displayed for the world to see when I meet The Boys.”

Your heart pounds faster when you hear the news. I’m gonna see Jensen Ackles’s ass!

“You’re gonna break the internet.”

“Oh, God, don’t say that.” He groans.

“Trust me, I could’ve said a whole lot worse.”

“What? You have to tell me more!” He mocks.

“Shut up!”

You shove his bicep, but he doesn’t budge. He laughs with you, and your bodies gravitate closer. You realize your hand lingers on his muscle, and you can’t help but bite your lip. Even through his suit, you can feel how strong he is.

“Wow. You’re so toned.” He glances at your hand, and nervously, you remove it. “Sorry. They didn’t look that big in Supernatural.”

“I don’t know whether to be amazed or worried that you noticed the size difference of my arms.”

“No, I—I saw your Instagram post of you working out last year,“ And oh, how you watched that video on repeat. “I mean—I-I’m not a stalker or anything, I just—“

“I’m messing with you.” His deep chuckle rings in your ears as a blush rises to your already crimson cheeks. “But thanks. It’s nice to be complimented once in a while.”

“Don’t you get it at home?” It comes out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“Uh…not as much as I’d like.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, and a shimmer of sorrow crosses his face. As fast as it appears, it’s gone, and he changes the subject. “‘S fine. Anyway, there’s a story behind the muscles if you wanna hear.”

“‘Course!”

“Alright, so…”

You and Jensen began talking about anything and everything. The longer you conversed, the deeper you both fell in love with each other. You both clicked. It was natural. It was easy. It was meant to be. And anyone with half a brain could see it.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you when your conversation was constantly being interrupted. Jensen had to remind himself he was here for work, not pleasure. Yet, he couldn’t pull himself away from you to mingle with others like he was supposed to. And you, well, you were here to support your friends, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t make a new one. Without knowing the information Karen gave you tonight, you would’ve been more than pleased to just be his friend. That’s all you could ask for. Putting his looks and talent aside, you fell in love with his personality. In this industry, you never know if someone likes you for what you do or who you are, and you hope you can prove to Jensen the latter.

“Y/N!” You both look in the direction in which your name came from. A woman waves at you eagerly. “Hi!”

“Do you know her?”

You smile and give a short wave back. “Not at all.”

“Why don’t we go somewhere more private?”

The multicolored lights dance on his expecting countenance. “Please.”

“C’mon,” Jay’s hand hovers over the small of your back as he guides you toward the exit. “I know the perfect place.”

“The view is incredible,” You breathe as you look out the watchtower, watching the sunset over the city. “So beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,”

Your heart skips a beat, and your breathing stops. Had you heard him right? Had he called you beautiful? You turn around, stunned at his words. Your lips twitch, unsure whether to smile or frown. He stares at you with those forest-green eyes, making you internally squirm under his gaze. The sun’s warm glow shines upon his handsome face, and you’re in awe.

Just what you needed: the golden hour making him look more desirable than he already is. Your mouth parts to speak, but your brain doesn’t know what to say. Jensen takes slow steps toward you, and your heart races. He halts in front of you, and he’s dangerously close. He brings his hand up to your bare arm and lightly traces upwards. His soft touch leaves a trail of goosebumps on your hot skin. His gaze lowers to your parted lips as his hand cups your check.

His thumb swipes your bottom lip as he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes widen, astonished by his question. “Y-you wanna kiss me?”

He chuckles. Resting his other hand on your lower back, he pulls your body to his. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to.”

His smile disappears as you gaze at him with your innocent eyes. You can’t trust your voice, so you nod instead. Despite your heels, you were still shorter than his tall figure. He moves his left hand behind your neck and leans forward. This was it, you thought. This is what you’ve longed for. And then it happens; his lips meet yours.

All of your nerves get thrown out the window as he kisses you. It was gentle yet firm. It wasn’t rushed or lustful. It was perfect. It was everything and more.

The kiss ends, but another quickly begins. You wrap your arms around Jensen’s neck, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, this time with a little more urgency. His beard pricks your face, but you ignore it as he bites your bottom lip. You open your mouth, and he takes the opportunity to shove his hot tongue inside. A moan erupts from your throat. You’d have been embarrassed if one hadn’t fallen from his, too.

Your tongues explore each other’s mouth, not bothering to fight for dominance. If it weren’t for your bodies forcing you away, you both would’ve forgotten you needed air. Your heart hammers against your ribcage while your chest rises and falls. Neither of you pulls away, your breaths mingling as your noses brush against one another. Despite both of your eyes being closed, you could feel the other’s grin.

After regaining your breath, you compliment, “God, that was so much better than I imagined.”

“Oh, so you’ve thought about us before?”

“I told you I was a huge fan.”

“And how far has the fantasy gone?”

“Let’s just say I’m an all-in kinda girl.” You purr against his mouth.

“Well, sweetheart, lucky for you, kissing isn’t the only thing I’m good at.” He utters, his gruff voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Oh, lucky me, huh? And what other skills are you holding out on?”

“Why don’t I show you instead?”

His hand runs past your exposed upper back until it reaches the curve of your ass. You press your thighs together, feeling your wetness soak your lace underwear. He gently squeezes your plump derrière before connecting your lips again. This time, they were pecks, and they left you craving more. However, your slightly-corrupt moral compass reminds you of the elephant in the room: his wife.

“Wait…” You press your hand to his chest, pushing him back gently.

He steps back, concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong? Am I going too fast for you?”

“No, no. That’s not it. I just—your wife. We talked about everything else but her.”

He sighs and adds more distance between you, shaking his head. “She…she doesn’t matter.”

You hesitate but confess, “Look, I know your wife cheated on you. It’s horrible, and I’m so sorry that happened. I can’t even imagine how you feel, and I sure as hell can’t understand how she could ever cheat on you. You’re everything and more! But I don’t want to be someone you use to get back at her. I know my worth, and as much as I love y—like you, I refuse to be someone you regret later.”

His eyes perk up, and his hands reach your arms, pulling you into his warm body. “You love me?”

“Jensen! I’m being serious!”

“So am I,” his eyes bore into yours. “Do you love me?”

“I’ve always loved you.”

His lips crash onto yours, and you’re swept off your feet. Without hesitation, you kiss him with as much passion as he gives you.

He pulls away, assuring you, “I would never use you, especially to settle a score with that witch. I know the arrangement she and I have is…complicated and untraditional, and that’s something I’m gonna take care of after tonight, but meeting you—being with you is something I’ll never regret. I love you more than words can describe. So let me prove to you how much I want you, how much I need you.”

His words touch your fragile heart. You weren’t expecting him to admit what he did. If you weren’t so horned up, you’d cry. He loves me, you mentally exclaim. And you’d be damned if you refused to consummate the love you felt for each other right here, right now. You glide your hand to the front of his suit and unbutton his jacket.

His light-hearted chuckle warms your soul. “I take that as a yes?”

“Take it as a ‘Hell, yes.’”

Without wasting a beat, his mouth smashes against yours. His lips are intoxicating, but you aren’t upset when he moves them to your neck. As if he’s kissed you there before, he instantly attaches to your sweet spot. Your eyes shut as he harshly sucks your skin. You whine as the stinging sensation physically hurts, but you love it anyway. His lips move lower, marking your neck in various places, his bread tickling your sensitive skin.

Your hands run up his chest, grasping the peaked lapels near his collarbone and pushing his suit past his broad shoulders. It drops to the ground before Jensen backs you up against the wall. Your polished fingertips unbutton his dress shirt before flattening your palms against his hot chest. They slowly slide down his abdomen and stop at the top of his pants. His large hand slips through your dress’s slit, straight to your ass.

A moan erupts from your throat as you feel his bulge press against your clit. The pool between your thighs threatens to overflow. As if he read your thoughts, his hand slides inside your panties. His fingers brush over your sensitive nub and through your soaked folds. Desperate for more, your body arches into his touch. He teases you, pulling away from your littered neck to watch your face scrunch in agony.

After enough torment, he pries your drenched underwear down your legs, and you kick them off. His fingertips run from your outer to your inner thighs, and your breath hitches once they circle your slick entrance. You reposition your hands, one on either side of his toned shoulders. Giving him room to work with, your stance widens. His lips wear a proud smirk, seeing and feeling how ready you are for him. Moving the front of your silk dress out of his way, he holds the material near your hip, and your heart races faster.

Finally, his finger slides into your warm cunt. You sigh in contentment, feeling his digit in your holiest of places. His hand moves slowly, enjoying third base. Small moans fall from your pretty lips as his speed gradually quickens. When he sees your baseline of comfort, he adds another finger, drawing a loud gasp from your agape mouth.

His two digits alone stretch you deliciously. He slows his pace so you can get used to his thick fingers, and you can’t help but whine. Your neediness grinds your hips against his hand, wanting more than girth. He took your not-so-subtle hint and gave you what you asked for. And in return, you were a moaning mess.

You never thought you’d get this far with him, that it would only happen in your dreams but never in reality. Yet, here you were, squirming beneath his touch, being absolutely violated by his unholy fingers. Your head falls back against the wall as he curls his digits, hitting your G-spot perfectly. The pit in your stomach tightens, and you realize it isn’t much longer before it uncoils. You bunch his black shirt in your hands once his thumb applies heavy pressure to your clit.

Your moans grew louder, and you couldn’t stop them. Jensen’s left-hand pounds your aching pussy without mercy, and you feel like you’re in Heaven. His knuckles harshly kiss between your thighs and revel in the promise of bruises. You glance in between your bodies and watch his hand pump in and out of you. The pleasure had built fast, and you were losing yourself faster. Your walls clench around his thick fingers, feeling your orgasm approach quickly.

“Fuck, Jay, I’m gonna—”

And before you can finish your sentence, you finish all over his hand. You scream into his chest as your climax washes over you. He works you through your high, drawing another orgasm seconds after the first. Your legs give out from under you, and his strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you upright. His hand stills inside you, giving you a chance to catch your breath.

After a few minutes, you regain the strength and stand on your own. Jensen finally withdraws his hand from your dripping cunt. He brings it to his mouth, and you see your juices coat his wedding ring. It shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did, but something about coming undone on the symbol of his and his wife’s “eternal love and commitment” made you feel wrong in the best ways. His lips wrap around his digits, sucking your cum clean.

“Mmm,” the handsome man hums. “You taste as good as you look.”

His words make your pussy throb, and all you want left is confined behind his designer pants. You smooth his shirt from where you wrinkled it before and swiftly relieve his restraints. He sighs in gratitude when you reach your hand inside his pants and gently rub his bulge.

“You gonna let me taste you now?”

“Maybe next time, sweetheart. Right now, I just wanna be hip deep inside your guts.”

With one hand, he lowers his pants and boxers enough to free his aching member. It was long and thick, more than you ever imagined. The tip was a suffocating red and glistening with pre-cum. Your mouth salivated at the delicious sight, jealous of your awaiting vagina. His hand touches the back of your thigh, sliding it toward the back of your knee before pulling it towards his hip. His unoccupied hand wraps around his cock and swipes the tip along your wet folds. He presses it against your bundle of nerves, eliciting a whimper from your impatient self.

Before you verbally hurry him, he shoves his member into your entrance. Your back arches off the wall, and you hiss in discomfort. He was bigger than he looked, and your body knew you’d be feeling him for days after. Your hands wrap around his neck, holding on as he attempts to fit his entire length in your small hole. It isn’t long before Jensen’s thrusts go deeper as your walls adapt to his size.

“Fuck, princess. You’re so tight.” He wraps his arm around your back, keeping you in place. “Not used to a man this size, are you?”

“N-no.”

“That’s gonna change. You’re mine now, sweetheart. And I ain’t never letting you go.”

Your dominant hand grabs his hair, running your fingers through it before tugging at the long ends, not giving two fucks if it messes up the style. The pain quickly turns into pleasure, and your moans reflect it. His rhythm was hard and fast, just how you needed it. The squelching noise from his dick slapping against your wet pussy joined your unholy moans. The sounds fill the air, and neither of you cares who hears. Danneel herself couldn’t stop you two.

His lips attack the area where your shoulder and neck meet, sucking, licking, and biting. You fight to keep your right leg wrapped around his waist, but the pleasure between your legs is becoming too much to handle, making it feel heavy. With every ‘bottoms out’ thrust, he bruises your cervix, and you feel like you're gonna die the most blissful death. The familiar coil in your belly returns, and you continue your shouts of praise. His drive gets sloppy, and you know he’s as close as you.

“Cum in me,” you choke out. “I wanna have the honor of your babies.”

Part of you was scared after you uttered your confession. You knew Jensen was done having kids. Yet the other part didn’t care: You wanted his seed. You craved it.

And you were shocked at his response, “Sweetheart, the honor will be all mine.”

That was all you needed to hear before you gushed on his hard dick. He follows immediately after you, spraying his promise inside its new home for the next 9 months. Your leg slides off his hip, and he leans against you. A layer of sweat coats your entangled bodies, proof of the vigorous love you made. Your panting mixes with his as you each come down from your highs.

Your mind swirls, overcome with ecstasy. You just had sex with Jensen, and Jensen just had sex with you. Not only did you each have sex with your crush, but it was the BEST sex you’ve ever had. He slowly pulls out, and you whimper from the loss. The instant his cock leaves you, your mixed juices drip down your leg.

You press your thighs together, refusing to let any more escape. Jay lets go of you and tucks himself back in before kneeling. Your hooded eyes gaze after him. He grabs your discarded underwear and slides it up your shaky legs. The fabric works as a dam, for now, at least. He turns around and pulls his suit jacket over, grabbing the grey handkerchief from its pocket. You move your gown away, allowing him to clean up the excess cum from your skin.

“Thank you,” You breathe.

He stands, taking you in his arms before giving you a small kiss on your temple. “Of course, princess.”

“I don’t want to go back,” You admit as you button his dress shirt.

“So let’s go to my hotel room instead.”

“Really?” Your face perks up before furrowing with concern. “But don’t you have to be here? It’s your premiere, after all.”

“I’d rather take this party somewhere more private. And besides, I’m sure they’re all too drunk to notice I’m not there.”

You giggle at his silly remark before capturing his lips with your own. “Lead the way.”

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[isabeauwolf]

Pregnant reader x Trafalgar Law

Chapter 1 - Coffee and Confessions

You worked at the small coffee shop down the block from the hospital on one the The Grandlines infamous Winter Islands, it snowed most of the year, except for the rare two month for spring and summer, then goes back to cold, winter once again.

You always loved the snow, watching the flakes fall from outside your window as you curled up on your couch with a cup of hot chocolate, your favorite blanket, good book and the puppy you just adopted naming him Onigiri.

Oh, sure it got sure busy and you had to work most holidays, but it was worth it.

Why?

The famous, cold, stoic and handsome Surgeon himself, Doctor Trafalgar D Law become one of your regulars. You heard his nicknames whispered underneath people breaths, "The Surgeon of Death" and "Doctor Heart Stealer," to name a few.

Twenty-six, handsome, doctor and single?

How in the world was this man still on the market you never know, but he was easy to talk to.

Well, somehow you two had become closer after the embarrassing questionnaire you two had while off the clock at work eight months ago.

You were fine until you excused yourself to go throw up in the nearest bathroom. Thank god, you packed a travel size toothpaste, toothbrush and mouthwash in your purse since you had spend the night with Jess last night after work.

Jess is your co-worker and best friend, she knew of your secret crush on the Doctor. And like the idiot that you were decided to scroll through tinder, hook up for a one night stand and.... your face paled, no.

No, oh no.

Fuck, oh my fucking god. No.

What? How? You were on the pill! You used condoms! Fuck.

You looked at yourself in the mirror in horror, inwardly screaming, Oh god, I'm pregnant! You wanted to bang your head against one of the bathroom stalls. "Okay, calm the hell down, Y/n." You whispered to yourself, hands gripping the edges of the sink hard. "Everything will be fine."

A knock on the door made you jolt, knots hitting your belly. "Who is it?" You asks, voice wavering.

"Y/n, it's me." Jess' voice calls from the other side of the door. "You've been in there for a minute." Worry in her tone as she whispered. "Can, I come in? I've got Max covering the counter."

"Yeah." You sniffed, wiping your mouth with the face of your hand. Unlocked the bathroom door, let Jess in and closed it, re-locking it.

"You look like shit." Jess joked gentle, hoping to get you to laugh.

"Thanks, ha ha," you muttered, leaning against the wall, sliding down, knees against your chest, crossed your arms over your chest, burred your head in your arms and cried. "Dammit, Jess, I fucked up."

"Hey, hey, shush," Jess kneeled beside you, rubbing your back. "What happened? Was your hookup harassing you?" She asked, immediately growing defensive. "I thought he didn't do repeat hookups?"

You mentally scoffed, if only. "No, that's not it." You sighed, meeting her emerald green eyes. "I think... I'm pregnant." You muttered, biting your lower lip.

Jess' eyes grew wide. "What?! But I thought you were on the pill and he wrapped it! Are you sure!"

You immediately covered her mouth with your hands, glaring. "I am and he did." You hissed, "Please, keep your voice down. I don't want the whole staff and our customers to know."

Jess nodded her head and you lowered you hands and ran your hands through your hair.

All of this started because you were too shy to ask Dr Sexy out, like a coward, you hoped to get a good lay out of your system and instead, ended up pregnant. If your mother and older sister ever found out, you knew they wouldn't judge you since both of them got knocked up while they were both sixteen. At least you were twenty-four, like that was any better.

Single, unmarried and now pregnant.

Those three words rang in your head over and over.

Hitting harder.

"Damn," Jess nudged you lightly, siting down beside you. "I thought you wanted to let off some steam for Mr Grumpy Pants, but instead you got lost too deep in that wild night, huh?"

"Your telling me." You closed your eyes. Dammit, how were you going to face Law again? Would he find you gross? Look at you like you were a harpy? You hoped not. You really hoped he wouldn't think any less of you.

"Hey, I know that look." Jess pointed you in the forehead, "Stop being a negative Nancy and get out of your head." She pointed over her shoulder, "Besides, Dr Sexy is waiting for his order. You know he only wants you to take his order." She gives you a smirk. "I think he's crushin' on you hard."

"No, he doesn't." You fired back, frowning. "If he did. I'd gladly be having his baby instead." You blinked, grew flustered and covered your mouth. "Forget I said that."

Jess hummed, smirking. "Yup, your type are bad boys with dark hair, dark eyes and tats." The raven haired woman, offered you her hand, which you took as she helped you up. "What was baby daddy's name again?" She raised a brow, "Ace?"

"Yeah," You frowned, instinctively placing your hand over your abdomen. You immediately thought of the biker with black hair, charcoal eyes, bright smile and adorable freckles on his face. Sure, Ace was hot and easy to talk to, but you both agreed that that night was a one time thing. Besides he was long gone and on the road with his brothers Luffy and Sabo in their biker gang, ASL. It would be best to not tell him, even if, you kept his number in your phone. "He was a gentleman and a nice guy but..." You trailed off, frowning deeper.

"He's no Trafalgar D Law, right?" Jess pulled you into a side hug and nodded. "I get it."

Another knock outside of the bathroom door sounded. "Is everything okay in there? Y/n- ya?" His monotone drawl called, a hint of concern in his tone.

Speak of the drop dead sexy doctor and he shall appear.

Oh no. You didn't want to go back out there. Law was observant, he would know something was wrong, you knew it.

"Y-yeah.. I'll be right out Law." You panicked and stuttered like a dumbass. You met your friends gaze with wide eyes as your breath hitched, nerves clawing at your belly again and you held yourself tighter, whisper underneath your breathe. "I'm not ready, Jess."

"Alright, call me, if you need anything." Law replied, "I'm off work for the rest of the day and will be hanging out for a bit." With that he walked away, returning towards the counter, waiting.

Stubborn man.

"Come on," Jess stood and helped you up. "I'll run to the pharmacy real quick and grab you a test while you and give Dr insomniac his coffee."

You nodded and reached for your purse, grabbing your wallet when Jess' hand lightly touched yours.

"No, I'll pay for it. It's the least I can do." She winked, "I know you'd do the same for me."

You nodded again, wiping your face with the back of your free hand and rewashed your hands. "Thanks, Jess." You met her reflection in the mirror, offering her a sheepish smile. "I'll owe you a coffee on our next girls trip."

Jess' smile widens. "You know it." She unlocked the bathroom and went out, announces. "She's coming Law!"

You bit your lip, holding back a snicker at your friends innuendo to try and make the Doctor's face fluster. After repacking everything into your purse, you took a deep breath and walked out.

You saw the back of Jess' head as she went out the door after throwing on her thick black and blue ski jacket with her white gloves and matching scarf you bought her last year for Christmas.

You felt Law's eyes on you as you made your way back to the employee's locker room, You inwardly shivered and felt embarrassed as your cheeks heated up, clutching your purse tighter to your chest. Your mouth had become dry as you shoved your purse back into your locker, pulled out your water bottle to gulp down a few heavy sips, then put it back into your overnight bag your brought with you from last night.

Quickly applying hand cream on your hands and shoving it into your pocket with you phone and retied your apron, you went back out onto the floor with your best business and cheer smile.

There he was.

Your crush, Trafalgar Law. Sporting a black turtle neck sweater, his spotted print faded washed denim jeans, white and spotted printed hat (which cutely reminded you of a snow leopard, or Onigiri) he always wears when he's off duty and his black boots. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up to his elbows, showing off his tats and had his arms crossed over his chest. Leaning against the wall, his long legs crossed at the ankles, looking bored at he glanced down at his smart watch.

Dr Heart Stealer was hard to read most of the time, but it was clear that he was worried with the nervous tapping he was doing with his inked index finger against his forearm. The stoic and cold surgeon could come off as intimating at first, but it was clear that he had a dark past since he never really talked about himself, mostly his work and his annoying coworkers: Penguin, Shachi and Bepo.

You had seen them from time to time as Penguin and Shachi loved to tease Law and were two trouble makers, but his childhood friends. Bepo was a literal polar bear in the form of a man, shaggy blond hair, blue eyes, a sensitive soul and very loyal towards his friends. He was also Jess's not so secret crush. Bepo was a giant, even taller than Law, which was impressive. What he was doing in the medical field you will never know.

You stepped behind the counter, putting on new gloves, grabbed the stores tablet, flickering your nervous gaze on the man of the hour as Law meet your stare, shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned off the wall, casually walking towards you.

You could honestly get lost in Law's stunning silver eyes. His dark sense of humor was funny. You are always reminded how much he towers of you as he approached and stopped at the counter.

"Are you feeling unwell, Y/n-ya?" His professional mask of stoicism was present, but you could have sworn.. he was frowning?

"I could be better, but I'm okay, thank you, Law." You replied, snapping out of your daze and refocusing your attention back on the tablet in your hands. "Would you like your usual for tonight?"

Law's slight frown deepens.

Shit, he didn't like that.

"I may be off the clock, but I still am a Doctor… if you ever need me Y/n-ya." He whispers, leaning against the counter, his usual stern tone was gentle and genuine.

Oh lord, please have mercy. Your hands tightened around the tablet, pressing it against your chest, growing flustered as you take a calm and steady breath. "I appreciate it, Law…" How the hell can you tell him no? You can't. "My shift is almost over…" You stare deep into his pooling sterling, stormy orbs. "I do have a few personal questions.. if you are willing to listen?" Dammit, I caved!

You mentally wanted to face palm yourself and scream in horror, but you kept your mouth shut.

Law's mood brightened a tad, it was small, but noticeable. The twinkle in his eye and the way his lips twitched into that familiar and bewitching smirk that had you swoon and mentally fan yourself. "I'll be waiting with my usual order then, thank you, Y/n-ya."

How can his lazy drawl sound so smooth at the same time? It wasn't fair!

"Thank you for your order, Law." You replied, lowering your gaze to try in the order you knew by heart and told him the order and total. "Medium black roast with a triple shot of espresso and a cream. That will be six-fifty, please."

He put his debit card into the card reader and typed in the pin.

You gave him his receipt.

Your hands brushes lightly as your heart thudded harder in your chest.

Law stiffened, then took his copy of the receipt and sat down at the back of the coffee shop, his usual spot. It was private, but he had full view of the shop.

You made his drink as Jess came back.

Oh boy.

You closed your eyes and counted to three as you walked out from behind the counter and slowly made your way towards Jess to grand the small paper brown bag, whispering your thanks and turned in Law's direction.

Law's gaze trailed curiously towards the bag. It was private and rude to stare, but he couldn't help it. Were you sick? What did you need so badly that you couldn't go get it yourself?

The more Law thought about your health, the more inwardly concerned he'd accidentally gotten himself worked up. But decided not to say anything for now.

You set his drink down as your glanced at the clock. It was 6pm, the end of your shifts. "Here's your coffee, Law." You smile at him, hand tightening around the brown bag. "I'll be back, excuse me." You quickly turned on your heels and rushes back into the bathroom.

Law wanted to follow you and ask what was wrong, but remained seated and reached for his coffee in hope the drink could help settle his nerves. Reminded himself that it wasn't his business, it didn't concern him. He couldn't help it, this unsettling feeling that something was wrong.

Jess came back out of the break room, drawing Law's attention as he noticed the worried look on her face.

He was tempted to ask.

A few minutes later you came out of the bathroom, tears in your eyes. It made his heart ache. He wished he could comfort you.

He observed as you help the brown paper bag in your hand and whispered to your friend who frowned and gave you a hug.

Law's grip on his drink tightened, his hat covering his eyes.

He heard someone approaching and recognized your black and white tennis shoes, forcing his gaze to meet yours. Your eyes were still red and puffy from crying and you looked nervous as you nibbled on your bottom lips, grip tightening and wrinkling the paper back. "What's wrong, Y/n-ya?" He asked slowly, he couldn't keep quiet any longer, he had to know.

"May I sit down with you Law?" You ask softly.

His nodded, "Of course, here." He gesturing across from him at the empty seat, standing, walking around, pushing out your seat and waited to push you in. "Is here okay or would you like to talk more in private?"

You were hesitant. "Can you come with me into the break room?"

"Very well." He pushed the chair back in, grabbed his drink, backpack and followed after you. "Is it okay for me to go back there?" He didn't want to get you into trouble.

"Max said it was okay since it was an emergency." You replied without meeting glancing over your shoulder, you reached the break room and were about to reach for the door knob when Law's hand was faster, opening it and holding it open for you. "Thank you, Law." You gave him a sheepish smile and entered first.

He once again helped you into your chair when you blurted out. "Can you become my doctor?"

He wasn't expecting that. "I can see if I have any opens available." He answered, raising a brow. "What for Y/n-ya?" His silver gaze scanned you from head to toe, apart from crying, he noticed that you had gained a bit of weight which didn't both him. "Why me?"

"I trust you Law." You admitted.

It made his heart skip a beat and a hint of a blush rise across his cheeks. "I appreciate it, thank you." He muttered, he raised a hand out of instinct, covering his eyes with his spotted hat. Clearing his throat as he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, grabbed his coffee and took a sip.

You took a deep breath and figured you'd go ahead and get it out of the way. Rip it off like a band aid.... a really big, one. "I'm pregnant."

Law nearly choked on his coffee, drops of the hot liquid left his mouth. He swallowed quickly, coughing as he covered his mouth with the back of his hand. "Excuse me?" He sputtered, scanning your face for a hint of a joke or a lie.

He found none.

You felt so bad. Speed walking towards the coffee machine, grabbing a handful of naps and handed them to him. "I... probably could have said that better, huh?" You blushed deeply.

"Th-thank you." He coughed, using them to wipe his mouth, chin and hands. "I didn't know you were seeing anyone."

"I'm still single yes." You admitted, glancing away as you sat back down. "It was a casual hookup a couple of weeks ago." You tilted you head. "No about a month ago." You opened the brown paper back and pulled out the pregnancy test and laying it on the table, resting your hands in your lap.

Law stared down at the test. "Did you not use protection or are not on birth control?" Sure enough, their were two blue lined on the test, showing that it was positive.

He shouldn't be upset. You are an adult and he wasn't your boyfriend. This still wasn't an easy pill to swallow either, yet he couldn't abandon you. It took a lot of courage to tell him, to trust and open up to him.

"We did." You muttered, hands clapped tightly. "And I am."

Law took off his hat, running his inked hand through his scruffy black locks. "Both aren't one hundred percent."

You nodded. "Perhaps it's that strong D clan genes." You joked, but it seems to have unnerved Law. You wondered why?

That made Law pause, his eyes widen. "Your hooked is a member of the D Clan?"

"Yes," You nodded again. "Portgas D Ace." You picked up the test, held it in your hand, stood to your feed and walked over to the trashcan, threw them away and leaned against the counter. "I think, if I remember right you know his little brother don't you?"

Law had heard of StrawHat talking about his older brother.

From what Law remembers Ace was Luffy's half brother from his Mother Rouge remarrying Monkey D Dragon when Ace was three. Her first husband Gol D Roger has died from an illness before Ace was born, Luffy was born not long after and they had adopted Sabo.

He does recall Luffy shoving his phone in Law's face when StrawHat was back in town last month, showing off pictures of his adventures with his brothers. He never saw Ace in person. It made Law secretly jealous that Ace had caught your eye.

He supposed Ace is considered attractive with him being taller than Luffy and had more muscle, same stupid happy go lucky trade mark smile or that mischievous smirk he shared with his brothers.

Ace was known to be more polite.

And yet, Law still felt the burning coals of jealous and envy towards the bastard.

Law felt his hand tighten around his hat before he shoved it away in the back of his mind. "Do you plan on keeping the baby?" He asked softly, meeting your eyes.

You placed you hand on your abdomen. "Yes, I don't have the heart to get rid of the baby."

"What about adoption?" Why was he prying? It wasn't any of his business.

"I'm not sure yet." You turned untying your apron and putting it in your lockers. Slipping on your heavy winter coat and untying your hair, ruffling it a bit and sighed. "Thanks for not judging me by the way."

Law's jaw clenched tight, then relaxed. "Your welcome." He stood, threw his backpack over his shoulder, downing the rest of his coffee, threw it away and talked towards the sink to wash his hands. He'd sneak a peak at you as you finished gathering what looked like a small black and purple duffel bag and your purse. "Where'd you go last night?"

"Slept the weekend at Jess' and came straight to work." You faced him smiling.

God, if you knew what that smile did to him.

Law dried his hands and pulled out his cell phone. "Here's my number, if you ever need anything or have any questions. I'll see, if I can squeeze you in first thing in the morning."

"Are you sure?" You blinked. "I don't want to take anyone's spot in case the hospital needs you."

Law smirks that sexy smirk of his again. "I'm sure they can manage." He opened the door for you again as you walked through and he followed, watching as you put on a white beanie with pink hearts on with a matching scarf and gloves.

He wasn't going to say it out loud but apart from his beloved leopard print clothes, anything with hearts on it was a close favorite of his. It reminded him of his adoptive father Rosinante Donquixote. He supposed it gave him nostalgia and comfort, made himself smile whenever he saw the design.

It suited you.

You took out your own phone, adding him to your contacts, saved it and handed it back to him. "Thanks again, Law."

"No problem, Y/n-ya." He replied, tilting his head. "Aren't you going to give me yours?" He held his phone in his hand, fingers hovering over the screen.

You blinked, growing flustered. Oh, right. "Oh, here." You repeated your phone number that you made yourself rewrite and repeat over and over until it stuck.

You lead the way, wishing Jess and Max goodnight as you exited the coffee shop.

The street lamps were bright and shining against the dark sky. The world was covered in a layer of white, big fat flakes fell slowly as you smiled. Closing your eyes, breathing in the chilling winter night air, holding it in your lings and exhaled, reopening them to watch your breath puff into a cloud of fog and vanish.

Law felt him own mouth tug into a ghost of a smile.

Feeling his stare you turned towards him, meeting his beautiful and steamy silver gaze as he zipped up his black winter coat with pride orange spots trailing at the bottom, his beloved spotted hat back in place on top of his head.

"I'll see you in the morning then?" You muttered, half turning to head in the towards your apartment.

"Yes, I suppose I will won't I?" Law tipped his hat towards you and walked away in the opposite direction, the sound of crunching snow was loud and echoed in the quiet streets. "Be careful."

"You too Law." You watched him go. Your gloved hand tightened on the strap of your duffel bag. Did you do the right thing? Asking Law, your crush to be your primary care doctor? You only wanted to ask him a could of question, but the intrusive thoughts won. You could always change to a woman doctor, if you wanted to. Guess Jess is going to tease me for blabbing to Law.

Shivering you rubbed your arms and made your way home. You knew Onigiri, the sweet and adorable little guy was waiting for you. Guess that means he's going to be a big brother isn't he?

I can already see him being overprotective of the baby and sleeping beside the crib, or somehow crawling into it. You giggle to yourself.

Law paused at the top of the hill, turning and watching your retreating figure grow further and further away. He had half a mind to chase after you and walk you home, but he thought better of it. He's sure you'll be fine he tells himself.

He followed your silhouette and watched you walk around the corner, making a mental note to look up possible houses close by in that direct in case of emergencies, and not for creepy reasons.

Readjusting his bag he whispered quietly to himself out loud, "Good night Y/n."

------ End of Chapter 1 ------

Okay, I know it didn't end exactly like the poll and preview, but I kept writing and writing until I decided to break it down. XD

I hope I didn't disappoint my fellow Law fans!

Were you surprised who the baby daddy was? Yes? No?

Give me your thoughts please! I tried to keep our snow leopard close to canon.

Tag list: @m0sigma7 @angelblueflame @pandora-writes-one-piece @short-honey-badger @supreme-burrito @fanaticsnail @turtletaubwrites @cherry-queens-blog @fairymama624

[unfortunate-brat]

You’re Mine | guitarist!ryomen sukuna x latina!reader

pairing: guitarist!ryomen sukuna x latina!reader

synopsis: you may have left the club with someone else but sukuna knows you’ll never be satisfied unless its him.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: slight pussy inspection, drinking, smoking, dirty talk, degrading words, obsession, jealousy, talk of pregnancy, implication of choking, sukuna is in denial, toxic relationship, sukuna is not a romantic,

yazzy's comments: so its between sukuna and jensen ackles for brainrot. truly i’m fucked if i ever encounter being sandwiched between them. artist is Marcellet19 on twitter !!

18+, must have age in bio to interact. minors and ageless accounts will be blocked !!

💌 follow @unfortunate-bratfics for just new posted imagines !!

his eyes look into the crowd as each finger chooses the right tune for the song’s melody. it’s the first time sukuna’s sung in front of a big group of people, let alone outside of his own room. gojo advised him to picture everyone naked to help ease the nerves but that only makes the guitarist disgusted. besides there’s only one person who looked good naked.

you were sipping your drink at the bar, eyes elsewhere as sukuna continued to entertain the crowd. he wonders if you’re avoiding his gaze, if the words he’s singing sound familiar to your ears, if you’d maybe look his way for fucking once.

strumming his guitar, he looks down to his fingers moving with perfect precision, this beat was nothing new of course. the pink haired fool had practiced it for three weeks while thinking of you. losing sleep as every wrong note would remind him of that night you screamed at him for being a jackass. that he would never change for the better. that perhaps whatever arrangement the two of you had was pure poison.

those dark eyes focus upon you yet again, unable to stray away from the hand that has wrapped around your waist. how dare you let someone else touch you? sukuna takes a moment to glance away, so no one figures he’s trying to blow someone up with his mind.

with the final note, sukuna glances in your direction yet again and sees the other guy dragging you away towards the bathroom. your laughter seemingly follows behind but its too loud in this place to tell for sure. what he does know is that whoever was pulling you away was a dead man.

he’s about three glasses deep in vodka, opting to just get it without ice as his thoughts are haunted by your face. there’s no doubt that you haven’t left and are still somewhere with that fucking asshole. as much as sukuna is very much to blame for you being with someone else, he won’t think to apologize.

dark crimson eyes dart to the bathroom where you had seemingly disappeared to, debating whether to get up and drag your ass out or to wait. the buzz running through his body was fueling his thoughts to beat up the guy but he’ll never get to play at this club if that happened. he’ll just have to play the long game.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

meanwhile you had snuck out to the front of the club and shared a cigarette with the stranger from earlier. both your bodies huddled close together to fight the chill of the night.

normally you didn’t smoke but after a couple drinks, the craving overpowered your brain. luckily this guy had a whole pack and for now, you enjoy the sting of nicotine coating your airways. it’s better than the sting of a certain someone’s kiss, despite how you somewhat missed them.

there’s no doubt that the song sukuna covered tonight was about you, it’s one of the many he practiced while you were asleep during the rare times that sukuna let you stay over that is. and you could feel his eyes burning a hole into your body, assuming that he knew you were with someone else.

“cold sweetheart?” a voice says softly, interrupting your thinking as a warm jacket covers your shoulders. “there, I wouldn't want you to freeze.”

you smiled softly, taking the last drag of the cancerous stick before handing it back to him. “thank you.” the smile he returns makes your knees weak, who knew someone else could do that for you? “you sure you’re not gonna freeze?”

the man lets out a smirk before wrapping an arm around your waist, closing the distance between you both. “nah, i got you to help me with that.” his lips meet yours and you can’t help but kiss back with the same passion. ignoring the cigarette that fell to the floor, being snuffed out by his foot. your arms wrapping around his neck as he chuckles between kisses. “see? feeling warmer already.”

“oh shut up.” pulling away you glance at the cab’s waiting for someone to use their services. “wanna head to my place?”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

sukuna doesn’t sleep, something in his brain telling him that you were up to no good. if he could drive, he’d head to your place. toss you on the bed and make you remember who could make you scream the loudest. paint that pretty skin of yours with bite marks and various hickies. make you so stupid all you can blabble out is his name.

running a hand through his spiky strands of pink, sukuna glances at the time on his phone. it’s already six am and a whole night passed without him realizing. guess his thoughts were too deep.

with a groan, he grabs something basic, sweats and a black hoodie before heading out of his apartment. alcohol may make his ability to drive out of the question but walking won’t. you did live a bit far but his determination will fuel his energy. and if anything, sukuna was gonna make you take him back. even if it’ll take a couple rounds of sex to do so.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

there’s a pounding at your door and despite you not wanting to get up, your neighbors might start complaining. so with not so graceful steps, you rise from the warmth of your bed to the door. wrapping a silk robe around your figure as all you slept with was panties. finding a tall and dark figure standing in your doorway, the stench of vodka oozing off his skin.

“you gonna let me in or what?” his eyes stare into your own, taking note that you were pretty much naked underneath the silk.

“it’s six in the morning, can’t this wait?” you whine, rubbing one of your eyes as sukuna pushes past you. “i’m tired.”

he freezes before slowly turning around as you shut the door. “tired from what?” and within seconds sukuna has you pinned against the wooden door, one hand resting at your throat. “from faking with him? or did he know what he was doing?” Your hands are powerless against his own as they remove your robe, shifting down to the lace barely covering your cunt. “no marks, is he too scared to hurt you or what?”

you can’t fight him, nor stop his actions as the buzz from earlier is still in your veins. as your judgment isn’t in its best state and old feelings are resurfacing. it had been three months since he last touched you like this. you had mostly avoided him of course but how long could you resist him entirely?

your body is thrown down onto the mattress, legs spread apart as sukuna rips the lace covering the last inch of you in two. rough and callused fingers spreading your folds open as he chuckles darkly. “look at my beautiful girl, she looks abused. guess he did know what he was doing huh?” you can’t help but look away, biting back the moan that threatens to escape you.

his thumb swipes through the arousal that began to pool out, bringing it to his mouth for a quick taste. a mixture of your sweet juices and a bit of saltiness greeting his taste buds. “hmm, you always were such a slut for creampies.” he takes a moment to look up at you, noting how you chose to look away. “what, you hate me now?” a harsh slap against your folds makes you whimper as he grins. “that’s not what this pussy thinks and you know it.” another slap, followed by three more make you whine and the shame pools in your stomach.

his free hand grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to meet. “you can fuck anyone, act like it’ll be enough but we both know the truth at the end of the day.” there’s no warning when his tip greets your entrance, you hadn’t even noticed his sweats were off. “this pussy is mine and i don’t have any issue reminding you. nor do i care his cum is still inside.” he pushes inside, bottoming out as you writhe and squirm under his towering frame. “let’s see which one gets you pregnant first.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Please note; I do not allow translations or redistributions of my work by anyone else except myself. MDNI, if your account is ageless or empty, I will block you !! Minors are NOT welcome here.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

One last time I promise after that, I'll let you go

the first time lando and y/n had met was based of pure coincidence.

they both had common friends who had common activities and that’s how the two got to know each other. their bond started growing right after that.

the friend group they had been a part of had a little problem of bullying and picking on certain members, with Lando and her they had decided to ship them together. it wasn’t a innocent harmless thing, they had actually started to make fun of them based of their ship name and how ugly their kids might be. yeah real mature.

y/ns first signs of infatuation were innocent and harmless, i mean which girl could ever ignore a guy who had stood up to their friends group and had personally told everyone to piss off and leave the both of them alone (that action in intensified their rumours) but Lando didn’t seem to care, it was her in the other hand that seemed to be a bit disturbed by the taunting and bullying.

in a haste decision y/n had decided to leave the friend group and had deactivated her socials, it was only Lando who had convinced her to come back just for him.

cute right??

that’s where everything went wrong and at times she wished she would have never met him.

what started as a innocent crush turned into something more, something more genuine and pure.

isolated incidents with Lando often at times where he was being a sweetheart and spending up to 14 hours a day on zoom calls with her, only ending them if he genuinely had to go or if her parents were upset. He knew her families drama, he knew all about her traumatic friendships and was there to defend her and always reminded her that she was better then them and didn’t need to feel inferior. he was her everything. it didn’t help that he’d always want to spend time one on one and never with the group.

they’d laugh together work together heck even ate meals on zoom together and yet they were not actually together.

y/n had tried multiple times to test and see if he cared about her in a different way one that wasn’t friendly. often times she’s pick a outfit that was rather short or something that wasn’t her to see if he’d ask why she was wearing that or whom she was going out to meet. he’d never say anything

y/n was a rational person and knew that someone like him would never settle for someone like her but a nagging feeling always made her believe that she had a shot. And it wasn’t just her gut, Landon’s own mother had on multiple occasions sat down with the girl and had mentioned just how lucky her son was to have known such a beautiful person both inside out and at one occasion even mentioned how much she wanted her as her daughter in law.

she had blushed rather hardly at that. secretly she had also wished the exact same thing. cisca would have been the best mother in law for her.

Lando’s relation with her wasn’t the only thing that had made her think that he too might have been into her, and no it wasn’t the fact that she was the one who had planned his birthday party nor was it the fact that her family were the only people invited to their Christmas party.

It was Lando’s relationship with her mother, he’d always listen to her no matter what. It often puzzled her why and cisca had the same reaction each time, the desperate mother had once asked y/ns mother to click pictures of lando since he would never let her. silly things yk?

but all these silly things add up and when they do things suddenly don’t feel as silly anymore.

after months of hiding her feelings and being persuaded by her mutual friends who had known of her crush y/n decided to ask lando out it was purely because her friend had said that she too things that lando liked her and was only shy and that’s why y/n should make the move.

stupid stupid decision.

it was peak Covid and tiktok was trending like no other app, whilst trying to find ways to confess without being all sappy she had come across the “Jenny darling you’re my best friend” trend and thought it was the perfect playful way to confess her feelings without it being too sappy or detailed.

With shaking hands she typed the lyrics out bit by bit

lan darling you’re my best friend (read 1:43 pm) (y/n)

yeh ik ( read 1:43 pm) (lan)

but there’s a few things that you don’t know off

(1:43 pm) (y/n)

huh? like wha? you on smth (1:44 pm) (lan)

why i borrow your hoodies so often (1:44 pm) (y/n)

i wanna ruin our friendship, we should be lovers instead

(1:44 pm) (y/n)

the risk that she had taken had backfired so magnificently that it was almost laughable.

Lando Norris was one person who wouldn’t be caught without his phone, and that’s why his sudden disappearance was like a punch in the gut for her.

it was a whole day later when he’d replied.

oh ok (2:30 am) (lan)

[novaursa]

Legacy (the silence)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Be awear of unspecified time jump.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (slight descritpion of blood and gore)

- Previous part: across the dream

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The wind howled through the towering cliffs of Casterly Rock, carrying with it the scent of salt and cold steel. Beneath the shadow of the great castle, the courtyard and the surrounding paths swarmed with men and banners, a sea of red and gold. The banners of the Westerlands stretched as far as the eye could see—familiar sigils of lesser houses loyal to the Lion of Lannister. The old roads, once worn by merchants and travelers, now thundered beneath the hooves of warhorses and the heavy tread of marching feet.

Tywin Lannister stood at the edge of the outer parapet, his gloved hands resting on the stone, his gaze sweeping over the columns of armed men pouring through the open gates. The force that had assembled was vast, perhaps the largest host the Westerlands had called upon in a generation, yet it was not as grand as it could have been in an age untouched by war and winter. Supplies were dwindling, and no matter how well-prepared he had been, no one had foreseen more then three years of endless night.

Kevan stood beside him, his face lined with quiet contemplation. “More arrive by the hour,” he said, his voice barely audible over the clamoring of men below. “Ser Myles Lefford rides at the head of the last host from the Golden Tooth, and the remaining forces from Deep Den and the Crag should be here soon.” He exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold air. “This is the last of them, Tywin. Every sword sworn to us has come.”

Tywin’s expression did not shift, but his grip on the stone tightened slightly.

“These are all who could make it,” he corrected.

Kevan nodded grimly. They both knew there were men still trapped in smaller holdfasts, cut off by the unnatural storms that had ravaged the roads. Others had never made it at all, swallowed by the darkness or the creatures that now roamed freely in the deep woods. The Westerlands had always been a strong, untamed land, but it had never known fear like this.

Below, the banners of House Brax, House Marbrand, House Kenning, and more fluttered in the frozen wind as their lords dismounted and gave orders to their men. A chorus of shouting, the clank of armor, and the snorting of warhorses filled the air, but there was no raucous celebration. No laughter. No boasting. Only the solemn grimness of men who had come to fight their last war.

Ser Addam Marbrand approached on foot, his orange cloak dusted with frost. He dipped his head in a respectful bow to Tywin. “My lord, my men have settled within the lower halls as ordered. The horses are being stabled, and we brought as many provisions as we could carry. We left none behind.” He hesitated for a moment, his dark eyes flickering with something unspoken. “Some of my men say they saw shapes in the woods as we rode. Pale figures in the trees, watching but not attacking. We rode hard to outpace them.”

Kevan shifted uncomfortably. “How many?”

Marbrand shook his head. “Too many to count.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady. “It was wise not to engage. Whatever numbers they bring, they will break against these walls.” His gaze remained fixed on the sea of arriving soldiers, his mind already turning over every possible strategy.

He had spent his life making war against men—rebels, usurpers, fools who thought they could defy the might of House Lannister. He had crushed them all. But this was no war of banners and crowns. This was something older, something no man had ever conquered.

And yet, he would not bow.

Kevan exhaled. “Winterfell sends no word back with messengers. Neither does the capital.”

“That is not an accident.” Tywin’s voice was cold. “Someone ensures the realm remains deaf to what is happening.”

Marbrand frowned. “Could it be Daenerys?”

Tywin shook his head. “No. She lacks the subtlety.” He turned, his cloak billowing behind him. “Whoever is doing this, it is not to her benefit either.”

Kevan hesitated. “Then who?”

Tywin did not answer. He had spent the last weeks pondering the same question, and yet no answer presented itself that did not lead to a darker conclusion.

Silence fell between them, broken only by the arrival of another rider. Ser Myles Lefford, his golden breastplate dulled with frost, dismounted stiffly and strode toward them.

“My lords,” he said, bowing, “we met no resistance on the road, but there are whispers among the men. They speak of villages where the fires still burned, but not a single soul remained. No bodies, no signs of struggle. Only silence.”

Tywin turned fully to face him. “How many villages?”

Lefford’s throat bobbed. “Too many.”

Kevan muttered a curse, running a hand through his beard. “This is beyond raiding. They are wiping the land clean.”

Marbrand nodded grimly. “If they mean to starve us, they have already begun.”

Tywin stared at the growing mass of soldiers in the courtyard below. This was the last host the West would ever raise, the final force that stood between annihilation and survival. If they failed here, there would be no retreat, no second war.

He turned back to his gathered men.

“We will not cower behind these walls like frightened children,” he said, his voice cutting through the cold. “We have prepared for this. The Rock has stood for thousands of years and will stand long after we are dust. These things may bring the cold, but I will see them burn.”

Marbrand and Lefford bowed. “As you command, my lord.”

Kevan looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

Tywin cast one last glance at the forces still arriving.

Let them come.

He would make sure they paid in blood.

The war room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of wax and parchment, the heavy weight of impending doom pressing against the stone walls like an unseen specter. A great table stretched the length of the chamber, covered in a detailed map of Westeros, marked with carved sigils of their bannermen and the crude placements of their enemies. The Westerlands had gathered for their final stand, and all eyes now turned toward Tywin Lannister, the Lion of Casterly Rock, as he weighed their fates with the cold precision that had won him every war he had ever fought.

But this was no war of men.

The door creaked open, and the lords who sat around the table turned as you entered. You moved with the quiet grace that had been bred into you since birth, but there was something else in you now—something sharpened by years of survival, war, and the burden of knowledge you alone carried. As you stepped into the chamber, the gathered bannermen rose, offering you the respect due to both the Lady of Casterly Rock and a woman who rode a dragon.

Tywin looked up from the map, his expression unreadable as he gestured to the seat beside him. You took it without hesitation, feeling the weight of a dozen gazes settle on you. Kevan Lannister sat across from you, his brows furrowed, his hands folded over one another. Ser Addam Marbrand stood near the hearth, his face cast in flickering firelight, his fingers drumming idly against the pommel of his sword. Lord Lefford, Lord Brax, and the other lords of the West sat in quiet anticipation, waiting for the war council to begin.

It was Kevan who spoke first. “The last of our men have arrived. Every sword sworn to us is now within these walls. If we are to strike before the enemy reaches us, the time is now.”

Tywin gave a small, imperceptible nod. “And have they sent word from the capital? Anything or still nothing?”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

“No, my lord,” Lord Brax finally admitted, his voice grim. “No word from the Crownlands, nor from the North.”

You shifted, your fingers pressing against the edge of the table. “Then it is as we feared—someone ensures silence reigns across the realm. We are being cut off from the world.”

Ser Addam Marbrand exhaled through his nose. “We cannot afford to wait any longer, my lord. If the North is lost, the Others will march south unchallenged.”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, but he said nothing.

You leaned forward, your voice steady. “Then let me take Viserion and burn them before they reach us.”

The lords stirred at your words, some exchanging glances, others nodding in silent agreement.

Lord Lefford spoke up, his face lined with weariness. “She speaks sense, my lord. We do not know how many of them there are, nor how they fight, but if fire is truly their weakness, then we must use it before it is too late.”

Kevan hesitated. “We know fire can kill the wights. But we do not know if it can kill the Others. If they are truly creatures of ice, then perhaps dragonflame can undo them—but if not…” He trailed off, unwilling to speak the worst of it.

You turned to Tywin, watching as his jaw tightened, as the muscle in his cheek twitched ever so slightly. He was silent, thoughtful, but there was something else in his eyes. Hesitation.

It was rare to see Tywin Lannister unsure.

You softened your voice. “We cannot wait until they are at our gates, Tywin. The Rock may be impenetrable, but it is not invincible. If we allow them to gather, to grow stronger, then even these walls may not hold.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, but he still did not answer.

Kevan shifted in his seat. “She is right, brother. If we wait, we may find ourselves cornered, besieged by an enemy we do not fully understand.”

Ser Addam Marbrand, ever the strategist, leaned forward. “If we send her to test them now, we will know what we face before it is too late. We must learn if dragonfire can truly undo them. If it does not, then at least we will know the limits of our weapons before we make our stand.”

The lords murmured in agreement, their voices a mixture of conviction and unease.

But still, Tywin hesitated.

You reached for his hand beneath the table, pressing your fingers against his palm. It was a rare gesture, one done in the quiet privacy of your chambers, never in the presence of others. But now, with all of Westeros on the brink of destruction, you did not care for propriety.

He glanced at you then, his green eyes locking onto yours, searching.

You did not need to speak the words aloud. You must trust me.

For a long moment, the world around you ceased to exist. The lords, the war, the Rock—it all faded into silence.

Then, finally, Tywin spoke.

“You may go,” he said, his voice low, measured. “But you will not go alone.”

You arched a brow. “Who do you mean to send with me?”

Tywin turned to Kevan. “You will take a small force to accompany her. A dozen riders. No more.”

Kevan’s brows furrowed. “If she is flying, then there is no need for riders.”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver. “There is always a need for an escape plan.”

Your lips parted, but you did not argue. You could see it now—the barely concealed fear in his expression, the tightness in his shoulders. He was not a man who bent to fear. But this? This was different.

This was you.

And for the first time in all your years together, you realized what it meant for the lion to love a dragon.

Tywin turned to the room, his voice cold and commanding once more. “We move before the week is done. If this war is to be fought, we shall be the ones to strike first.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the lords.

You gave Tywin’s hand one last squeeze before releasing it, rising from your seat.

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze linger on your back, a silent weight that followed you as you exited the war room.

And you knew, without a shadow of doubt, that if you did not return—there would be no force in this world that could stop Tywin Lannister from razing it to the ground.

The air smelled faintly of parchment and herbs, a mixture of the maester’s study and the lingering scent of medicinal balms. You sat on the cushioned bench beside the table, your hands resting on your lap, fingers idly tracing the embroidery on your sleeve. Across from you, Maester Aldren finished his examination, his expression grave yet unreadable as he straightened and exhaled softly.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, with a measured tone, he spoke.

“You are with child.”

The words settled heavily between you, like the final grains of sand slipping through an hourglass.

Your breath caught in your throat. It was not unexpected—not entirely. You had felt the changes within you in the past few weeks: the subtle exhaustion, the way your body had begun to shift in ways you recognized from before. But to hear it spoken aloud, to have it confirmed in this moment—now, on the eve of your departure—was something else entirely.

Maester Aldren continued, unaware of the tempest brewing in your mind. “You are early along. No more than a few moons, but there is no mistake. Your body has already begun adjusting.”

Your gaze flickered down to your hands, to the pale skin of your fingers, as thoughts warred within you. Another child. Tywin’s child.

The timing could not have been worse.

A deep inhale steadied you. When you spoke, your voice was firm. “You will not tell anyone.”

Aldren’s brows furrowed, his weathered face etched with confusion. “My lady, surely the Lord of the Rock should—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice unwavering. “Not yet.”

Aldren hesitated. He was a maester of the Citadel, sworn to duty and knowledge, but he was also a man who had served your household for years. He had tended to Damon and Maelor since their birth, and he had been at your side through battles and winters alike. But now, he looked at you with uncertainty, as if weighing whether to challenge you.

Carefully, he folded his hands before him. “May I ask why?”

You exhaled, standing slowly, smoothing the fabric of your cloak. “Because if I tell him, he will not let me leave.”

Aldren’s expression darkened. “And is that not a good thing?”

Your eyes snapped to him, a silent storm swirling in their depths. “No,” you said quietly. “Because if I do not leave, we may all perish.”

Silence stretched between you.

Aldren sighed, rubbing his temple. “You ride into battle, my lady. With a child inside you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I ride to ensure there is a future for my children—all of them.”

Aldren inhaled sharply, then released it in resignation. He knew you well enough to understand that your mind was made up, that no amount of reasoning or pleading would sway you.

“You must take care,” he murmured at last. “You must not overstrain yourself. And if you feel anything—anything—unusual, you will return at once.”

“I will,” you lied.

Aldren studied you, his gaze keen with scrutiny, but in the end, he nodded. He would not betray your trust, not now.

“I will do as you ask, my lady,” he said solemnly. “But this secret cannot be kept for long. You must tell Lord Tywin when you return.”

“When I return,” you echoed softly, as if speaking it into certainty.

But deep in your heart, you knew—if you did not return, it would not matter at all.

The cold air bit against your skin as you stepped into the courtyard of Casterly Rock, the darkened sky stretching endlessly above like an abyss without stars. The torches lining the perimeter of the fortress flickered wildly in the wind, their flames struggling against the unnatural night that had swallowed the world whole. The scent of damp stone, of leather and steel, mixed with the distinct sulfurous tang that always lingered when dragons were near.

Viserion emerged from the depths of the mines, her golden-hued scales gleaming even in the absence of true sunlight. Her wings stretched wide, sending gusts of wind through the courtyard as she let out a guttural rumble, sensing the purpose in the air. Her saddle, already secured, awaited you, the thick leather straps taut and ready for flight.

From the darkness of the mines, another presence loomed—Arraxes.

The young dragon lingered just beyond the threshold, his blood-red eyes cutting through the shadows like embers buried in ash. His serpentine form slithered closer, his nostrils flaring as he released a low, uneasy growl. It was not rebellion, nor was it defiance—it was hesitation. He felt the pull, the bond between himself and Viserion, his mother, his guiding flame. And yet, something deep within him warred against instinct.

Your heart clenched as you watched him, your gaze locking onto his unreadable, primal stare. You felt his longing, his indecision, the silent question lingering in his mind—why could he not follow? Why was he being left behind?

But after a long, agonizing moment, the young dragon released a huff and stepped back, retreating into the shadows of the mines. His glowing eyes were the last thing to vanish into the black.

The decision was made.

A gust of wind from Viserion’s wings snapped you from your thoughts, and you turned your attention back to the present. Your riders—loyal men who had trained tirelessly for this mission—stood at the ready, their steeds shifting restlessly beneath them. Their armor gleamed faintly under the torchlight, their eyes filled with a mix of apprehension and resolve.

And then, there was Tywin.

He stood apart from the others, his piercing green eyes fixed upon you with a gaze that burned deeper than any flame Viserion could conjure. He was clad in his riding leathers, his heavy fur-lined cloak draped over his shoulders, but there was no mistaking the tension in his stance. He had known this moment was coming, but that did not make it easier.

You approached him slowly, the sound of your boots against the stone drowned out by the howling wind. You could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides as if resisting the urge to reach for you and keep you here.

"You will return," he said, his voice low, edged with steel. It was not a question. It was a command.

You exhaled softly, allowing a small, knowing smile to grace your lips. "Of course."

Tywin narrowed his eyes, his gaze searching yours, as if trying to find any trace of deception. "You will return," he repeated, this time quieter. "Do not make a liar of yourself, wife."

A flicker of warmth spread through you at the possessiveness in his words, but it was overshadowed by the weight of what lay ahead. You wanted to promise him everything, but promises were fragile things in times like these.

Your hand reached for his, fingers curling around his wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath his skin. "I will be back before you know it," you murmured. "And when I return, you will scold me for being reckless, and I will laugh and say you worry too much."

Tywin exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression unreadable. "Yes," he muttered. "I expect I shall."

There was nothing more to say.

You turned, your fingers lingering against his for a moment longer before stepping away. The weight of his gaze followed you as you approached Viserion, each step measured, deliberate. The she-dragon lowered herself slightly, allowing you to climb into the saddle with practiced ease. The moment your hands grasped the reins, she shifted, restless, eager to take to the skies.

Your riders fell into position, their own mounts ready for the long flight ahead.

With one last glance at Tywin, you nodded once.

And then, with a powerful thrust of her wings, Viserion launched into the air, the ground falling away beneath you. The wind roared past your ears as the great she-dragon carried you higher and higher, her wings cutting through the endless night.

Below, the torches of Casterly Rock flickered like distant stars.

And Tywin watched, unmoving, until you were out of sight.

The deep black of the night pressed heavily against the walls of Casterly Rock, the vast stone fortress eerily silent save for the occasional crackling of the torches lining its halls. Outside, the wind howled against the cliffs, a distant, mournful sound that seemed to stretch endlessly into the void of the frozen world.

Maelor stirred in his bed, a small frown creasing his young face as a voice—her voice—whispered to him from the darkness.

"Maelor… Maelor, sweet boy, wake up."

His eyelids fluttered open, the voice wrapping around him like a gentle lullaby. It was familiar, impossibly so. His mother. But that was impossible. She had flown away with Viserion days ago, her absence leaving a hollowness in the castle that even the warmth of the dragonfires beneath the Rock could not chase away.

Yet, the voice persisted.

"Come to me, little lion. I'm waiting."

Compelled by something unseen, Maelor sat up, his small hands clutching at the heavy furs draped over him. The room was dimly lit by the embers still glowing in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. Damon slept soundly beside him, his breathing steady despite the scars that marred his once-unblemished skin.

Maelor hesitated for only a moment before slipping out of bed, his bare feet padding softly against the cold floor. He did not think to wake his brother, nor did he question why his mother was calling for him when he knew she was far away. Some part of him—the part that longed for her warmth, her presence, the safety of her embrace—urged him forward.

The door creaked as he pulled it open, and the dimly lit corridors of the Rock stretched before him like the gaping maw of a beast. The flickering torches barely pushed back the shadows, but the voice guided him, soft and insistent.

"This way, my love… just a little further…"

Maelor wandered deeper into the darkened halls, his small frame swallowed by the vastness of the corridors. The deeper he walked, the colder the air became. The warmth of the Rock, the heat of the dragons below, did not reach these parts. The torches burned lower, their flames barely more than dying embers.

And then, he saw it.

A figure stood at the end of the hall, its form barely visible through the gloom.

At first, Maelor thought it was his mother—but it wasn’t.

It was too tall. Too thin. Its body was an unnatural shade of pale, almost translucent in the dim light. And its eyes—icy blue, glowing like lanterns in the dark bored into him with unnatural hunger.

It smiled, revealing jagged, needle-sharp teeth that glistened as if coated in frost.

Maelor felt his body go stiff, his breath hitching in his throat. A scream clawed at his chest, but his lips would not part. He could not move.

The creature lifted a long, skeletal hand and beckoned him forward.

"Come, little one. Your mother is waiting."

Maelor's feet shuffled forward against his will. He did not want to move, but something was pulling him.

The closer he got, the colder the air became. Frost coated the walls, forming intricate spirals that pulsed as if alive. His vision blurred, the world narrowing to the wraith-like figure before him. The blue light in its eyes expanded, swallowing his thoughts whole.

"Maelor!"

The spell shattered as a roaring explosion of fire illuminated the corridor.

The creature shrieked as a blade, engulfed in white-hot flames, slashed through the darkness.

Beric Dondarrion and his men rushed into the corridor, their weapons drawn, their torches alight. The glow of Beric’s sword cast long shadows along the walls, the flames flickering with unnatural intensity.

"GET BACK!" Beric bellowed as he slashed at the creature again, his blade carving a molten arc through the air.

The wraith recoiled, its shriek sharp and piercing, like ice cracking beneath unbearable weight. The blue light in its eyes flickered violently, its form twisting and shifting as if struggling to maintain its presence.

Maelor collapsed to the ground, his body released from its invisible hold. He gasped, his breath forming white clouds in the freezing air.

Damon skidded into the corridor just as Thoros of Myr lifted his hands, his voice booming with a prayer to the Lord of Light.

"R'hllor, great god of flame, cast out this darkness!"

A pillar of fire erupted from the torches, roaring down the corridor and engulfing the creature in a cascade of golden flames.

The wraith let out a piercing scream, its body contorting in agony as the fire consumed it. The glow in its eyes flickered once—twice—and then was gone.

The creature collapsed into ash.

For a moment, the only sound was Maelor’s ragged breathing as he stared at the spot where the thing had stood. His tiny hands trembled, his eyes wide with lingering terror.

Beric rushed to the boy, kneeling before him. "Are you hurt?"

Maelor shook his head, his lips trembling. Damon, pale-faced and breathless, hurried to his brother’s side, grasping his arm. "What were you thinking?" he demanded. "You—You just left—"

Before Maelor could answer, alarm bells rang out through the Rock.

Beric shot to his feet, his eyes snapping toward the direction of the castle walls.

Thoros wiped sweat from his brow, his expression grim. "That was just one," he murmured. "And it got inside."

Beric turned to the nearest guard. "Ring the bells louder. Get Lord Tywin—now."

The guard did not hesitate. He turned and ran, his armor clanking against the stone as he rushed toward the war room.

Maelor turned, looking up at his older brother. Damon’s scarred face was unreadable, but his grip on Maelor’s arm was tight—almost too tight.

The young boy swallowed.

Outside, the winds howled as if something was coming.

The wind tore through the skies, sharp as Valyrian steel, slicing through the furs that lined your shoulders. Viserion’s wings thundered against the frozen air, her pale scales reflecting the faintest shimmer of what should have been moonlight—but the sky above was a void of black, no stars, no light, only the oppressive weight of endless darkness.

Below, your riders moved in a steady formation, their banners flapping violently as their horses trudged through the snow-covered terrain. You could barely make them out beneath the swirling mist of ice and frost, but they were there—loyal men, brave men, following you into the unknown. The silence of the night was unnatural, the only sound the distant howl of the wind, a mournful wail that curled around the mountains and valleys, whispering of something unseen.

Then, the world shifted.

A wall of ice and snow erupted from the earth without warning, spiraling upward like a specter clawing its way from the abyss. The storm came alive, swallowing the riders below in a matter of heartbeats. One moment, they were there—the next, gone.

Viserion reared back, her wings thrashing against the violent gusts, the force of the winds shoving her sideways. You gritted your teeth, tightening your grip on the saddle, your fingers numb from the freezing air.

"No—no, no, no."

The snow howled, a deafening roar that filled the sky. It wasn’t a natural storm—it couldn’t be. The way it moved, the way it devoured everything in its path—it was something else.

Something unnatural.

"Viserion! Fly higher!" you commanded, but the dragon twisted in the air, her balance faltering. She, too, had lost direction.

You pulled at the reins, attempting to steer her, but there was nothing. No point of reference, no horizon, only the suffocating black.

Then—the screams began.

Muffled, distant, but unmistakable. The wails of dying men and the frantic shrieks of horses as something found them in the dark. The sounds were swallowed almost immediately, as if the very air itself refused to carry the echoes of their deaths.

Viserion bucked wildly beneath you, her body writhing.

"Dracarys!" you roared.

She obeyed, her mighty throat igniting as a torrent of golden-white flame erupted into the void.

It did nothing.

The fire vanished the moment it left her maw, consumed by the very darkness itself. It was as if the night had a hunger of its own, devouring the heat, the light, leaving nothing but the frigid chill of the abyss.

The cold sank into your bones—something was watching.

Then, you saw it.

The darkness broke.

The storm lifted, just enough for you to see what lay ahead.

Your breath seized in your throat, your heart slamming against your ribs.

An army.

An endless army.

Miles upon miles of them, stretching to the very ends of the world. Their armor was frozen over with rime, their flesh long decayed, but their eyes—all of them—burned blue.

They were waiting.

A thousand—ten thousand—a hundred thousand. Their weapons, their rotted banners, their skeletal steeds.

And at their center, it stood.

A figure upon an undead beast, a skeletal dragon with tattered wings of ice. Its rider—tall, gaunt, clad in blackened, frozen armor, its face obscured save for those impossibly bright blue eyes.

The Night King.

His gaze lifted to the sky, and though his expression did not shift, you felt his attention settle on you.

Then—the voice.

A screeching, wretched sound, not spoken but forced into your very skull. It was neither words nor whispers, but pain.

Your vision blurred, agony lancing through your skull like a thousand shards of ice. Your hands trembled against the reins, your breath coming in short, painful gasps.

Viserion screamed.

She twisted midair, writhing in pain as the sound tore through her skull, her mighty wings faltering. You clung to her, barely holding on as she spiraled, her shrieks echoing across the wasteland.

You didn’t know if you were screaming too.

The world spun.

Then—Viserion surged forward.

Her instincts overrode the pain, her body moving. She veered northward, desperate to escape the unseen force trying to drag her from the sky.

The Night King watched.

The wights watched.

The thousands upon thousands of dead watched.

And as you vanished beyond the storm, the voice echoed one last time—a promise.

"Soon."

[hyakujuuou]

Spent a while thinking about this because Lloyd’s desire to be like his father (really, for them both to be like each other) was such a driving force of his development and his dynamic with Garmadon. Long rant

Yes it’s a goofy premise for a silly show but I think there could be a lot to unpack and treat with respect about how a very young boy was told to think of his own life as only his potential for evil, and for this child to cling to the image of his father, the most evil person in the world, both for reassurance in those goals and reassurance in his capability to live up to the life’s purpose assigned to him while he was failing in school, the only community he knew or was allowed to know.

And then after that, not only unlearning this idea that he could only ever be evil, but willingly accepting that his destiny was to be a force of good and then going forth to learn and live that purpose, forced him to choose between himself and his father— but still he couldn’t make an all-or-nothing decision: he accepted that he had to battle what his father had been forced to become, but he was still allowed to mourn the man.

And then after that, when Garmadon was purified from the venom, Lloyd had finally achieved the right to want to be like his father again. Although Sensei Garmadon and Lloyd disagreed on how they would be as good people (especially concerning the use of violence, and a whole lot to unpack there too with the narrative of Garmadon’s trauma juxtaposed with Lloyd’s childhood isolated idolisation, martial arts, and the use of violence in media as entertainment), their desire to be accepted by the other shapes and is in turn shaped by their desire to emulate the best qualities they perceive that the other embodies (for Garmadon, perhaps Lloyd’s youthful potential to change; for Lloyd, perhaps Garmadon’s resistance and ability to endure). Cumulating, of course, in Lloyd’s acceptance of Garmadon’s robes and his sacrifice to stop the Preeminent.

And then Lloyd was left again with only an image of his father to idealise, albeit a better-informed and positive image, as he went on to fill his place as a leader and master of the group when Wu became incapacitated and after that during his absence. One could argue that Lloyd was filling Wu’s place, whose absence more immediately provided a void in their group dynamic, but I’d say that he fills the role of master in a way more similar to Garmadon: Lloyd is genuine, we (both the audience and his peers in-world) know his past wrongdoings, and his leadership is for the good of the people he immediately cares about (as opposed to Wu, who is haunted, who conceals his past wrongdoings, and is motivated by the greater good of the world). Even after Garmadon is resurrected by Harumi, Lloyd decides to continue to embody the image of Garmadon that his sacrifice left him, as a good man who would work to end the cycle of violence, no matter the consent of his participation in it. And, I think, a lot to unpack there as Lloyd’s image of his father echoes the image he would have desired as a child, and the unpleasant resonances with the evil that Lloyd himself once did (either intentionally, as a student, or unintentionally, as the collateral damage of his battles), and having to accept once again that his father is not the man who Lloyd thinks he is, and having to decide to live his life, finally, without the guidance of his father or his father’s ghost.

But even after Lloyd chooses to honour his father’s ghost by defeating the monster, their bond continues to echo within the narrative. Lloyd Garmadon doesn’t flee his father’s name, and whether or not he still holds his father as close to his heart as he once did, he can’t change how central their relationship was for the formation of his most core principles and values as a ninja, a person, and a friend. Garmadon, too, lets himself be haunted by the echoes. Becoming more like Lloyd may not be the conscious affirmation he gives himself, but he notices something about himself think and change.

So when Lloyd’s fear is revealed to be becoming like his father, one could say that his fear is being doomed by some force of destiny to undo everything that he has worked for. One could also argue that his fear is living in somebody else’s shadow without being able to be his own man, or simply becoming an evil person. I’d say that his fear of becoming like Garmadon is, instead, a fear that one of his acts of goodness, perhaps one of his acts of good in Garmadon’s memory, would unintentionally force him into a lifetime of betrayal of himself.

Because Lloyd, as the son of Garmadon, the Green Ninja, and a public celebrity figure, has been watched and criticised for his every action from an incredibly young age. He is someone who rarely has the opportunity to see someone else eye-to-eye— he’s usually either looking up or looking down. So it makes sense that he would become hyper-aware of his every decision, given that most of them might have very real and perhaps very deadly consequences for either him or the people that look up to him. It isn’t only that he would be weighing his every decision as ‘good’ or ‘evil’, it’s that he would be doing that analysis from a very fundamentally complex point of view, chaotic in its conception between his indoctrination as a child at evil boarding school, overarching and reductive concepts in philosophy, and his own experience as a child navigating a very blurred line between concepts of good and concepts of evil, and likely the very early acceptance that ‘good’ and ‘evil’ are incredibly flawed categories of analysis coupled with the acceptance that those flawed concepts are still the vocabulary of the larger population, and he has very little ability, even with all the power in the world, to change that (going back to attitudes about violence and the use of violence as spectacle and the very underexplored use of entertainment and news media in the Ninjago world). So not only does he have to evaluate good and evil, he has to do so with his own theory and vocabulary (though the show doesn’t definitively gesture towards what they might be), again likely developed at a very young age, or conceptualised at a young age but not fully defined. Perhaps never fully defined, and constantly upheaved.

Which is likely not helped by knowing the story of how Garmadon became evil in the first place— one act of selflessness.

Which is likely not helped by knowing the story of how Morro became so hateful— one act of selfishness.

Considering, too, what else he may have learned or come to know about good and evil from his time being possessed by Morro, who he could have been so much like and who could have been so much like him.

So I say Lloyd’s fear is the looming potential that one act of selflessness or one act of selfishness could set him against all the principles that he believes, all the work he has done to become the person he wants to be, and all the memories of those he has lost along the way, best represented by the image of his father— who was lost down the same path after an act of selflessness, whose principles he adopted, who guided the work he did and shaped the image of the person he both wants to and has to be in so many different ways for so many years, and whose memory he honours in his own acts of selflessness. So continues the cycle.

This is I guess a really (really) long way to say that I can’t agree with character analyses that hinge on some desire of Lloyd’s to entirely (or to the fullest extent possible) reject his father and I will never forgive the later seasons for turning their relationship into “I hate you dad I will never turn into you dad” or “you’re evil now and I’m not” and sort of just leaving it there. Because it could continue to be so much more complex (and the first five seasons [or seven, depending on how one wants to read them] set up and executed it in a way that isn’t bad) but the new Ninjago writers are afraid of depth.

sort of just a tangent i don’t really have opinions about his hair

So lately I've been seeing a lot of fanart of lloyd with long hair and the more I think about it the better it is!?

Something that's been repeatedly established about lloyd is the similarities he's had to his father and while its mainly focused on personality it's clear they look alike as well. I mean garmadon and lloyd have the same haircut and it's a hair cut lloyd has for a good chunk of the show making him look really similar to young garmadon because of it. It has also been established that lloyd hates the idea of being like his dad and even gets terrified when he sees his oni form in his reflection because of that fear, which connects it back into his appearance.

This leads me to believe that he'd want to look completely different so he wouldn't have to see his worst fear every time he looks in the mirror. Growing out his hair is an Easy way to do that and it can tie back to his days at darkleys where he presumably got his hair cut the same way every time and didn't have much of a choice considering all the boys got either the same or a very similar haircut.

Lloyd growing it out long goes against both his past at darkleys and his resemblance to his father. This also makes him look more like his mother as a result and while a lot of people hate misako in this Fandom I think the relationship between her and lloyd has a lot of potential and connecting lloyd to his mother's side of the family is something I really wanted to see.

Like imagine misako braiding lloyds hair for him just like the way her mother taught her how too. They quietly talk and catch up with eachother about misako's latest exploration or lloyds new training regimen. It ends up becoming a routine for them every time they get reunited. Because hair holds memories and they want to hold the ones they make together close.

He'll even look more like the FSM!!

Anyways long rant but long-haired lloyd supremacy. Rather it's shoulder length and well kept or absurdly long like jinx's hair from arcane is it will always be famous in my heart.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 84: Alexander's Ending

Previous > Masterlist

tw: suicidal thoughts, abuse, blood drinking, temporary character death

November 1820

It must be nearing winter, because the manor was becoming chill and musty again, and Lex found himself needing a woolen blanket at night. From the few glimpses he had out of the windows, only brown and dry leaves were left on the trees, but there hadn't been snow yet. These were the ways he tracked the changing of the seasons, because he had only been outside of the manor three times in total since that night the Maestro had revealed his plan to turn him.

It was a dread that sat in his mind every day, and by now it felt more numb than fearful. He'd grown accustomed to it, just as he'd grown accustomed to his master's cruel punishments, something he thought would never happen. It was normal for his young body to ache with scars and bruises, his muscles crying out with fatigue. There were no mirrors here, but when he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection from a window, he could see that he was thin and pale, with dark marks under his eyes and a deadened expression. He looked more like a dead thing than like the handsome student who had once sang in a choir.

That other Lex, the one who had friends and talents and a promising future, would have been finished with his schooling by now. That was the Alexander who had been buried in the churchyard, that his parents and friends must have mourned.

One of the other thralls, one that was allowed out into the yard, had brought in firewood, and there was a meager fire burning in the hearth of the parlor. Lex had finished his dusting quickly, and he had enough time to spare a few moments by the fire, warming his hands, before taking his evening meal and moving on to his next task.

Truthfully, he probably could have spent even longer. The Maestro was in one of his rare moods where he didn't emerge from his chamber for weeks, only opening his door to admit a thrall to feed from. It meant no training, no punishment, a chance to heal and rest -- but not too much. Lex had once made the mistake of sleeping for an extra hour on one such occasion, believing his master wouldn't emerge from his room, and had caught an extra whipping. He didn't dare risk it again, and neither did any of the other thralls, broken things that shuffled quietly through the halls and never spoke to each other, following their inscribed routines like automatons.

Lex wished he could spend the whole evening warming himself by the fire, dozing, dreaming of nothing, but if he didn't tear himself away, he wouldn't have enough time to eat. With great reluctance, he made his way to the kitchen. No one had heated the stove today, so it was particularly frigid.

Lex was in no mood to heat the stove, either. The food deliveries had been ample lately, so instead he helped himself to a loaf of fresh bread. It was strange that his master had increased both the quality and quantity of the food, because no new thralls had been added to the household in some time, but none of them dared question a small bright spot in a bleak existence.

He slowly carved the bread with a knife. The knife was sharp and long.

He could plunge it into his wrists, or slit his own throat open, and be free.

As always, his hand trembled as he moved the knife to press against his flesh. He knew it was what he must do. He must do it before his master decided to turn him into a truly dead thing, condemning him to an eternity in this state of purgatory. That fate would be much worse than death, he knew.

There wasn't anything here worth living for, anyway. Each night only differed in the amount of punishment he endured. Nothing else ever really changed. He couldn't remember what sunshine felt like, could hardly imagine a warm touch. If he didn't take the only escape afforded to him, and soon…

All he had to do was muster his bravery and press down, opening up the veins that his master opened regularly. His precious, valuable blood would be spilled across the kitchen, pooling underneath him as he slept at last, for as long as he wanted. That is where his master would find him, the thrall who disappointed him one last time. One of the other thralls would bury him in the yard, a shallow grave in hard ground, and no one would mourn.

And he would be free.

But as always, he couldn't. Fear stayed his hand. Fear, and perhaps a longing for better that had dimmed but not gone out.

He returned to carving the bread, knowing that he'd come to regret his cowardice.

The bread and cheese were dry in his mouth, but he did try to enjoy it a little. Soon it would be winter, and the whole manor would be frigid, and he wouldn't be able to eat without his hands going numb. Soon his master would emerge from his torpor and resume the endless cycle of practice and punishment. Lex would continue to perfect his musical skills for an audience that would never be pleased.

The clock struck midnight.

One of the other thralls, an older man who resembled a skeleton, entered the kitchen. "Your presence is required in our master's chamber."

He wished to feed, then.

Lex followed behind the other thrall silently, steeling himself for the unique pain of his master's feeding. It was one thing that he couldn't quite get used to, his body instinctively rejecting the fangs that drained out his life. Still, it was over quickly, and he usually fell asleep against his will afterwards, forcing his master to leave him be for some time.

When he entered the chamber, his master was sitting on the bench at the foot of his bed, his eyes boring into Lex. There was something different about him, though -- Lex had become an expert at picking up his master's subtle moods, out of sheer necessity. There was something almost sad in those eyes. He beckoned Lex forward.

"Alexander," he said, "tonight is the last night I will feed from you. Tonight is your final night as a human."

And all at once, the cold fear returned to Lex. All at once, he felt so dizzy he thought he might pass out, so nauseous that he might evacuate his food. His time was up. He would die, and a monster would arise in his place, a monster still bound to his master, birthed into misery. Would the monster even remember being human? Or would he believe that this was all there was, no world beyond the cold, dark manor?

"No, sir," he said, surprising himself with his first act of actual defiance in years. "I don't want to be one of your kind. Please, simply kill me instead."

The Maestro's eyes hardened, but he didn't slap Lex -- not that it would have mattered if he did. No punishment his master could administer would be as awful as the promise he'd made that day in front of Lex's grave.

"I will do as I please with you, as you are my property," he said. "And you will be my property forevermore, until the day I return to dust."

"Please, sir, please," he said. It'd been so, so long since he had actually begged. "I've tried so hard to be perfect. I've attended to all of my lessons, I've done all of my assigned work, I've fed you my blood -- is none of that worth anything?" Hot tears were streaming down his face now. "Have I not ever pleased you, sir?"

It must have been Lex's desperate imagination, but for one brief moment he saw something in his eyes, something other than anger and hardheartedness. "You have," he said finally, "or else I wouldn't consider this."

"Then please, sir, if you have even a shred of mercy for me, please allow me to live at least a little longer."

Lex was a fool to have any hope. He'd spent so much time surgically extracting it from every corner of his thoughts, and he knew that mercy was a foreign concept to his master. And yet, the way his master actually seemed to consider the request --

"If such mercy was not shown to me," he said, "then why should it be shown to you?"

"If you understand my position, sir, then why would you do this?" Lex said.

"I have no intention to explain it to you."

"But it's my life, sir, I deserve --" Lex's mouth was clamped shut.

"You deserve nothing," said the Maestro, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and pulling him in close. "After all these years, have you forgotten your gratefulness?"

Lex wanted to protest that he'd never be grateful for this, even if he were punished for it, but he was no longer able to speak.

"If you think that your insolence will steer me from my chosen course, you are gravely mistaken," he said, as though reading Lex's mind. "You will be still, you will be obedient, and you will die when I choose."

Lex's body was made to maneuver into position, sitting rigidly with head slightly tilted to expose his neck, a vessel from which to drink. Lex himself was trapped inside, in bindings strong as iron chains, unable even to struggle against the end. He thought back to the knife, wishing he would have had the courage to protect what remained of him.

And now, he'd be condemned to hell for his cowardice.

His master's fangs slid into his flesh, the familiar pain made so much sharper by the knowledge of what was to come. All the stoicism and numbness he'd carefully cultivated over the years he'd been trapped here, all of his defenses against the mundane horrors, all of them were crumbling now that the end was near.

Lex's imagination filled with all of the things that were lost to him, the things he had shut away and not allowed himself to think about. He thought of his room at the university, reading a book by the warm fireplace. He thought of crisp autumn days and warm summer evenings. He thought of his parents' house, of his mother's embrace. He'd been safe and happy then, and he hadn't appreciated it properly, regrets burning in his heart.

And his master drank, and drank, and drank, and drank.

Just as Lex was sure it would never end, the fangs left his neck, leaving behind a throbbing pain. Frozen in place, Lex could only watch as his master pulled his silver knife from his coat and used it to slit his own wrist, opening his vein, an action that might have killed him if he were human. A drop of deep red blood welled up, and it was pressed to Lex's unwilling lips.

It tasted putrescent, and Lex wanted more than anything to push it away, to prevent the infection from entering his own body. But it was no use - his lips and tongue and even his throat were manipulated to force him to swallow. Lex could feel his body trying to retch and being stopped unnaturally. Although it could only have been a few drops, Lex felt as though his throat were coated in it.

His master returned to drinking. He didn't make any additional wounds, instead simply drawing more of Lex's blood through the punctures he'd just made, and it wasn't long before Lex grew weak and woozy. A profound sense of drowsiness flowed over him as his body began to give up. If the sleep were merely death, Lex might have welcomed it. But he was about to enter a nightmare, and so he fought with the last of his strength to stay awake.

He was so cold.

Lex struggled to keep his weary eyes open even as his mind fogged and his strength flagged. The room seemed to be fading from sight, almost as if he were floating far away. He couldn't feel the pain, he couldn't feel the fear.

Perhaps tiring of Lex's fruitless struggles, his master paused for a moment to whisper in his ear, "Sleep, Alexander."

It was the last thing he knew.

Previous > Masterlist

Next week, Alexander turns.

Thanks for reading and for all your comments! The last chapter was difficult for me so it was good to get so many nice words about it.

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[homosexualgirlandbags]

Nikolai would rather die than admit that he was panicking right now.

Middle of the night, after him and Price have just had a quick shag, the both men are in a pile on the bed, forgoing clothes in exchange for the comfort of knowing that they were both still alive. Nikolai could feel his love gently snoring on him, his chest grumbling with every breath he took. He can feel his stubble gently poking his chest, the serene look on John's face as he quietly snores the night away. His arms lazily tucked underneath the pillow and around him, trapping him under layers of heat. For all purposes, he would have normally fallen asleep by then, sure ending himself to the blissfulness of dreams.

And yet Nikolai couldn't sleep. Eyes boring into the ceiling fan lazily spinning above him. His chest felt tight, with an uncomfortable feeling dawning down on him the longer he kept himself awake. The clock ticks on slowly in the background, reminding him that he really should be sleeping right now instead of thinking about the past.

Nikolai sighs, closing his eyes before the screams of the innocent rings in his ears again, causing him to open them up again, breath still heavy from the screams of children running beside him, behind him. He could feel his legs getting grabbed by tiny hands that will never grow up, trying desperately to find solace in something as they ran out of the building with other 20 something's soldiers, all of whom were now peacefully asleep on the ground, 6 feet under. He could feel the sweat between his brows, far too much like the ones dripping down back in Russia, his chest growing more heavier with each breath he took.

He had been an idiot back then, thinking he could have changed the world for the better by joining the military, thinking he could at least make his family proud about one thing for once in his life. He had stupidly signed up for the military, a young 20 something, clean shaven Nikolai, signing papers he didn't read through enough, didn't know what he was signing up for-

Nikolai couldn't feel the tears slowly dripping down from his eyes, too occupied with ghosts of the past running with him. Breathing was much harder now, and he swears he could almost see the silhouettes of the children he had failed to save, shadows of men who are all quietly berating him for living the life he has, questioning why he didn't die alongside them, why he had been the lucky one to survive. He glances up at the ceiling, trying to find something for his mind to latch onto, only to find nothing but more painful reminders of his failures.

His shallow breathing only serves to distract him from the fact that John was awake, hands already gently cupping his face, lips kissing on the tear streaks on his face. The Brit was laying next to him now, slowly angling his body to face him. Nikolai was forced to tear his gaze away from the shadows, instead now focusing on the man beside him, bed tossled hair and soft blue eyes staring back at him.

They both don't speak that night, Price staying quiet as he held the normally undeterred russian against him, letting him sob and rant against his chest in different languages all night long, only getting up once to grab a pitcher of water for Nik. He stays silent as the russian spoke, words spewing out between sobs and hiccups as he recalls details of the incident, describing every single detail on the kids faces as they ran. John keels Nikolais head tucked against him, noting down everything he said, his voice soothing the russian fears of the past, gently reassuring his actions and bringing the russian back to reality.

Both of them don't talk about that night the morning after, going on about their usual schedules while Nikolai ignores the ever growing pit of guilt in him.

Still, he doesn't miss the way Price quietly pats his back on nights where his guilt catches up onto him, silently assuring him that he'll stay no matter what.