#and by god if i have to make the trek from the bathroom to my room im GOING to have warm clothes

[bumblingbabooshka]

The sentence “Mark Johnson and T’Pel are here again, sir” becomes every Starfleet admiral’s worst nightmare.

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

Being clean <<< putting clothes directly from the heater on when you're cold

[revrover]

The Stranger - Pt 1

Part Two | Part Three

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Language, blood, brief mentions of violence and alcohol

Summary: Upon discovering the unconscious body of a woman floating in the water, you rush to provide aid. Little do you know her people are searching for her, bringing a mysterious man to your door.

A/N: Still very new to writing fanfic (this is literally post number two), but couldn’t get this drabble out of my brain for a week so here it is. Please be kind! 

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

It’s close to dusk when you make your way from town back to your home on the secluded shoreline. With food and supplies in a bag slung over your shoulder, it will be another two or three days before you head back to restock. Although a fair distance, you have come to cherish the 5-mile trek into town. Walking along less traveled paths, visiting with the locals, and admiring the breathtaking nature around you have become some of your favorite things about living on the island. 

As the sun steals its last glimpse over the horizon, the vibrant orange and purple hues stretching across the sky begin to dim. The outline of a small bungalow comes into view about a hundred meters down the way. The warm glow of lanterns you hung before you left shines from the front porch, welcoming your return. 

You stumbled across this place two years ago, abandoned and needing major repair. Maybe it was just your nature to see the beauty and potential in broken things, but as soon as you laid eyes on the residence, your heart was set on it. Wrapped around the front is a porch with stairs that lead down onto a stone path, eventually making its way to the sand. Through the front door, an open entryway and a small kitchen are situated to the left accompanied by a simple sitting area. To the right is a doorway that leads to your bedroom and bathroom. It's a humble home, but you've worked hard to make it comfortable.

As you walk the familiar pathway toward the bungalow, you look out at the ocean. You watch as the water dances its way up the beach with every push and pull of the tide, waves gently lapping their way up onto the sand to make a melodic rhythm. You breathe in the salty air and revel in the beauty the island so generously offers. 

The moment of serenity is interrupted when, out of the corner of your eye, you notice something just past the wave breaks. You squint as you try to focus your gaze to ensure the evening shadows aren't playing tricks on you. A shiver shoots down your spine. 

There's something floating in the water. Only, it's not something. It's someone.

"Oh my god," you say in disbelief, your eyes widening as you feel the air rush from your lungs. 

You react on pure instinct, immediately dropping your bag to the ground and sprinting into the water. Taking a deep breath, you plunge straight into the waves, pumping your arms and kicking your legs until they burn. You swim as hard as you can toward the body as it floats face down. 

When you reach it, you fear the worst. Quickly you turn it over to check for a pulse and discover it is a woman. Her frame is small, but she's solid and muscular. Body adorned with beautiful gold and jade trinkets, she appears to be wearing some sort of woven armor. You also notice her raven-black hair tied in a knot on top of her head, and a mesh-like apparatus covering her nose and mouth.

You carefully cradle the woman's head, lifting it out of the water.

"What the hell??" You mutter in shock. 

Right before your eyes, part of the woman’s face that is now exposed to the air turns a pale pigment of blue. She seems human enough, yet the way the blueness of her skin contrasts with its golden tones underneath the ocean surface makes you question what she might be instead.

All thoughts are pushed aside, however, the moment your attention is drawn to the sight of blood. Two gouges, a laceration across her shoulder, and a wound to her abdomen are seeping red into the salt water. She’s in poor condition and time is not on your side.

Doing your best to grapple her body, you kick your feet and pull the woman back to shore. The tide's added assistance gives you both the momentum needed to propel you toward the beach. As soon as you are able to stand, you turn and haul her body the rest of the way out of the ocean. 

Gently you lay her on a patch of dry sand as you take a moment to catch your breath. Your chest repeatedly rises and falls, your lungs straining for more oxygen. Staring at her now, you feel your heart nearly pounding out of your chest as the rest of her body turns the same shade of blue as her face. You shake your head as you fight back both your fear and curiosity. Whatever the woman's origins, tending to her wounds is your main priority. Help her now, and ask questions later.

Still unconscious, you reach up to remove the apparatus over her face, preparing to administer CPR. Suddenly, her arm shoots out and grasps your wrist, scaring the shit out of you. With unbelievable strength, she restrains any movement your hand could possibly make. Her eyes are wide and intense, pupils dilated.

"Okay, okay, I won't mess with it!" You promise. Her grip slackens as her eyes roll to the back of her head, losing consciousness again.

You rub your wrist, the bruise already forming. Deciding it would be best to move her from behind, you link yourself under her arms and pull her towards your home, unwittingly leaving a trail of sand and blood behind you. 

Making it to the bungalow, you manage to get the woman inside and onto your kitchen table. She's breathing, but it's shallow. Quickly, you grab all the first aid and sewing supplies you can scrounge out of the cabinets. You swipe a bottle of tequila from the shelf above the sink for good measure. Then you get to work to patch her up the best you can.

You clean the wound on her abdomen first, as that's where the bleeding is most prominent. Disinfecting it, applying pressure, then sewing it up, you focus meticulously on the needle in your hand, threading it back and forth through her skin. Once you finish, you fashion a bandage to soak up the excess blood.

The sky is dark as you move on to her shoulder to do the same. It feels like hours have gone by as you continue dressing the woman's wounds. It’s well into the night now, and the only light reflecting off the ocean for miles is from the moon and the lanterns of your home.

That's when he finds you.

A dark figure emerges from the water. He surveys the scene in front of him, eyes filling with rage as his focus dials in on the bloody trail leading up to your door. Spear in hand and body seething with anger, he marches towards your little house. 

Just as you clip the thread used to sew up the woman's shoulder and begin to apply another bandage, you're startled by a deafening CRASH!

Behind you, your front door gets obliterated. Through it, storms a man who quickly steps over the wooden debris that now litters the floor. His presence swallows the room as water drips off of his body. His eyes lock on to yours. 

"Holy shit!" You exclaim in terror. Before you know what is happening, he has made his way over to you, aggressively backing you up against the kitchen cabinets. 

Face-to-face with you now, he holds the tip of his spear to your throat, grazing your skin with it threateningly. He leans in so close you smell the salty ocean spray that covers his dark skin and can practically see your reflection in the cold piece of jade pierced through his septum. His breath is steady, but his glare is wild and ferocious. You raise your hands, attempting to show you mean no harm, only you don't account for the fact that your arms are covered in the woman's blood. His look becomes more menacing. 

"What have you done?" He growls, his voice low and dangerous. A fire is burning in his eyes as they widen with rage. 

"I'm helping her! I'm helping her!" is all you manage to say as you plead your case to the mysterious, hostile stranger. 

His stare remains intense as you feel the growing pressure of the cold metal spear against your throat. Everything inside you is screaming, telling you to close your eyes and that one way or another it will all be over soon. But you don't - you hold your ground and hold his gaze, searching his face for any shred of hope that he will spare your life.

The man's eyes flick over to the woman on the table, taking in more of the scene. As his head turns, you notice his pointed ears and beautifully hand-carved gauges made of jade. He turns his head slowly back to you, looking at you this time as if deliberating in his mind whether or not you are telling the truth. 

Again he leans in close, and you hold your breath as you await his final verdict. 

"You will speak of this to no one." It's not a question. It's a command.

You nod, willing to agree to anything at this point if it means not having your jugular sliced open.

"You will forget this night, and what you have seen."

Again you nod.

He keeps the spear pointed at your throat while carefully backing away toward the table. Your heart is pounding out of your chest as adrenaline pumps through your veins. You don't dare move a muscle.

The man retreats, withdrawing his spear and scooping up the woman who looks so petite in his arms. He carries her through the doorway but stops to look back at you. He says nothing, but his eyes are deadlocked on yours. You can’t describe or decipher the electric sensation that runs through your body at that moment, so you chalk it up to being in shock. 

Finally, he turns to leave, seemingly floating down to the shoreline with the woman securely in his arms. You watch as they disappear into the ocean and the night. 

Left alone, surrounded only by silence, the stinging memory of a blade against your neck, and a buzzing in your chest, you look around the empty kitchen. Blood and first aid supplies cover your table; debris that was once your front door now lays scattered across the floor, a draft gliding its way through your home. 

Your mind is still processing everything that has happened. Physically and emotionally, you are exhausted. 

"Screw it," you say out loud, grabbing the tequila still on the table and taking a swig straight from the bottle. "I'm going to bed."

--

You wake up the next morning as the sun is starting to rise and feel just as exhausted as when you had fallen asleep. Your mind is hazy. Your body is sore. You get up and pull on a fresh shirt and some shorts before making your way out of your bedroom. Groggily you shuffle through the entryway and into the kitchen to greet last night's mess. 

Only a few steps into the kitchen, however, you stop. Blinking a few times, you rub your eyes. On the table, where bloodied gauze, cloths, sewing needles, and the works had been scattered, now sits your bag next to a neat pile of the food and supplies you had gathered from yesterday's trip into town. You look down at your feet to discover a clean, debris-less floor. Moving in reverse, you pace a few steps back into the entryway and turn your head. Stunned, you see a new, beautifully carved wooden door in place of where your old one had been kicked down the night before.

You pinch your temples as you try to convince yourself you're not losing your mind. You move closer to inspect the door. Eyes full of wonder and amazement, you run your fingers down its wooden grooves. The surface is smooth as stone, yet the grain in it gives the material a richness that makes your jaw drop as you admire it. 

Before you can even ask yourself how it was possible, you open the door and your breath catches in your throat. The man from last night is sitting there on your front porch, legs hanging off the edge of it, looking out at the softly illuminated horizon. 

"I apologize about the door." He says, still facing the ocean. 

Fear takes over as you find yourself frozen in his presence. He senses your uneasiness and, still seated on the edge of the porch, turns toward you. He raises one hand to the air as a sign of his peaceful intention.

"I promise I am not here to bring harm to you... or your home," he adds, his eyes trailing toward the doorway. You say nothing, equally stunned and confused by his being there. 

"I am sorry for threatening you," he says, his voice turning somber. "I didn't know what you were doing to her."

"Is she okay?" You ask, finally finding your voice. "Your wife?"

He lets out a sharp chuckle. 

"Namora isn't my wife, she's one of my generals -- my best, in fact. And yes, she is okay, thanks to you."

A general. You avert your gaze, feeling foolish for assuming incorrectly. Suddenly the events of last night take on a different tone than what you had perceived.

"We had been searching for her for two days." The man continues to explain, "When I finally traced her whereabouts here and found her with you, I assumed the worst." He looks back out toward the ocean. "History has not typically been kind to my people in these types of situations."

You feel your chest tighten as the weight of his words sinks in. Your eyes wander from the ground up to the stranger. You watch as beads of salt water forge paths on his skin, rolling from his dark slick hair down the toned muscles of his back. 

"Who... are your people, exactly? Who are you?" You find the courage to ask.

He turns back to look at you, raising an eyebrow in your direction as he considers his answers.

"There are some who know me as K’uk’ulkan." He says thoughtfully. "But most know me as Namor." Pushing himself up to a stand, he continues, "As for my people, that is a discussion for another time." 

Namor walks up to you, and once again you find yourself face-to-face with him. Only this time his presence is not menacing, it's hypnotizing. 

"Thank you," he says softly, "for what you did. It will not be forgotten." 

There's a rich sincerity in his voice. Mesmerized by it, all you can muster in response is a nod of your head. A slight smile pulls at the corners of Namor's mouth as he closely studies your face. The light of the morning sun reflects in his eyes, and where you had only seen brooding darkness before, you now see shimmering flecks of gold. Everything about him is beautiful. 

"You are not what I expected." He says warmly, leaning in closer as if the two of you are sharing a secret. He lingers there a moment longer. Then, all too soon, he nods and turns to head down the stairs of your front porch. As he reaches the end of the stone walkway, he stops before stepping out onto the sand. 

"Remember," he says, repeating his instructions from your encounter last night, only gentler. "Speak of this to no one."  

"Will you be back?" You ask earnestly. You don't know what prompts your question, other than the thought of his departure suddenly pulling at your soul in a way you can't explain.

He turns back to look at you and smiles. You return it with a smile of your own. No words are needed for you to know that somehow, someday, you would see him again.

You watch from the porch as Namor strides out into the water and disappears below the surface. The sun glimmers brilliantly across the waves as they engulf him in their deep abyss. 

[tacticaldiary]

Gentle Hands

Request: Hey there! I love your writing so much and I was wondering if you could have some Johnny MacTavish brainrot with me. Johnny comes home from a looooong deployment and he wants to do nothing but collapse on the bed or couch. Until he sees our dear reader, cuddled up in their bed with one of his shirts on a pillow she’s cuddling. He can smell his cologne on the fabric and…whatever happens after that is up to you!

Pairing: Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Genre: Fluff (You deserve it after the marathon of angst I've been feeding you)

"You're sore?" She asks, taking a second to look him over slowly, and goddamn if it doesn't make him shiver.

"Nothing a few days with my girl won't fix." He says, trying to lean up again, groaning when she leans back out of reach. "Bonnie, your killin' me-"

A/N: The way I scrambled to write this the second I could, there's always time for Soap brainrot in this household

Masterlist

Sometimes he thinks the pinging of bullets ricocheting off of metal follows him out of the battlefield. It's the only explanation for the ever present tension in his shoulder after a long gruelling mission.

Soap sighs, stretching out a shoulder while he digs his house keys out from his duffel bag. The keys feel cool and foreign against his fingers as he clumsily slots them in a turns the lock.

It's been nine weeks since he's unlocked his front door.

Haphazardly pushing off his shoes in the entryway, he throws his bag onto the floor and peers farther into the house. Despite his exhaustion, a smile finds itself on his face at the prospect of seeing her again.

God, he misses her. It was difficult to contact anyone outside of his team when on a mission, even moreso when they were black. The fear of their lines being tapped and tracked is very real, and Soap would rather wait a few weeks to see her than compromise her safety and theirs by allowing himself one fleeting moment with her.

"Bonnie? You there?" He calls out, stepping into the kitchen. Empty. He fights the urge to collapse onto the couch when he checks the living room, the lack of sleep catching up on him.

He's surprised he's still standing, honestly. The OP he'd been on had been in a far mountain range, a lot of trekking and camping out in the middle of a humid, highly vegetated area. Visibility had been rough and they'd taken turns sleeping a couple of hours before they continues trekking towards the enemy safehouse they were aiming to ambush.

He hadn't been able to sleep on the chopper back either, buzzing with the knowledge that he'd finally see her again after months and months.

A damn real bed seemed like heaven after resting on a rough muddy floor for weeks.  

It was the middle of the day, but she was nowhere in the house. Not in her favourite armchair by the fireplace, nor in the garage or any of the bathrooms. He frowns a little. She could be out, then?

It's not until Soap pushes open the door to their bedroom that the next call of her name dies in his throat immediately.

His hand slips off the doorknob, hangs by his side as he takes in the sight, a soft grin on his lips.

There she was, sound asleep, arms cuddled around a pillow that had one of his t-shirts stretched around it. She looked so peaceful, face half obscured by the way she'd nuzzled into the fabric.

Letting out a breathy chuckle, he tries to make minimal noise as he shucks off his shirt and sits on the bed next to her.

Huffing under his breath, he gently tugs the pillow out of her grasp, slides in next to her, adjusting himself until her face is tucked into his neck, not any different from how she was with that pillow.

As if on instinct, her body relaxes, sinking into him and curling closer.

Bliss.

Utter bliss.

A deep, satisfied rumble in his chest as he relaxes, holding the woman he loves so much in their room, their bed, with clean sheets and a heart full of love, is what prompts her to wake up.

With a small groan, she makes a move to pull what she thinks is her pillow closer, but what she grabs isn't a feather-filled soft cushion.

Hard muscle meets her palm, strong and familiar.

"Pawin' at me already, hen?" The deep, tired voice in her ear has a pleased shiver running down her spine, and her eyes fluttering open quickly. "I barely made it through the door."

"Johnny?" She mumbles, eyes widening as the hand around her waist tightens in response. "Johnny!" She pushes herself up on her knees in surprise.

Sure enough, laying right in front of her was the man in the flesh, smiling up lazily, satisfied with her reaction. With a happy squeal, she lunges forward, hugging him tightly. She giggles when he catches her by the waist, sighing into her shoulder and clutching her body to his tightly.

He lets her straddle his waist, looking down at him like she couldn't quite believe it. Her hands roam over his chest as if to assure herself that he was there, actually under her, that he was home.

They lock eyes for a moment, and neither of them knows who moves first but they pull each other into a hard kiss, moving against each other with a practiced familiar ease.

"Missed you," She mumbles against his lips as he runs a hand through her hair. He hums, lets her pull away and cup his jaw. "Missed you so damn much, Johnny."

"I know, baby. Seem like ya had my spot covered though." He grins teasingly, stroking her hair and nodding to the shirt-clad pillow on the ground.

The way she goes red is adorable.

"I told you I missed you." She mumbles. "It just...it still smelled like you, helps me when I miss you more than usual, you know?" She admits. A small pang of sadness hits him at the knowledge that she missed him enough to resort to this...makeshift Soap?

"I missed you too. This is one hell of a welcome." He smiles up at her, squeezing her waist.

She shakes her head but can't chase away the smile on her face. He was home. Johnny, her Johnny.

"Stay around and there'll be much more of that." She teases.

"Minx." He groans, propping himself up on his elbows to bring her into another kiss. As he's doing so, the ache in his shoulder tightens and he winces, a movement not missed by her. She stops him with a hand on his chest.

"You're sore?" She asks, taking a second to look him over slowly, and goddamn if it doesn't make him shiver.

"Nothing a few days with my girl won't fix." He says, trying to lean up again, groaning when she leans back out of reach. "Bonnie, your killin' me-"

"You look like shit, Johnny." She says bluntly, watching him pause to gape at her in mock offense. "You need to rest tonight, okay? Let me take care of you." Much to his dismay, she slides off of him, prods at his shoulder ordering him to flip over.

Too tired to argue, he turns onto his stomach with minimal protest.

Soap truthfully does look like hell; tired, dark circles lining his eyes, but the desire to have her close in any way he can clouds any and all other thoughts. "You know I love ya on top of me, but might I ask what you're doing?"

Johnny presses his cheek to the cool pillow to glance over at her curiously. He watches her straddle his back, her weight tearing a small sigh out of him, his aching muscles relaxing under the soothing weight.

"Nine weeks haven't taken your voice away yet, I see." She rolls her eyes, hands travelling up his bare back to his shoulders. Her eyes linger on those strong muscles she's felt countless times under her hands, her nails, her mouth...

"It takes more than that. Besides, ya love my voice-" She chooses that moment to press into one of the tight knots in his back, red flushing up her neck at the deep, surprised groan Johnny cuts his sentence off with. His head drops into the pillow, his back going up and down with a deep breath.  

Love his voice she does. She certainly does.

Her hands knead at the tension in his back, his shoulders, working out the knots built from weeks of stress.

Here. This moment right here. It makes the weeks of loneliness worth it. Days spent without him, waking up to an empty cold bed with only the remnants of his belongings scattered around the house to occupy her thoughts. It was all worth it when she got to feel the warm press of his skin against hers, when she got to welcome him back like this and spend the rest of her days with him.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, as they claim.

Her lips press gentle kisses down his spine as she works, soft presses that convey more love than she could ever verbalise.

"I fucking love you." He breathes. Goosebumps flash across his skin when she smiles, kissing the back of his neck. It warms her from the inside out.

"I love you too." She responds quietly, resuming her work. She kisses every mark, every freckle, and blemish, replacing every memory of harsh shoves and painful encounters with a gentle, loving touch. It reminds him that through the horrors he saw every time he strapped his gear on, there would always be people as good as her in the world. Untouched by darkness and willing to love someone like him, someone with so much damn blood on his hands.

Seemingly satisfied by her assurance, he relaxes, relishing the press of her hands against him. The room falls into a comfortable silence, mostly because he's too tired and blissed out to fill it with his usual chatter. A couple of minutes later, he's putty under her hands, languid and relaxed, his shoulders devoid of the tension he came in with.

It's only when his back rises and falls, deep and steady that she slides off of him.

He's fallen asleep, she notes with a smile. At ease, he's a sight to behold. She pulls the warm blanket over both their forms, shuffling close to him.

Johnny's arm comes around her, pulling her close instinctually. His soft mumble is incoherent.

He sought out her nearness, even when unconscious.

The press of his body is familiar, so achingly familiar. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his body lull her to sleep, comfortable and relieved.

She drifts off knowing that the next time she woke up it would be in his arms. Loved, protected, and cherished.  

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Comment and Like!

(15/07/2023)

[meatonfork]

Thank you so much for fulfilling my platonic TF141 dreams!!, you can't imagine how bad i need a platonic relationship with them and how hard it's to find similar content for god's sake you're a true saviour 💗 If your RQs are open can i ask for a teenage/young adult reader (17-21)? Where the reader was a hostage before they got rescued by the TF141 and for some reason the reader has to stay with them temporarily for their own safety? I can see the reader bonding with them like some kind of family after the reader was closed off bc of Thier trauma, I also imagine the team giving the reader some kind of code name as a way to make them feel welcomed 💗

thank you for this idea! so lovely, i hope this is up to your needs! :’)

———————————————————————————————————————

Found Family

pairings: platonic 141 x grim

warning: hostage situation, grim is scared of big storms, usual cod violence

summary: the story of grim’s call sign, and how they joined tf141

———————————————————————————————————————

you were only 17 when you enlisted. you felt an obligation to your, now dead, family to serve. to help protect others.

you later found it to be one of the best decisions ever made. pretty smart if you asked yourself.

but, at the time you were constantly overlooked because of your small stature.

for about a year, you never had a call sign. just your last name. it never really bothered you, until now.

now you were caught in a stupid safe house after a task force had to come get you after being captured mid-mission.

they were all nice, except the guy with the skull mask. he didn’t talk much.

a large storm had stopped the team and yourself from being able to leave the area. your next best option was some safe house that ghost knew of.

trekking through the woods in a huge storm with minor injuries- cuts, scrapes, and bruises, was the last thing you wanted to do. but, you really didn’t have a choice.

“what happened to you, kid?” price’s voice was raised so you could hear him over the wind.

“fuckin’ teammate threw me back towards the enemy. got caught.” you were pissed, and your tone made that clear.

price nodded, letting out a hum.

“you got a call sign yet?” soap’s voice cut in this time.

“nah. no one bothered to give me one.” you shrug, but it secretly bothered you. you were the only one in your squad without one.

“you’ll get one soon, don’t worry.”

you nodded and continued following ghost.

a loud clap of thunder made you jump. you lost your footing, but ghost’s large hand quickly snapped out and grabbed your arm.

“you good?”

“yeah. hate storms.”

“we’re all scared of somethin’.” his tone wasn’t comforting, but you tell he was trying to be.

“yeah, i know.”

you finally made it to the safe house, quickly rushing to the bathroom to change out of your soaked clothes.

walking out, you saw everyone sitting on a couch, also changed. you joined them, sitting in a chair, making yourself comfortable.

gaz quickly spoke up, “how you feelin’ now?”

“warmer. definitely war-“ another clap of thunder interrupted you.

“you’re good, just a storm.” he offered a reassuring smile, but it didn’t do much to calm your nerves. your small hands unconsciously started to shake.

“let’s come up with a call sign, yeah?” soap could see your nerves from a mile away. hell, if he tried hard enough he could probably smell them.

“uh, yeah. sure!” you smiled softly at him, tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“you got any strong character traits? embarrassing stories?”

“uhhh… no.” you frowned. “i mean, im pretty small, obviously, but i don’t want to be known for it. you lot can already see it.” your voice wavered slightly as the storm continued raging. rain beat down on the windows like a continuous line of drums.

“yeah, that’s reasonable. hmm.” this time gaz tried making names for you.

this continued for a long while, usually ending in laughs at how ridiculous their ideas were.

ghost even chimes in with ‘bee’ because you were so small, but seemingly could hold yourself, but your distaste for them quickly shut that down.

“oh! one time, on a mission, my squad ran into some real trouble. we couldn’t get backup, it was too compromised. we were stuck in this warehouse, the enemy had us cornered. only me and one other teammate were in the room. we got split off. anyway, he was injured bad. like, on the verge of death, bad.” you were talking animatedly. hands moving about and face scrunching. the boys sat quietly. this was the most you’ve talked, having been too nervous all night.

“he couldn’t do much to help us. i was just a rookie, little experience, but enough to get by with backup. when i saw at least five men coming up to us, i panicked. i guess i just stopped thinking. i blacked out, don’t remember much. but when i clocked back in, my partner looked terrified, yet amazed.” your voice was growing softer.

“there was blood everywhere. i couldn’t tell what was mine or their’s. all he said was, ‘jesus. that was fucking grim. you good?’ i think about it quite often.” your movements slowed, and your eyes glazed a bit.

“damn, kid. i think i found a name for ya.” ghost finally chimes in. a chuckle left price.

your small figure, curled in a ball, looked at all the men. most held amusement. amused that someone that small had the ability to take out so many men.

“glad to meet ya, grim.” soap’s smile was large.

“nice to meet you lot, too.” you gave one back.

———————————————————————————————————————

a/n: thanks for reading!! hope you enjoyed <3

[jjsmaybank20]

Hi friend! I hope you’re doing well!!! I love your writing and am so excited to read more reneè/Leighton fics! I was wondering if I could request a Leighton x reader where they’re at a party and the readers had a bit too much to drink and leighton takes them home and takes care of them and it’s really cuddly and sweet! Thanks so much!

Take Care

Leighton Murray x fem!reader

Summary: You get wasted at a party. Thank god your beautiful girlfriend is there to take care of you. 

Warnings: L-bomb, just fluff

Word Count: 529

A/N: Sorry it's so short! Hope you like it anyway.

navigation  the sex lives of college girls masterlist

---

“Leighttt…..” You drag out your girlfriend’s name as you drape your arm around the back of her chair, leaning heavily on it. Even before Leighton turns to face you, she can smell the alcohol on your breath. When she fully turns around, your face lights up because you can finally fully see her. “Guess what! I beat your bro-” Your sentence is interrupted by a hiccup, and you immediately lose your train of thought. You lean towards your girlfriend. “You have pretty eyes.” 

Leighton lets out an embarrassed laugh, looking at you with an adoring look in her eyes. When you turn around to walk away and promptly fall on your face, Leighton sighs and glances at her friends. “I’m gonna get her out of here before she can drink more.” They nod, barely trying to hide their laughter. Bela doesn’t even seem to be trying at all. 

Leighton grabs the undersides of your arms and struggles to pull your much larger frame up. When you are finally back on your feet, she throws your arm over her shoulder and begins the treacherous trek to her suite. You don’t make it any easier on her, with you tripping over your own feet and getting distracted by every little thing. 

The two of you finally make it to her building, and not a minute too soon. You sprint into the bathroom as best you can and kneel by the toilet as every type of alcohol you had consumed made its way back up. Leighton just sat next to you, keeping your hair out of your face and rubbing your back comfortingly. After a while, you leaned back. Leighton once again helped you to your feet and guided you to her room, where she helped you into some of the clothes that you left there (she stole them from you) and pulled you into her bed. 

As soon as she lays down, you immediately cuddle up to her. Your arms wrap around her waist and you pull her as close as physically possible. Leighton lets herself be pulled into you, and she begins to run her fingers through your hair, practically making you melt even more into her and causing you to let out sounds of contentment. 

The two of you lay like that for a while, and Leighton starts to think that maybe you had fallen asleep. Suddenly you shift around and mumble something inaudible. Leighton softly asks, “What was that, baby?” You shift again so that she can feel your breath on her face, and you quietly repeat, “Thank you for always taking care of me. I love you.” 

Leighton stares at you in shock, not expecting you to say your first ‘I love you’ to her. She finally smiles softly down at you, watching you drift into a deep sleep. “Say that again in the morning, baby. I’ll tell you I love you back then.” She sees you nod sleepily before you pass out, and she can’t stop the feeling of adoration that fills up her heart. You may be a mess sometimes, but she loves you, and she will always be there to take care of you.

---

@lovelyy-moonlight @pnsteblnme @nrm5656 @alotofpockets @theenglishswiftie @didyoubringauntienat @Emmie-223 @qutequeersstuff @marvelwomen-simp @sh1nnryuu 

If your name is crossed out, it means I couldn't tag you!

Join my taglist!

[winterspiderpurrs]

Frowning, Peter rolled over in bed, eyes still closed, trying to sort out what woke him . Moving to reach down and rub his lower abdomen area. The faint hint of pain was starting to bloom there, and he groans a little. It was a week before his heat was to start. With his senses dialed up, he always started feeling the cramps a week prior.

He cracks his eyes open and sighs. One of the perks of staying at the compound is that he had access to the good pain meds in the clinic they had here. Dragging himself out of bed, sluggishly moving to the dresser to find some pajama pants and a t-shirt to put on.

After they returned from the mission earlier in the night, he showered and just went straight to bed. For once, not even bothering with putting pajamas on. Made sense at the time, but now he regrets it as he has to dress to leave the room. Rubbing at his eyes as he slowly makes the trek toward the clinic in his tired state.

"Peter?"

The voice startles Peter, his eyes snapping up he blinks several times before tilting his head up to stare into the eyes of Bucky.

"Uh... what? I mean..."

Bucky raises an eyebrow and leans against the doorframe of his room. He already glanced around the empty dark hallway before looking back at the tired looking Peter.

" You knocked at my door at...3 in the morning."

Peter blinks slowly at Bucky, moving to rub at his lower abdomen.

" I... I am so sorry. I'm more tired than I thought... I was going to the clinic for some meds, and I... I don't know how I ended up here."

Bucky straightened up and frowned.

" You hurt? I thought you cleared medical after the mission? I have some spare pills in the room, but if you need to check-"

"No! I mean... I'm not injured just... ache? Sore yeah, that's the word. If you could spare a pill, that would be great... I just wanna get back to sleep. "

Peter laughs a little.

Bucky shakes his head.

" Yeah, yeah... let me get it. "

Bucky disappeared back into the room and headed to the bathroom. He moved some bottles around in the medicine cabinet and then found the custom pills that Bruce created for them. He got a pill out and stepped out of the bathroom and froze.

In the time he was in the bathroom, apparently Peter decided to crash in Bucky's bed. There on the bed is Peter, curled up hugging the pillow that Bucky was just sleeping on, eyes closed inhaling giving off a small purring sound.

Bucky retreats to the bathroom and closes the door.

" Friday? Call Steve.. no shit call Stark... no ...fuck... "

" Sargeant Barnes, I would advise that Mr. Stark would be the best course of action. Though I will have him review the footage of Peter leaving his room and coming to yours so he understands that you didn't bring Peter in, but I will alert Mr. Rogers as well with the instruction to not enter til AFTER Boss is in."

Bucky nods slowly. " Yeah.. okay... this is fuckin crazy"

As soon as he heard Peter knock, he should have just sent him away. But he had a soft spot for the beta. And when those big tired brown eyes looked upnat him. He was done for.

Not even 3 minutes has past before Bucky heard yelling.

" I don't care! My pup! Not yours! Peter??"

" Tony be reasonable! You saw the same video. Nothing happened. He was tired and clearly stating he thought he was going to the clinic. Buck was just helping him! "

" I'm sure he LOVES the idea of helping him,"

" What's that supposed to mean!?"

" It means that MY omega Pup, who is barely a week from his heat, is in private quarters with an ex assassin's alpha!"

"Mr. Stark!?"

The bathroom door swing opens, and both Bucky and Steve stare at Peter both stating the same thing.

" Peter is an omega?"

Peter is now sitting up on the bed, hugging the pillow close.

" Oh my god.... I.. I want wanted some pain pills..."

[arachine]

. . . tender wounds & soft kisses (won't you stay?) ; i. midoriya

── ˚₊✩‧₊ synopsis :: trouble comes knocking on your doorstep seeking salvation. the question is, do you answer it?

── ˚₊✩‧₊ general tags :: pro!hero au, angst, fluff

── ˚₊✩‧₊ content warnings :: fem!reader, mentions of blood + death but nothing explicit, reader patches his wounds, intense feelings, making out, 3k words

── ˚₊✩‧₊ notes :: part one of two (?) of a future mini series :3 next part will include filth pinky promise !

it doesn’t matter how many times he shows up at your door like this—battered and bruised, that is. you’ll never get used to it. you want to turn him away, to tell him he’d have better luck going to a hospital—but—it’s half past midnight, and it’s cold, and it’s raining, and…he doesn’t know where else to go. 

he knows you’re tired. can see it in the way you lean your head against the door frame, and the way you blink up at him with indifference, as if your eyes are telling him “come in now or i’ll leave you out in the cold”.  

with an appreciative smile, he enters through the door and brushes past you. takes his heavy, muddy boots off, one by one, and leaves them to sit in the foyer where they contrast starkly against your pristine-perfect ones. 

it’s a sight that’s starting to become all too familiar to you. sometimes it looks like there’s another person living here, like there’s someone to share the space with, but you know his presence is only ephemeral. you’d wish it weren’t, though. especially since he already knew the floor plan of your apartment like the back of his hand. 

even in the pitch-black dark, his steps are confident. calculated. familiar. he dredges down the corridor with impressive precision, and yields absolutely no qualms of bumping into your many awkwardly placed pieces of furniture. doesn’t even trip over the new coffee table you recently purchased. because instead of him doing the bumping and tripping, you do.

izuku comes to a sudden standstill in the middle of the living room, and you walk right into his back, knocking him forward a bit from the force.

“what’s wrong?” you question, trying not to let yourself sound too concerned, but it comes out more tender than anything. he breathes out a quick nothing, and continues the trek to your bathroom, wincing through gritted teeth while clutching his side. 

if he’s in pain, he won’t say it. which is another reason why you’ve come to resent his spontaneous fix-me-up visits. impatiently, you side step by him and rush to the bathroom. turn on the light and stand at the door frame with your arms crossed over your chest, like you were practically urging him to quicken his pace so he could be out of here faster.

but he takes his time. because despite the sharp-ache in his ribs, and the sting above his brow, he gets to see you. izuku midoriya gets to be touched by you. to be cleaned by you. patched up by you. sinewy muscles and bruised flesh, all taken care of by—you. 

so, yeah. he takes his sweet time getting to the bathroom—even if he’s five steps from getting there. he’ll make it ten. anything to make this last longer. 

“come on, i’m tired,” you say, turning on your heels to open the cabinet. “i’d like to get back into my comfy bed as soon as possible.” 

when you take a look inside the cabinet, you frown at the shortage of supplies you’re met with. which, honestly, shouldn’t even really surprise you—considering he was the one responsible for its barren state. 

regardless, you pluck what you can of what’s left, then set them down on the counter in the order of which you’ll use them: clean rag, soap, ointment, steri-strips, and gauze (in case there’s a bigger wound somewhere under his tattered clothes). 

from your peripheral, you can see his silhouette appear from out of the darkness, and you watch intently through the mirror as his now fully-illuminated body trudges behind you. god, he looks worse than he did standing under the light of your front porch. 

well, that’s what you think. prior, a good portion of his face had been enshrouded by night, so you couldn’t really make out anything worth noting—even if you wanted to, at least.

but now you bear witness to the hues of red that dance across his face; both from the inflamed capillaries underneath his skin, and the blood ribboning down the gash above his brow. 

“you know the drill.” your gaze is pointed, and you eye him through the mirror while dousing the rag under the warm running water. 

he comes to a halt in front of the toilet, grimacing once, then clutches his side protectively before bending down to sit. you note that too. 

“so…” a beat. “you gonna need help taking that off? or—“

“i’ve got it,” the green haired boy quips, moving to retract his arm from his side. 

you throw your hands up in defeat, and reposition yourself to lean against the sink’s ledge. your eyes trace every movement, and you watch amusedly as he pathetically struggles to remove his gloves, but eventually achieves. 

next, he attempts to tackle his zipper. a grimace. then, he attempts it again, only to withdraw in pain. 

“let me do it,” impatience on the tip of your tongue. you lunge forward to unzip the damn thing yourself because you can’t bear to watch any longer, small hand swatting his much larger one away. 

dropping to your knees, you sit between his legs and zip it down until the entirety of his torso is revealed. a solemn frown settles on your lips, and it takes everything in you to not shed a tear. 

gathering your wits, you continue undressing him, gently pulling each arm from its consecutive sleeve, before moving to unclasp the mask tugged down his neck.

“i hate when you do that,” your voice speaks up, replacing the unpleasant silence. there’s evident irritation laced in it, and he can’t help but to wince from the way it pulls his heart strings. 

“when i do what?” you take a brief moment before answering him. busy yourself with the loose thread hanging on the side of his leg pant, tug on it until you snap it off. “when you pretend you’re not in pain.” 

izuku sighs through his nose, something long and heavy. “i’m sorry,” he attempts at an apology, though he knows he’d have better luck convincing someone else who wasn’t accustomed to seeing him like this. 

“no you’re not, otherwise you’d stop waking me up in the middle of the night to tend to your wounds.” there it is. that venomous tongue of yours, the one that doesn’t hold back in telling him what he needs to hear. he can’t even counter it—so he takes it. leans back into the cool porcelain of the tank, and watches as you walk away to the sink, only to return with a stool and rag in tow. 

for a minute, you mull over which area of skin to tackle first, until you decide on prioritizing his torso. you take the damp rag and run it along the perimeter of his wound where there’s a culmination of dried blood and fresh red. his abs flex in response to the sensation, a sharp intake of breath.

“sorry,” you mutter without looking at him, eyes focused and hands working diligently between swipes. 

“nope, ‘m fine.”

“liar.”

“yeah,” he breathes. 

“how’d you get this one, huh? oh, wait, let me guess. off doing god knows what, at god knows where, chasing after some guy you’re not even authorized to be chasing.” 

you rise up from your seat to dispose of the rag, grabbing the remaining items on the counter. “did i get any of that right?”

izuku laughs, a small admittance. “i don’t think i’m at liberty to say.” 

scoffing, you plop back down in front of him, and carefully, begin cleaning the inside of the wound with a damp piece of gauze. every now and then, you check his face to gauge for any pain, but his relaxed expression is unfaltering. because he’s looking down at you with so much warmth it’s scalding.

his gaze feels like a thousand little pricks, makes you shiver from the intensity, and you silently pray he doesn’t catch it. though, it’s really wishful thinking on your part. he noticed most things, was just in his nature.

“what are you looking at?” all bite. his eyes shift from your face to the tiled floor. suddenly, the grout was starting too look interesting, in fact, when’s the last time you touched it u—

“n-nothing,” he stutters, warmth spreading across his face to the tips of his ears. 

“so weird…” your eyes flit up once, before refocusing on covering the wound in clean, dry gauze. 

in juxtaposition to your jagged edged words, you’re so gentle. delicate in everything you do, but especially so, when you’re handling him. it’s something that he’s come to find massively endearing, and he hates that the only time he’s a recipient of your attentiveness, is when he shows up at your door all bloodied and bruised. 

“shit, uh, can you hold this in place for a second? gonna get some tape.” 

izuku nods in compliance. follows with trained eyes as your frame disappears into the dark. then, the sound of a flicker follows suit shortly after, and the light—from what he presumes to be your room—illuminates the rest of the hallway. 

in the distance, he can hear the soft thud of feet padding back and forth between rooms, and can just about isolate the cacophonous sound of drawers opening and closing, along with muttered obscenities. 

the impending sound of footsteps announces your return, and you take your seat between his legs, this time with a roll of tape in tow. 

“and,” you drawl, “done. now let me look at that nasty gash on your face.” 

he scoots closer to the edge to give you a better look, and the pair of your knees knock together. neither of you acknowledge it, nor do you make an effort to move. the proximity has him reeling, but you seemingly remain indifferent. 

reaching up, you take hold of his chin and maneuver him intermittently as you prod and poke at the open flesh. suddenly, a feeling of sadness washes over you upon the realization that one day he might not even make it to your doorstep. that maybe this will be the last time you hold his beautiful face in your hands. that this will be the last time those kind, green eyes look up at you. the reality of the situation is that every day may very well be his last. 

when you stop your ministrations, he knows something’s up. “what is it? what’s wrong?” the intonation in his voice rising, displaying the sincerity of his concern. a calloused hand finds solace on the side of your cheek, and you careen into its warmth. 

“i don’t…i don’t know how many times i can keep seeing you like this,” you admit, voice straining at the effort it takes to quell your tears. 

izuku brings a second hand up to your face, cradles it in his calloused palms. swipes his thumbs soothingly over the apples of your cheeks and shushes you before a sob can erupt from your throat. 

“nonono, don’t get yourself all upset over me.”

“how can i not ‘zu?!”

“‘cause ‘m not worth it,” he spits, and it almost scares you how much he believes in the veracity of his statement. 

“‘not worth it’…” you repeat, “if you weren’t worth it, i wouldn’t let you keep coming back into my house. i wouldn’t patch you up…wouldn’t let you keep making me feel like this.”

“i’m sor—“

“don’t you fucking dare say sorry,” you get up abruptly, releasing yourself from his grasp. “god, you make me—you make me fucking crazy! can’t you see?” your hands go to reach the ledge of the sink, and you rock back and forth on anxious heels. 

forgetting the ache in his side, the pro-hero rises to his feet. he lets his weakened legs drag him to where you stand. your head is down, and your arms are out-stretched to support your weight. he can’t see your face, but he hears the beginnings of a sob. 

thoughts race through his mind a mile a minute. what should i do? he thinks. how can he console you? should he touch you? hold you? but what if you don’t want to be touched? he racks his brain for an answer, to no avail.  

for a while, he just stands there—because in the short distance he traveled, he didn’t really think of a plan. just acted on impulse. but then he sees a big cartoonish teardrop land on the counter and he loses it. 

unthinking, the greenette takes you into his hold. slots himself behind you like a puzzle piece and wraps you up, one arm across your chest, and the other over your middle. the sudden contact surprises you, but you make no contests. instead, you find yourself relaxing into his grip, and he takes that as a silent confirmation to squeeze you further into his embrace. 

“don’t cry,” izuku whispers into the interstice of your neck, “can’t bear it. don’t like it.” you raise your head to lay against his chest, and wrap your fingers around his forearm. his body radiates a warmth that you find wildly comforting. it’s intoxicating, almost. and now that you’ve had a taste of it, you’re not quite sure you’d be able to let go. 

but while the feeling is nice, it’s also equal parts scary and debilitating. because you weren’t a couple. you weren’t temporary lovers. you weren’t…anything, and yet—you fit like one. and that was scary. terrifying. 

it scared you how much space this person took up in your life; how little he gave in return, and how much of your heart belonged to him. and the worst part of it all? how scared he was to trust you with a scintilla of his. of all the years you’ve known izuku midoriya, this is the coldest you’ve known him to be. 

“alright, i’m better now. you can let go,” you speak, though the words that escape your lips directly conflict with what you really feel. 

don’t let go. don’t let go. hold me a little longer, please. 

reluctantly, the bigger man releases you from his firm grasp. he holds your gaze through the mirror, waits for you to start the conversation—which your eyes seem to have already started, because he swears that right now, they’re singing a song of sorrow.

“be honest with me, please. don’t you think i deserve that much?”

suddenly, the pain in his ribs throbs. his forehead falls to rest on your shoulder. he’s stalling. biding his time so that he can come up with an answer. 

“of course you do, you deserve the truth and so much more. but…”

“but,” you repeat plainly, because of course there’s a but. 

“—but there’s things that i just can’t tell you. and i know it sucks, and i know it sounds like a bunch of bullshit, but if something were to ever happen to you because of the information you knew, i literally wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” the words flow from his lips hurriedly, like if he doesn’t get it all out now, they’ll detonate inside of him. 

“you gotta just give me this, please, baby.” 

baby. 

babybabybaby. he called you…baby. your eyes widen like saucers at the pet name, and then it dawns on him that he let it slip through a fit of passion. 

“baby? uh, pft, i meant…” he tries to recant the part in his spiel that he let slip out, nervously scratching the back of his freckled neck. 

“i hate you.” a lie. but it sounds right to say, even though there’s no real weight behind it. still, how dare he? how dare he make you go years thinking your feelings were unrequited? how dare he fucking steal your heart again with one little word, two syllables, and four letters? 

izuku smirks. if you had uttered these words to him when he was still young and unsure of himself, he’d believe you. but he doesn’t—because he knows you. knows that your venomous tongue lacks potency. and he knows that your heart is reserved for him, always has been—even if his negligence almost cost him you. 

“you don’t,” he says matter-of-factly, viridian irises soft, staring back at you. 

“i do.” unceremoniously, two large hands grab your waist. they turn you around with uncharacteristic speed, pin you against the sink and leave you with no exit. a gasp bubbles in your throat. 

“okay, then say it to my face, “ izuku leans forward, strong arms encasing you between his chest and the sink he holds. his neck tilts downward so that he’s looking into your eyes, and god, he’s so big. so imposing, takes up too much space. too much. 

“tell me you hate me, and i’ll stop doing…this. i’ll get out of your hair for good.”

any and all semblance of composure you had up until that point, dissipates into thin air right then and there. your eyes squint into slits because he fucking proved you right. you were too much of a coward to say it, but on the off-chance that you did, he’d see right through you. one thing you hate more than being proven wrong, is feeling like you have no control over things.

things like izuku. he made your head all foggy with just a glance, and your stomach knotted up with an utter of your name. but this? god, you couldn’t handle this. the proximity, the intimacy of your rather compromising position, the intensity of his gaze, or the way his breath kissed the curve of your jaw. he was everywhere, all the time. omnipotent. 

“you’re right,” you admit with a huff, acquiescing to his boyish-grin. your admission has him lurching forward, inching closer, and closer to the pair of roseate lips pouting up at him so prettily (that they might as well be an open invitation for him to kiss you).

“i’m right.” 

you find yourself initiating a game of cat and mouse. every time he moves in, you move out. it’s so silly. makes you feel like a love-sick school girl waiting by the lockers to give her crush a handwritten note. but you’re relishing in it; and so is he, admittedly more so than you. 

with every passing second, you become less and less aware of your surroundings. all you know is that your lips are moving in tandem, hovering over the other, open-mouthed and panting. you want him. you want to taste him, to bite him, to give him another wound that will turn into a pretty pearl-grey scar amongst the rest. 

your desire for him is carnal, but you play this little game like time is infinite. and you suppose, time can be anything you want it to be when you’re encased between his body.

just as he’s about to close the gap, you whisper a plea into his ear. “promise me,” your voice is breathy, wanting, but still firm. his lips dip down to your neck, and he places a hot, open-mouthed kiss into the divot of your clavicle. trails upwards as he pops up to answer you.

“i’ll promise you a hundred things, i’ll - i’ll promise you whatever you want.” 

“promise me you’ll start being careful,” you say breathless, “that i won’t see your name as a headline on the news.” 

“i promise,” he delves back into your neck, repeating it like a mantra along the vein of your jugular until he kisses his way up to your lips. there’s a brief pause initiated by you when your hand pushes back his chest.

a look of confusion overtakes his features, and you’re looking at him with nervous eyes. are we really about to do this? they say. are we really about to cross that threshold? like you haven’t already done that and more within the span of ten minutes. but you need the reassurance, to be told that everything after this will be okay.

yes, his say. it’s fine. you can trust me.

you felt again the rush of helplessness, the push and pull of the current; until, finally, you let it sink you. he kisses you gently, delicately, then with a swift gradation of intensity that has you whimpering into his mouth. 

“hate you,” a kiss, “for making me,” another, “wait so - mmf - long,” you try to speak between clashes of teeth and tongue, smoothing your arms up his exposed chest before encircling them around his neck.

“i know, baby, i’m terrible,” he breaks away to suckle your neck, “i’m the worst.”

“the worst,” you agree. suddenly, you start to understand why people say kissing is like melting, because every part of your body he touches, has you dissolving rapidly into sea-foam. you’re so hot and bothered, you don’t even know what to do with your hands. 

they were around his neck at some point, but now they’re roaming freely. over his chest, his biceps, down his back, in his hair—on his face. maybe you’ve traveled too far, because the sound it elicits from him is teetering the border between pain and pleasure.

“sorry, did i do that?” you gesture to his brow, which he shields protectively. 

“just a scratch, i can take it,” he reassures, attempting to resume his assault on your collar bone. you grab hold of his chin, redirecting him to look at you.

“just a scratch, huh? well, you’re lucky you got away with just a ‘scratch’.”

© arachine 2023

[quizzicalwriter]

hi beautiful! can u do a fluff for dally, maybe him x a shy!reader?

Rendezvous

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’d been friends with the guys for quite some time, so it wasn’t too much of a shock when Dallas showed up at your house needing patching up.

Warnings: Some mention of blood and fighting, nothing besides that.

A/N: Thank you for the request!

Word Counter: 2.2k

Dallas had never been one to seek help after a rumble, he was a man for Christ’s sake - at least that’s what his brain yelled at him whenever he’d stumble his way onto the Curtis’s front porch for the umpteenth time, battered to shit and hardly coherent. Darry had always been an older brother figure to him, something he quietly appreciated, even more so in moments when he could hardly think from the pain.

What he hadn’t considered was Darry taking on another shift, a night shift at that. He vaguely remembered overhearing it from Ponyboy a month or so ago and it’d fleeted his memory until now. He turned toward the driveway, cursing under his breath as blood dripped into his eye for the fourth time that night. Darry was the only person he knew who could patch him up, besides himself and maybe Sodapop if the guy didn’t blanch from the blood.

There was only one other person he knew of who could handle the sight of blood, and that was you - the group's little nurse in training. You were practically an answer from God to Dallas as he wobbled down the front porch steps of the Curtis’s house and began his trek across the neighborhood to your house. You two hadn’t spoken much, hell, you were more friends with Johnny and Ponyboy than you were with anyone else, but you’d been friendly enough with Dallas for him to feel comfortable staggering toward your house.

It was only a ten or so minute walk by the time he reached your house, the chain link fence encircling the semi-rotted building creaking as he pushed against it before hopping it. There was a gate, but it was up a few steps and Dallas’d be damned before he walked up any more steps that night. He couldn’t bring himself to care when the neighbor across the street flicked their porch lights on, squinting over to your front lawn as he hobbled toward your bedroom window. He’d apologize on your behalf if he got you in trouble with your folks, maybe. Either that or he’d get you a pack of smokes as an apology.

A short series of knocks against the glass pane of your bedroom window shook you from your dreams, making your heart leap into your throat as you moved from your bed. If it hadn’t been for the full moon outside you’d likely have gotten your father, but luckily for Dallas, you recognized his features immediately - cut and busted as they were, it was still Dallas.

You crossed your floor, unlatching the locks atop your window before lifting it open for Dallas who promptly climbed in, the slight tilt forward he had to do to maneuver in through the window caused a few droplets of blood to splatter against the hardwood floor beneath him. Instinctually you grasped at his shoulders, eyes wide in shock as you took in his current state.

“I-“ You started, feeling your mouth dry as your eyes cast up to meet his, noticing the gash set just underneath his right eye. “Go sit on my bed, I’ll get the first-aid kit under the bathroom sink.”

With a wordless nod, he moved over to your bed, silently savoring the warmth your body had left against the sheets as you left the bedroom quietly. He’d never really seen the inside of your bedroom before, only whatever he could see from outside your window whenever he and Johnny would break you out to go meet up with the others for the night - it suited you, something that made him quirk a smile as you tiptoed back into your room, slowly closing and locking the door behind you.

“Nice room, kid.” He whispered, lifting his hips after to retrieve a pack of smokes from his back pocket, swiftly lighting one up before tossing the still-lit match into a mug on your bedside table. You’d’ve yelled at him if he hadn’t looked so beaten to shit, but you couldn’t help the involuntary eye roll at the sight of him lighting up a cigarette in your bedroom.

“Not a kid, Dallas.” You replied under your breath, pulling a chair that you’d had sitting near your dresser to sit in front of him. “We’re the same age.”

He snorted at that, taking a harsh drag from his cigarette as he watched you unlatch the first-aid box, deftly sorting through everything you’d need to clean him up. As he exhaled the lungful of smoke toward your still cracked window he took a moment to lean forward, bracing his elbows against his knees to make it a tad bit easier for you to clean him up.

“You don’t talk much.” He replied, smile around his cigarette quickly fading the moment you began to wipe at the cut along his cheekbone. If you’d been anyone else he’d have cursed, jerked away, or shoved you away, but you were you - so he stayed put. You noticed this, eyes flickering up to his for a brief moment before returning to your handiwork.

“I do.” You responded, tossing the dirtied gauze pad into a nearby trash can. “I talk to Johnny and Pony plenty.”

“Johnny’s no better.” Dallas laughed out, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as you waved your hand over the area, trying to dry the alcohol before it stung too much. “I mean you don’t talk to anyone but them.”

You chewed at the inside of your lip as you applied steri-strips to the gash, actually managing to close it up in the process. As you tossed the wrappers into the trash you sighed, not knowing how to respond to what he’d said. You knew it was true, even Johnny commented on how shy you were when you’d first become friends with him and Ponyboy - which coming from him said a lot.

“It doesn’t mean I don’t like you.” You assured him through a slight smile, the sight causing Dallas’s heart to skip a beat, something he’d likely chastise himself over later on. “You intimidate me, I guess. Not in a bad way, you’re just - you.”

“Me?” He asked through a laugh, brows furrowing in confusion as he lifted his hand to remove his cigarette from between his lips. “Intimidated by me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his confusion, finding yourself somewhat amused by the idea that Dallas wasn’t aware of the persona he had. Or maybe he was and simply wanted you to clarify, you didn’t know for certain.

“I’m not scared of you.” You assured him, giving him another short-lived smile as you began wiping away dried blood along his forehead and jaw. “I just- you’re cool, the last thing I’d want to do is embarrass myself by stumbling over my words. So I guess my brain rationalized that it’d be better if I was silent.”

He studied you then, brown eyes affixed to your features as you cleaned him up. Instead of feeling burdened by his glare, you felt something different bloom in your chest and stomach. Your hand paused against his cheek, only dropping once your eyes locked with his.

“You’d know if I didn’t like you, kid.” He whispered, voice hoarse as though he were restraining himself from saying something further. You only shook your head, a stifled laugh falling past your lips as you responded. “Not a kid.”

“I like your voice.” He whispered, leaning closer to you. You felt yourself freeze, unable to do anything other than let your gaze flicker between his and his lips. “It’s a shame you don’t talk more.”

Before you’d been able to reply Dallas’s lips were upon yours, the scent of rubbing alcohol and cigarette smoke flooding your senses as his hand gently cradled the back of your head. You hadn’t expected it in the slightest, but it was far from unwelcome. You kissed him back, savoring the warmth of his lips against your own until he pulled back for a breath of air.

“You going to talk more now? Or did I ruin my chances?” He asked through a soft laugh, his words in a tone you weren’t used to coming from him, almost vulnerable. You nodded, wetting your lips to taste him again as you looked down at your lap.

“Yeah, I can talk more.”

“Good.” He stated, tone light as he straightened his posture. “C’mon, you haven’t put a band-aid on my cheek yet.”

With a laugh and shake of your head, you pulled a bandage from your first-aid kit, scooting forward in your chair to bring your knees flush with his. While there was still a bit of apprehension in your movements, it was certainly far less than it had been before. Your palm rested against his jaw as you delicately placed the bandage, whispering an apology whenever he’d wince.

“Why do you do this?” You asked as you smoothed the adhesive onto his skin. “Fighting, I mean. Seems like every time I see you, you’re sporting a new bruise or cut.”

“I like it.” He replied, shrugging with a tone so nonchalant you would’ve bought it if you hadn’t been patching him up for the last thirty or so minutes. “Done it all my life, ain’t no sense in changing now.”

“It’s reckless.” You stated, motioning to the pile of bandage wrappers in your trash can. “Reckless and stupid.”

He only cocked a smile in return, one that made you fight the urge to smile back. He’d gone through the same song and dance with every damn friend he’d ever had, the ones that cared anyhow - and with any woman he’d been with.

“You hopin’ to change me?” He asked with a slight tilt of his head, fingers intertwined between the space of his knees. “Wouldn’t have thought you’d be the type to lecture.”

“I’m not lecturing.” You replied, almost defensively. He couldn’t help but laugh at your tone as he shifted his legs, boots nudging the outside of your calves as he waited for you to continue. “And I don’t want to change you, I know the man you are - the men all of you are. I just- I don’t know, I figured you could benefit from knowing someone cared about your wellbeing.”

There was something so genuine in your tone that Dallas found himself unable to do anything other than smile warmly back at you. You were shy, but you were smart and held your own if it came to it, and he respected that. He tapped his boots once more against your calves, pulling your attention back to his waiting eyes.

“You care about me, huh?”

You could sense the teasing tone from a mile away, but instead of irritating you, you only let out a huff of laughter as you playfully rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I care.” You responded, giving him the smile he’d been waiting for before bending over to close up the first-aid kit.

He only nodded in response, lips pursed in thought as he looked toward the first-aid box, watching intently as your hands pushed it toward your nightstand. He could still feel the faint sting of the antiseptic against his wounds, but you’d done a damn good job, and you’d surely been kinder with him than Darry was on the best of days.

“Did you want to stay?” You asked, tone so quiet that Dallas had nearly missed it in favor of watching your body shift against the wooden chair. He looked up to you then, smug smile making itself known once more. You returned it with a laugh of your own, letting your head fall back in faux annoyance. “Not like that!”

“I know.” He laughed out, noise followed by a soft sigh as he rested his palms against the soft mattress underneath him, slowly rolling his shoulders back to stretch the tired muscles. “Only messin’. But no, I can’t.”

In truth he knew that if he’d stayed neither of you would’ve slept, and as much as he wanted that he didn’t want you to be another girl he fucked and walked out on. You deserved better than that, and he wanted to give you that. With a short grunt, he pushed himself off the bed, moving back over to the window with you following closely behind.

“You sure?” You asked, tone adorable enough to make his resolve waver for a moment. He turned to you, smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he raised his hands to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You’ll see me tomorrow, kid.” He murmured against your warm skin, only pulling away to press a kiss to your lips before pulling away fully. He noticed the hint of disappointment lingering in your eyes, but he knew you’d thank him for his decision in the future.

“Not a kid.” You whispered as he moved to duck out your bedroom window, causing him to pause as he slung over his other leg. He smiled back toward you, a certain warmth in his eyes that made you want to follow after him.

“Not a kid.” He replied.

A/N: Another Dallas fluff! I hope you guys enjoyed this one, I enjoyed writing it. I enjoy writing all of my fics, but still. I have about eight more fics I’m currently polishing up, so expect an influx of works this week. As always, thank you for any interactions you give my work as I appreciate them all and you can catch me over on AO3 under the user, “Unscriptural.”

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Stuck Between a Jock and a Metalhead

Summary: Nancy, on a whim, decides to visit Steve at Scoops Ahoy, which leads to her overhearing confessions from Steve that leads her to think about the decisions she's made. A few days later, she decides to come back. She finds him being hit on by the town freak. What's a girl to do? Oh, get stuck in a freezer with the both of them.

Chapter One - Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Nancy was nervous about hanging out with both Eddie and Steve. There was clearly something between the two of them, and Nancy didn't want to get in the way, but she wanted to be a part of Steve’s life again. She didn't realize how much she had missed him until now. She did want to get to know Eddie, though, like she told him she would. She approached Steve’s house cautiously and knocked on the door, trying not to think about the last time she was here. Steve had cooked her dinner, and Nancy had let him vent about his parents. She remembered them falling into bed afterward, and she remembered how gentle he was. . . She smiled, thinking about how, as always, he liked to hold her hand during the act of making love. For him, it was always making love. She regretted thinking about that before knocking because her face suddenly heated up at the sight of him.

"Hey, Nance, come in. It must be warm out there," Steve said and stepped aside to let her in.

"Yeah, that's it," Nancy said.

"Eddie called earlier to let us know that he'd be late," Steve said. "He kind of sounded like he had just woken up."

"Probably stayed up late, worrying about what we're going to do to him to get him back for the freezer incident," Nancy said with a grin.

"Well, I still have those robes your brother made us wear to that Star Trek convention," Steve said. "We can totally fuck with him."

"Star Wars," she corrected. "I know that you know the difference."

Before she could say anything else, there was a knocking on the door. Nancy and Steve both went to answer it. When they opened the door, Eddie stood there, grinning.

"Oh my god!" Nancy exclaimed.

"Your face is bleeding!" Steve exclaimed.

"Ah, so, funny story," Eddie said as he stepped inside.

Steve sighed, rolled his eyes, and dragged Eddie to the bathroom with Nancy following. He pulled out the first aid kit and started tending to the scratches on his face.

"What happened?" Nancy asked.

"I'm really bad at shaving my face," Eddie replied, and Nancy rolled her eyes. "A little girl's cat was stuck in this hole, and I had to get the poor thing out. Of course, the cat thanked me by giving my face a nice, scratchy hug."

"You're a hazard, you know that," Steve said fondly.

"That's what I was telling you," Eddie said.

"We should wrap him in bubble wrap," Nancy said.

"Yeah, that's what my uncle keeps telling me, and I swear, I think he's going to do it one of these days," Eddie said.

"Then again, we should also wrap you in bubble wrap, Steve," Nancy teased.

"Ha ha," Steve said. "So, what makes you think that I do know the difference between Star Trek and Star Wars, Nancy?"

"Nice segway," Eddie nodded.

"Because one night when you thought that I was still asleep on the couch, you changed the channel to Star Trek where you proceeded to mutter about how Kirk and Spock are totally gay for one another," Nancy said. "Which, by the way, was another clue."

"Yes! You believe in them, too!" Eddie said excitedly.

"Come on, that episode where Spock and Kirk basically rutted against each other in the dirt wasn't fooling anyone. That wasn't fight to the death music, that was fuck to the death music," Steve said.

"Yes!" Eddie clapped gleefully. "Plus, when Spock realized that Kirk was alive and pure joy came shining through. . . Come on!"

"Yes!" Steve exclaimed.

"You're both nerds," Nancy laughed.

"Everyone is a little nerdy about something, Nancy," Steve blushed.

"Well, there was no reason to hide it from me. I like Star Trek, too. Although, not nearly as much as you two," Nancy said with a snort. "And you two are both right."

Once Steve was done, he pulled out another first aid kit. It was much smaller than the other one.

"Carry this with you always," Steve said.

"Aww, it's a little baby first aid kit," Eddie said. "Thanks, man. I shall name you. . . Nigel? Yes, Princess Nigel."

"Princess Nigel?" Nancy laughed.

"A boy can be a princess, isn't that right, Stevie?" Eddie cooed at him.

"Shut up," Steve said, biting his lip and blushing.

Suddenly, they all heard the sound of the front door opening and the loud clattering of heels.

"Steven?" A female's voice called out.

"Your mother?" Nancy asked with wide eyes. "I didn't know your mother was coming back into town."

"Shit, I didn't either," Steve cursed.

"I don't hear your father," Nancy muttered with wide eyes.

"Steven!" Margaret Harrington yelled.

Steve sighed and stepped out of the bathroom to greet his mother. Nancy and Eddie followed tentatively.

"I'm here, mother. This is a pleasant surprise. I thought you wouldn't be back until next week," Steve said stiffly.

"Oh, well, the conference ended early. Your father had to take a later flight," Margaret said, and her eyes lit up when she spotted Nancy. "Oh, Nancy. It's so lovely to see you again. It's wonderful to see you two back together."

"You get younger and younger every time I see you, Mrs. Harrington," Nancy said gritting her teeth.

The truth was far from it. She was made of so much plastic that it was hard to tell what her features used to look like. She used to look like Steve. Nancy knew how much Steve hated what his mother had done to herself, which was why he only used products that accentuated what was already there. She knew why Margaret did it. She did it to keep her husband around for as long as possible. It honestly just made her look scary.

"Oh, such a lovely girl," Margaret said and pinched her cheeks. "You could teach my son a thing or two. Lord knows he needs it."

"Mother, Nancy, and I aren't together. We're just friends," Steve said.

"Oh, well, that's a shame," Margaret said in disappointment, and her eyes dimmed further when she caught sight of Eddie. "And who is this?"

"This is Eddie Munson. He's my - " but he was cut off before he could finish.

"We've talked about this, Steven," she snapped. "We've accepted that you're. . .different, but we've asked you not to bring your. . .boys around here. I don't have to tell your father about this, do I?"

"No!" Steve exclaimed, his face red. "Of course not, mother. We'll get out of your hair and let you get some rest."

"You're a sweet boy, Steven," Margaret said and patted his cheek. "I should warn you that when your father does come home, he's going to want to talk to you about you coming to work for him again."

"I told him that I don't want to do that. I told you guys what I want - " Steve said.

"And we told you that you could do so much better. Why waste your talents when you have potential elsewhere?" She asked.

"It wasn't wasted potential when Grandpa Otis had his own salon," Steve said.

"Well, your grandpa was. . . different," she sighed.

"Like me, you mean?" Steve scoffed. "Well, that's certainly something that I didn't know about Grandpa."

"I don't like this attitude, Steven. Do I have to tell your father?" Margaret asked.

"I'm sorry, Mother. It won't happen again. We were just leaving," Steve said.

"And please cut your hair, dear! You're starting to look like a girl!" His mother yelled out.

He gave his mother kisses on the cheek before dragging Nancy and Eddie out of the house. He had grabbed his keys on their way out. Once they were outside, Steve sucked in some air and exhaled heavily.

"Steve - ," Nancy started to say.

"So, where do you guys want to hang out?" Steve asked overly cheerful with his hands on his hips.

"Quarry. This time of day. It's gorgeous," Eddie said. "We'll pick up some food. Come on, Nancy, let's cheer up our boy."

Nancy certainly liked the way he said "our boy," and judging by Steve’s real smile, he liked it too. When they got to the quarry, they sat near the water with van doors propped open as they ate. Once they finished, they all stared at the water in silence for a while.

"So, was that the monster you guys were talking about? Because holy fuck was she scary," Eddie blurted out.

Nancy and Steve stared at him. Steve burst into laughter.

"That was my mother. She's great, isn't she?" Steve asked, scoffing. "You think she's bad, you haven't met my father."

"What were you telling her that you wanted to do?" Nancy asked.

"Promise me that you guys won't laugh?" Steve asked.

"Promise," they said in unison.

"I want to go to Cosmetology school and become a like a barber or something," Steve said.

"That's not funny at all. That's great, man," Eddie said.

"That's something you'd be really good at Steve," Nancy said.

"Either that or become a basketball coach," Steve said.

"You can always do both," Eddie pointed out.

"That's true," Steve grinned.

"What about you, Nancy?" Eddie asked. "What are your career aspirations?"

"Investigative Reporter, I want to help people find the truth," Nancy said.

"That's a worthy goal," Eddie said.

"If I only I can get past these misogynistic assholes at the Post. I have an internship their and they think that the only thing that I'm good for is answering the phone and making sandwiches," Nancy rolled her eyes.

"Decided to fight for the job, huh?" Steve asked.

"Yes, I think it's worth fighting for," Nancy said, gazing at him.

"You know, Wheeler, you handle their food. You can do whatever you want to it," Eddie suggested, grinning wickedly at her.

Nancy giggled and bit her lip. She threw her empty wrapper at him.

"Maybe you could," she said. "What about you? What do you want to becoome?"

"I don't know. I used to have dreams of becoming a rockstar but I kind of fucked that up," Eddie shrugged. "I'm stuck here in this town so I don't think it matters whether I figure it out or not."

"That's not true. You still have time to figure it out," Nancy said. "Not everyone knows exactly what they want out of life. Despite the fact that I seem to have a problem with learning it, it's alright not to have all the answers."

"But knowing that, you're never going to stop searching for them all, are you?" Eddie asked.

"Probably not," Nancy said with a grin.

"You'll find your calling, I'm sure of it," Steve said, and then he paused. "Maybe my mother is right. Maybe I should cut my hair. Do you think I should?"

"No!" Eddie and Nancy said.

"Your mother is never right," Nancy scoffed.

Eddie and Nancy reached forward at the same time to stroke the end of his hair. Steve sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into their touch.

"Do you want to cut your hair?" Nancy asked.

"No," Steve said.

"Then don't," Eddie said.

"What do you think she meant when she said my grandpa was different?" Steve asked. "Do you think he could have been like me and Eddie?"

"I don't know. Is there a way to find out. Maybe look through his stuff?" Eddie asked.

"They keep all his stuff locked up in his old salon," Steve said.

"This sounds a lot like someone could use her sleuthing skills to good use," Nancy said.

"And this sounds very much like a quest," Eddie said.

"You guys want to look through my grandfather's things with me?" Steve asked.

"If that's okay with you," Nancy said.

"Yeah, okay, sounds fun," Steve said. "I'm working all week, but Saturday is when I'm off next."

"Great, it's a date," Eddie grinned.

With Eddie and Nancy's hands still in his hair, the three off watched the sun start to begin its descent. They talked about the future well until the sun fell and the stars twinkled down upon them.

Chapter Four

[slicznymartwy]

hey, girl! i loove your billy lenz work— aka i literally adore it 🩶. but anyways, i was wondering if you could write up some needy! billy. like i know he’s needy all the time but if he’s so needy he literally forces himself to speak up about it, i think it’ll be great. you don’t have to do it if you don’t wanna, no pressure, ml — ★.

i loved this !! my biggest hc is that billy's only talkative on the phone and is a little quieter in person, so its fun to put him in a Situation where he's so needy he has to speak his mind. also, sorry it took so long for me to write! i have to get back to writing everyday warnings: nsfw, sex stuff, billy's usual dirty mouth, not proof read .. i'm sorry T T

☾⋆⁺₊ billy lenz x gn!afab!reader

Dropping your weighty luggage off by the door, you let out the sigh that’s been building up inside of you since you started your voyage. Two cab rides and three trains later, you’re finally back across the border and on campus. The sky was already pitch black, and the sorority house was similarly dark, with no lights on anywhere.

Kicking off your boots and throwing your heavy coat onto the coat rack, you contemplate laying on the sofa and falling asleep right there. It’s tempting, since the stairs seem as tall as Mount Everest right now. You don’t even want to think about lugging your bags up. 

After some quick negotiating with yourself, you cut your losses and leave your bags at the door before taking the trek up to your bedroom. Whatever momentary relief the couch might give you will surely be replaced with even more sore muscles.

You tried to tell yourself that was the only reason for you wanting to go upstairs, but what was the use pretending? Your shame was destroyed the moment you let the stranger living in the attic use your mouth like a pussy, cradling your head and fucking into your throat until you choked and cried.

With your core tightening in anticipation, you ignore your room and head straight for the bathroom. You wash away the dirt and sweat from the long travel day with a hot shower. The water melts your tense muscles, and you wish you could spend another hour in the shower; you definitely won’t have that luxury once the other girls come back from their families. 

You don’t want to make him wait any longer.

With damp hair and a towel around your waist, you pad over to your bedroom in the dark. You must be leaving droplets of water as you go, but you can’t make yourself care. The water will dry by the morning, you tell yourself. You don’t know what Billy will do if you’re another moment late. 

When you open the door, you see him right away. He’s sitting in your desk chair, sprawled out like he tried to get comfortable but couldn’t. 

His foot is on the seat of the chair, with his knee bent up against his chest, and the other leg stretched out in front of him. He’s hunched in on himself, and one elbow leans against your desk. When he sees you, though, he stands to his full height. He is a shadow in the darkness. God, you missed him so much.

“Hi, Billy,” you say with a smile. He makes a sound, a mix between a relieved sigh and a dirty moan, and rushes to you. It only barely crosses your mind to be afraid of him, but you’re not. He hugs you tightly, pressing you against his chest.

You wrap your own arms around him, rubbing his shoulders slowly, feeling the soft material of his sweater that you missed so much while you were away.

Billy’s quiet like he always is when you talk to him in person. He can always talk your ear off on the phone, but when it’s face-to-face, Billy has a funny way of getting too shy to do more than nod or shake his head. 

Something feels different, though, with how hard he’s clutching your waist. You can’t tell if he just doesn’t want to let you go, or if he’s just imagining squeezing the life out of you.

Pulling back enough to see his face, you stroke his hair out of his eyes. You love his eyes, even when he stares like he’s seeing into your soul. The first time you saw his eyes, you thought they looked unnatural - you had never seen such a vivid eye color in your life. His eyes were such a light amber, they almost looked orange in the moonlight. 

Billy stares you down as you admire his features. Petting his cheekbone with your thumb, you imagine him telling you everything you want to hear. I missed you. I want you. I can’t live without you.

Instead, he says, “I fucked your pillows.” Although his voice sounds thick from disuse, it’s also deep. He rarely uses his deep voice, even when speaking over the phone. 

You’re so pleased to hear him, his words barely register in your mind.

“Yeah?” you say, tucking his hair behind his ear. Billy nods, not paying any mind as he undoes your work.

“Thought about you. Thought about fucking your throat and your pretty pussy,” he stutters, spitting out the alliteration. You touch his cheek again.

“Did you make a mess?” you ask him softly. His eyes close as he starts to nod, making your hand rub on his cheek. He turns his face, letting your hand drag down his nose and back up along his other cheek. You smile and move your hand yourself, stroking his face the way he was craving.

“Do you need me that badly?” 

Billy groans and he nods again, quicker than before. His breath shakes as he gulps audibly.

“Can I,” he starts, but has to stop to lick his lips. His mouth sounds so wet, like he’s already salivating at the thought of you. “Can I taste your pussy? Pretty piggy cunt. Please? I’ll be good, just wanna taste it. Wanna taste.” His voice trails off, eyes still closed like he’s afraid you might say no.

You pout and rub your thumb over one of his eyelids, feeling his long eyelashes flutter delicately under your touch.

“Let’s lay down first, okay? C’mon,” you say, gently taking Billy’s hands and leading him to your bed. You leave your damp towel on the back of your chair, and you can feel Billy’s eyes on your bare body.

You avoid your pillows as you lay down, pulling Billy on top of you. He goes readily, letting his full weight rest on you. He seems perfectly happy to stay close to you, and he makes no move to rearrange himself. 

“Heavy,” you murmur, gently pushing Billy off of you. He doesn’t go very far, but it’s a little easier to breathe without him squeezing the air from your lungs. He starts to kiss you neck, making you sigh contently.

“Did your pig-,” he pauses to kiss your ear lobe, taking your earring in his mouth for just a moment. He moans quietly, then finishes, “Did your piggy cunt miss me?”

You smile at that, stroking Billy’s hair.

“It did,” you admit softly. Billy’s moan is soft, even with how close to your ear he was. He kisses your helix, then your tragus, then your cheekbone.

“My cock missed you, too,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your cheek. “Wanna get my hot cum all over your piggy clit. Please.”

“Later. You have to fuck me first,” you tell him, brushing his hair out of his face. “Don’t you wanna-?“ 

He doesn’t let you finish, instead practically shouting, “Yes.” 

“Please. Please, please, please,” he continues, and you can feel his hardening cock against your hip. “Wanna- wanna rub my cock on your clit, please. Just wanna rub it. Just use my tip, please. Wanna feel you so badly.” 

“You’re being romantic today,” you giggle.

“I love you,” he confesses. 

You don’t respond to that. You stroke along his cheek.

“Can I put my tongue in it?” he whispers. You can hardly see him in the dark room - what little light you get from the moon avoids your bed, but you don’t need it to know how he’s looking at you. 

You nod, and watch as he climbs off the bed and kneels in front of you. He kisses the inside of your knee first, then moves higher along your thighs. His lips brush against your sensitive skin, and you must be getting wet now. 

Billy’s so close, you have no doubt he can tell how affected you are, not when your cunt clicks with slick as you part your legs even wider.

He whines when you bare yourself to him. It’s a genuine whine, loud and unmistakable. He separates your pussy lips even further with his thumbs, inspecting it like it would have changed during the time you were gone.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. He’s not saying it to you, though. He kisses your clit and your hips buck against his face.

“Show me,” you tell him, putting a hand in his hair. He leans against your touch like he’s a sunflower and you’re the sun. The thought makes you smile.

“Need you,” he whines again, and you can feel his lips against your slit. His tongue traces along your hole, and your thighs tighten around his face. “Need you so bad. Gonna kill you if you leave me again.”

“I know,” you whisper, your mind getting hazy with lust. “I’m not gonna leave again.”

It’s a lie, but it doesn’t matter right now. Billy needs you, and you’re giving yourself to him on a silver platter. He’ll take from you until he turns you into bones, and you’re sure you’ll thank him anyways. His amber eyes stare at you while his tongue prods at your entrance. For a moment, you’re not sure who needs who more. 

© slicznymartwy 2023, please do not repost or copy.

a/n: reblogs and replies are really appreciated <3

[cowgurrrl]

Smoke Signals

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (except this is all backstory)

Summary: “My rot is as hungry as me. & when God asks me about love, I always respond with cruelty.” - Yves Olade, from Belovéd [3.5k]

Warnings: major character death, typical tlou stuff

October 2007

Adam becomes a permanent fixture in your home after that day. You don't know why that conversation in the bathroom suddenly made things click, but they did. He officially moves in. Jane crawls into bed with you two more and more, starting tickle fights before sunrise. He learns to give you space, and you learn to be less afraid of showing him affection, squeezing his shoulder when you walk behind him, or kissing him before you leave for the day. Sometimes, when you know you have a big drop coming in, you ask him to go with you. He starts to get good at mapping routes and holding his own. You teach him how to shoot efficiently and scavenge for bullets. He teaches you how to find blueberries outside the walls. He even helps you bake a cake for Jane's ninth birthday. It's nice. 

There's still a lot you haven't talked about, and there are a million things you're unsure if you'll ever tell him, but it's okay. He's patient with you. He tells you he understands and isn't fazed whenever you clam up or revert to your anger and silence. "I'll wait," he often says. Normally, after he butters you up like that, you're able to open up just enough, but the lingering thought that he's too good, too whole, too perfect to be with you doesn't budge. You don't know if it'll ever go away. Maybe that's why you try to show him how much you like having him around. Maybe it's why you hide how your body flinches when he hugs you from behind. Maybe that's why you asked him to come on this drop with you.

The leaves are just starting to turn, and the dead ones crunch under your feet. An icy chill stings in the air, winter threatening you with the promise of an especially hard freeze. Whatever wild animals still in the area are desperately searching for enough food to last them through hibernation. You feel the same way as you and Adam trek towards the Shell station. Work gets sparse once it gets cold. People don't want to get caught out in a blizzard or stuck somewhere they don't recognize without rations. You're lucky if you get more than two shipments in before the ground thaws again. Winter is when you get dangerous. Jane needs a better jacket, her old one too small and not thick enough to protect her from the bitter winds, and the three of you need food. 

You've been picking up whatever jobs Lee could get you to fill the worrisome gap in your brain. Sometimes it's just dealing pills and working over addicts. Sometimes it's helping Lee move weapons between Areas. And sometimes, it’s a bullet fired from a rooftop or a conveniently placed knife amid the crowd, the poor sucker bleeding out on the ground before you can even turn the corner. You've gotten good at making things like that look like a freak accident or a rogue Firefly. Adam still doesn't know about the hit jobs, and he never will.

"Who are we meeting this time?" He asks once you're far enough out from the QZ. You glance around to ensure no one is tracking you or can hear you before answering him.

"Catherine and her crew. They said they had a lot of really good stuff come in recently."

"More pills?" He jokes, and you bump him with your shoulder. 

"A few, but Lee made it sound like they had stuff that's really hard to come by. Might even have some chicken for us," you say, making him groan at just the thought of a chicken breast. You laugh and look at him. "Don't get your hopes up on me just yet, Lowery. We don't know anything for sure." 

"You gonna let me make you a nice dinner if that is what it is?" He asks, a big smile pulling on his lips. The autumn sunshine illuminates his eyes beautifully, and the cold air tosses his hair over his forehead. You smile back before looking down at your shoes to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

"I don't know. What are you gonna ask for in return?"

"Just a million dollars and mind-blowing sex." 

"Are you saying I don't always give you mind-blowing sex?" You tease, and he laughs. He throws an arm around you, pulls you close until you're tucked into his side, and kisses your temple. You lean into him and let him take some of your weight, relishing in his warm body next to yours.

"I would never say such a thing." He mumbles against you, and you laugh. 

"That's what I thought," you say as the old gas station comes into view. You pull your gun from your waistband and take half a step away from Adam. He gives you a confused look, worry running across his features, and you shake your head. "I left some stuff in a cache out here a few months ago, and I need to get it out and take it to Lee's before it gets too cold." You answer the unspoken question, and he nods before pulling his own gun. 

"I'll cover you." He says, and you ignore the urge to fight with him. As you get closer and closer, your eyes bounce around, searching the area for any threats. The Raider attack from a couple years ago is still fresh in your mind. You refuse to let anything like that happen again. 

You enter the building through the backdoor, shimmying it open as quietly as possible before walking through the empty aisles. Upon first glance, you wouldn't see anything worth taking from here. All the food is either expired or gone. The fridges haven't worked in years, and whatever money may be left in the cash register isn't even the currency you use anymore. That's why you decided to keep a stash in the old beer fridge that takes up most of the drink section. Even if someone wandered in there, they wouldn't be able to spot the rickety board hidden behind sour cases of old alcohol. 

"Can you cover me from out here?" You ask, turning to face Adam as you stand in the threshold of the beer fridge. He pouts for just a second before nodding. 

"Be quick." 

"Always." You say as you peck his lips and disappear into the fridge. You turn on your flashlight to get a better look around and quickly find the loose wood hiding your stuff. As you load ammunition and a spare gun into your backpack, something makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You feel like you're being watched, but you can't tell by what. You glance over your shoulder to see if maybe Adam is watching you through the glass of the door but see his back as he wanders up and down the aisles of the gas station. You're about to call yourself paranoid when you turn back to your cache and your flashlight catches on a pair of yellow eyes. 

You scream as the Infected launches at you. You're too slow to fire a bullet, and your gun skidders out of your grasp as the Infected claws at your face. You step back to try to get away until the door opens under your shared weight, and you topple over. The wind gets knocked out of you when your back hits the floor with a devastating wheeze, and you see stars. She screeches in your face, tendrils pointing at you as you try to get the upper hand despite the lack of oxygen in your body. Then, in a split second, the Infected is thrown off you, and you scramble away to see Adam wrestling with her. He has her pinned against the wall, but she pushes him back when he tries to pull back enough to fire his gun. 

You rush toward your gun lying in the middle of the room as the Infected wails behind you, hopefully losing the fight with Adam. The second your fingers graze the metal, you turn and try to track her movements with a watchful eye so you don't hit Adam. When she rears her head back, you take the chance to fire. The bullet hits her in the chest, and she falls to the ground, bleeding out for about ten seconds before she stops breathing. Her blood bubbles in her throat, but you can't hear the sound of it pooling in her mouth.

You can't hear anything over the thumping of your own heart. That was the closest you've gotten to an Infected since Outbreak Day. Normally, you can hear or spot them while they're still far away and put them out of their misery without ever getting close to them. You rest against a broken fridge and bury your head in your hands as you try to take deep breaths. Those dead eyes always make you queasy. You're not really sure why. You just know every time you get too close, the lack of life behind the Infected's eyes makes you want to throw up. Maybe it's the idea of being half-alive and being forced to drag your dead weight forward until someone does you the service of putting a bullet between your eyes. Maybe it’s the memories from that first night and seeing them so up close, so fresh into their sickness, constantly replaying and making your blood go cold. You vaguely register Adam calling your name, but you don't look up until your breathing evens out. When you meet his gaze, there are tears in his eyes. 

At first, you don't understand why. You think maybe seeing you upset made him upset, or the wave of emotions accompanying the dying of adrenaline is hitting him early. Then you see the teeth marks on his skin. You find your feet and try to rush over to him, but he takes several steps back, keeping the distance between you. You must look as hurt as you feel because he has to look away from you. 

"Adam, please let me help." You beg, and he shakes his head as he covers the bite mark with a shaky hand.

"You can't help me." He's getting panicky. You can hear it in his voice. You take another step toward him, and he jerks away until his back hits the wall. He cries when you try to get closer to him, dodging a flailing hand trying to push you away.

"I'm not scared of you," you say. His blood is spilling from between his fingers at how hard he's gripping his skin, and you have to pry his hand away before he makes it worse. He's trembling from fear or the infection flowing through his veins. Either way, you don't flinch. "Hey, look at me," you urge, grabbing his face with your free hand and making him look you in the eyes. "You're okay. We can fix this. It's okay. You're gonna be okay, but you have to let me help."

"You need to leave. You need to go back to the QZ and leave me here." He says, his voice thick with tears. 

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Jesus Christ, can you not be so fucking stubborn for once in your life and listen to me?" He yells. The sudden change in volume makes you jump. Immediately, he looks like he regrets it. He only yells when he's scared. It's something you've learned about him in this past few years. Most of your arguments have happened as a result of you being late coming home or showing up bloody and bruised with an explanation you don't want Jane to hear. Still, he's never shouted in your face the way he just did. "It's over." He whispers, his defeat rattling in your bones. He's the hopeful one. He's the optimist, not you. He's careful. You're not. It's supposed to be you.

"No. We can figure this out." You try, but even you can hear the doubt in your voice. 

"How?"

"I don't know yet, but you're gonna be okay," you say. "We can take you back to May or even the Fireflies. They're looking for a cure, right? Maybe they could help. It's worth a shot," Adam says your name as you ramble, but you don't acknowledge it. "Or we can find a way to stop the infection from spreading. We have time. We could do it." 

"It's been years. If there was a cure, they would've found it by now." 

"You don't know that." 

"Give me a break," he says as he takes his backpack off and tosses it to the floor. "I'm not coming home." 

"You're just gonna give up?" You ask.

"Yes."

"That's not fair."

"To who?"

"To me."

"Don't do that. Not now." He says, and you throw your arms up in defeat.

"What do you want me to do, Adam?" You ask, tears pricking behind your eyes. He pulls his gun from his waistband and presses it into your hand. You shake your head and try to wiggle out of his grip, but he's too strong. "No."

"Do you care about me?" 

"Stop."

"Do you care about me?" He asks again slowly and intentionally. You meet his watery eyes and take a shaky breath.

"Of course I do." You answer. He swallows thickly and lets go of your hand, leaving the gun's grip in your palm.  

"Then, you take my backpack and my gun, and you shoot me,"

"No."

"And you go back to the QZ, and you tell Lee we got attacked by Raiders, and I didn't make it. You move on, and you keep Jane alive, okay?"

"I'm not going home without you," you say. "And I'm not shooting you."

"I will not turn into one of those things!" He shouts.

"I'm not killing you! I won't do it, okay?" You shout back, stunning him into silence. You angrily wipe at the tears falling down your cheeks and put his gun on the ground between you two. "I can kill anyone else, just not you. Not my family. I'm sorry. I know you think it's humane or whatever, but I can't be the one to do it," you say. The sad look in his eyes could suffocate you. "I only got four years with you, and even then, I didn't do it right. I want a do-over." 

"You did what you thought was right. I don't blame you for anything."

"I do." The confession shakes you to your core as it echoes around you. His shoulders drop just a little, and he walks over to you. 

"You didn't do anything wrong. Not then and not now. You and Jane gave me some of the best years of my life, and I'm sorry I can't spend more time with you," he says, and you cry more as your hands find his, and you squeeze. He's still here, you think. He's still him. "But you can't stay, and I can't go." Out of every horrible possibility you could ever conjure in your mind, this was never one of them. Him dying before you never even crossed your mind because it seemed so ludicrous. You're the one killing people and getting people hooked on drugs only you have access to for job stability. You're the one who's fucked over more people than you can count. You're the one who's broken and undeserving. You're supposed to die before him.

"What are we gonna do?" You ask, and he swallows thickly. 

"I've never been able to tell you what to do. We both know that." 

"What do you want to do?" 

"I want..." he takes a deep breath and squeezes your hands. "I want to spend whatever sane time I have left with you, and then when it's time, I want you to leave me here, and I will do what I need to do," the thought of him dying alone makes your chest tighten. He leans in to kiss your forehead but stops short, both of your eyes finding the bite mark on his arm. "This is okay. It's what I want. I get to leave knowing you're safe. There's nothing more I could ask for." 

"Can I," you hiccup, trying to compose yourself. "Can I bury you?" 

"I have a feeling there's a reason we burn Infected bodies. I don't want to make anything worse by being buried." 

"So, what? I'm just supposed to leave you here?" You ask, and he shakes his head, but you both know there's no other answer. Technically, he's right. There are theories that Infected bodies expel the Cordyceps or find a way to communicate with other Infected underground. You don't know if you believe that, but you're not sure you believe in anything anymore.

 "Maybe we can have a funeral. Just the two of us. That way, it doesn't feel so bad. Think of this as like... a mausoleum or something," he says. "Besides, it could be kinda fun. How many people get to attend their own funeral?" He asks, a sad smile on his face, and you chuckle despite yourself. "Will you eulogize me, sweetheart?" 

You nod. Slowly, the two of you walk over to the wall opposite the dead Infected and sit beside each other, your hold on him never breaking. He uses his free hand to wipe your tears away, and you try to memorize his fingerprints. You can already see his bite mark getting spiny and raised. You can feel him slipping away from you. 

"Adam Lowery," you start, staring into his beautiful eyes. "Was the best man I've ever known. He was kind and gentle when it mattered most, and he always got this cute dimple in his cheeks when he smiled real wide," you dig your finger into his cheek and feel the divot form as he smiles. "He was so beautiful, and not just because of his swoopy hair or rugged good looks."

"Alright." He rolls his eyes at your compliments even though it was his idea to do the eulogy. 

"He was beautiful because of how he treated others," you pull him back on track, and tears threaten your waterline again. "For so long, I thought people like him wanted something for their good deeds, but he never did. He only ever wanted to be the light in this dark world, and he did such a good job. He was my light," your voice catches in your throat. "He helped me learn to dance in the kitchen again, take days off, and not take things so seriously. He showed me that life could be beautiful again, and even though it took me so long to realize it, I will never be able to repay him for that,"

"I will never be able to apologize enough for what I did wrong, and I will never find someone quite like him, but I think that's okay. People like Adam Lowery are once in a lifetime, and I'm so grateful he found me in this one," you stare at him as you say the words so he can feel how real they are. This is the closest you've ever gotten to a marriage vow. "Just... promise to find me in the next one, okay?" You ask, and he nods. 

"I promise." He whispers, squeezing your hand. 

"I…" You try to finish the sentence, but an invisible vice grip in your stomach stops you. You want to be able to say it. You want him to hear it for once, but he shushes you gently. 

"I know," he breathes, touching his forehead to yours. "Me too." 

Neither of you says much after that. You just hold him and trace the curve of his skin, the angle of his jaw, and the curl of his eyelashes. It feels like studying a portrait so you don't forget all the details before you can tell someone about it. You listen to his heartbeat, and he listens to yours. The sun sets and rises over you, but you don't sleep. The least you can do is stay with him until the very end, and you do.

A glaze comes over his eyes before the sun can even finish breaching the horizon. You pretend not to recognize it, and he pretends not to be fighting the infection taking over his brain. You won't kill him, but you also won't let yourself get infected. He knows that. You don't reach for your gun when he starts groaning and swaying back and forth. He's the one who has to push you out of the gas station and into the freezing morning. You kick and scream the whole way, but unbearable silence fills the air the second you're on the other side of the door. You jump when the gunshot rings out a few seconds later. 

Then, like the world is laughing at you, the birds return to chirping, and the clouds continue moving across the sky. Adam is dead, and a piece of you died with him, and the world didn't stop spinning no matter how much you wanted it to. Jane still needs you. You're all she has left, and she’s been with Mrs. Carmichael for God knows how many hours. You have to go home to her. You have to tell her why Adam isn’t with you. On wobbly legs, you stand and rest your hand on the door Adam slammed in your face in the same way a widow traces their partner's name on a headstone. 

And you walk away.

[babybluebanshee]

so a dead mall near me is being torn down in October and while I’m glad the space will hopefully be used for something better, the little freak part of me is sad to lose such an interesting, cursed space. I love dead malls. I find them fascinating. So I shall recount to you my personal experience inside this particular dead mall, which I shall call C Mall.

so a little context - shae and I were there because I got a v-stock (vintage resale shop that mostly specializes in movies, video games, and other nerd swag; I buy a lot of movies from them) gift card for Christmas one year and that was the closest one to where we’d been shopping that day. I had never been to C Mall, the entire time it was open. I didn’t even know it was still open at the time. We drove out and, kids, you’ve never seen a parking lot that big that deserted. Only about a third of it had any cars in it, and that’s because those were the spots closest to the movie theater and Cheesecake Factory that were somehow chugging along inside. Even then, that third was barely a quarter full. I knew right away I was gonna love this place.

the v-stock was on the populated side of the mall, so if you just stayed in there, you probably wouldn’t have ever known it was in a dead mall. It was fairly bustling, there was even a line at the register. But there were signs all around if you paid attention - water stained ceilings, a musty smell despite the clerks’ best efforts, and, creepiest of all, on the lower level where the movies were, a huge window that offered you a look into the darkened food court. The chairs all put up on tables to clean the floor, but never put down again. Most of the food stands shuttered and bare, but some still wide open with signage. The only light the sunlight pouring in from skylights a story up. I have no doubt, at night, that food court was black as pitch.

so I get my movies (spending waaaaay more than my $25 gift card, but that’s life), when shae and I both realize we have to use the bathroom. The v-stock only has employee bathrooms. The closest open ones are in the Macy’s. Clear on the other end of the building. And our bladders were juuuuust full enough to make the trek, rather than find a gas station nearby or something. Honestly, we probably were just at the point where we didn’t even remember there was a world outside this dying symbol of capitalism. There was only Mall. There had always only been Mall.

so we set off, leaving the brightly lit, populated v-stock for parts unknown. And even though it probably only took us about ten minutes to get to the Macy’s, it felt like years. Most of the stores were shuttered. A few were clearly falling apart - broken ceiling tiles, cracked glass, a light dangling by a single frayed wire. Some had been converted to storage for what did remain. What appeared to have been a store for fancy home decor had become a tangled mess of mannequin limbs. Fortunately, no heads that we could see. Just arms and legs, reaching for a god who’d long since abandoned them.

the only other humans we encountered were some older ladies on the lower level. In a last ditch effort to attract customers, any customers, the mall had turned the southern food court into a pickleball court. These ladies were maybe a few feet from the crypt of a food court on the north side. As shae and I watched them, we wondered if they were as uncomfortable with that knowledge as we were.

the only store we saw before the Macy’s that was open was an arcade/party space. “Open” is actually a pretty generous description tbh. The gate wasn’t down, and the arcade machines were on, but it was completely dark aside from those arcade cabinets, and we didn’t see anyone at the counter or at the games. There was a sign advertising party packages. To me it felt like a honey trap, like someone or something was waiting in the dark for some unsuspecting child to walk in.

finally, we reached the Macy’s. Now, malls are typically considered dead once either their profit margins drop below a certain point or their flagship store (usually a large department store like macys or dillards) closes up shop and nothing replaces it. Macys was still chugging along, but clearly in hospice. They were just waiting for the old girl to die peacefully. Sparse shelves, about two employees for the entire store, so quiet you could hear every word of the music playing over the speakers. It was haunting. And, like all department stores, labyrinthine. Felt like Will Navidson trying to find the bathroom, but we eventually did. Two of the four toilets were out of order and the hand dryer only ran for a second or two before shutting off. It was surreal.

I don’t remember walking back to the car, which remember, was on the other side of the mall by the v-stock. I just remember we eventually stepped out into the sun, and were absolutely slammed with traffic noise and human voices. It was like coming out a dark, soundproof room. It was one of the most cursed experiences of my life.

I found out that C Mall is getting demolished from an article that included pictures of the huge, empty space. I could feel the unease, the wrongness of a place that should be full of people and noise being silent and derelict. It was almost sad that this place was going out with such a whimper. I feel this picture says it all:

We did this to it. And it knows that. And it wants to know why it has to die because of us.

[junkh3ad]

I’m having Some Thoughts about Pickles i want to share with the class today.

I think Pickles is more sensitive (at least internally nowadays) than he leads on to be, mostly because he’s had to be. Years of teen homelessness/early adulthood homelessness really did a number on his psyche. He’s gotten so use to burying his emotions and using drugs/alcohol has a coping mechanism to hide how he feels that now that he’s in a safer environment and surrounded by people who care about him (despite what they might say) he doesn’t know how to show it.

I think he’s tried more than once to cut his drinking in half. He’s spent days holed up in his room, Withdrawals racking through him with the force of a pissed off god. He’s sleeping in the bathroom just because it’s easier than stumbling to the toilet every other minute. People check on him, Nathan sits with him as he sweats and shivers and begs him for just one drink/line/hit of anything to make this hell stop. And of course, Nathan doesn’t say anything. Just stares at him, stone cold and unwavering with his reply of “I’d rather rip my organs out than do that.” because Pickles asked him to deny him whatever he’d beg for.

He wouldn’t last two months, Nathan finding him locked in the recording booth guzzling down a bottle of liquor with coke smeared on his face. They don’t talk for 2 weeks each time it happens, but no one acknowledges it. Pickles hears Nathan’s voice as his subconscious, hateful words calling him weak and pathetic for not wanting it enough.

When Pickles goes to Wisconsin for thanksgiving at the request of his mother, yet again seeking her approval, he’s yet again let down and shoved down due to Seth’s mediocre life pleasing his parents more than anything Pickles could ever do. He knows he can just leave, tell them all to fuck off and suck it but he can’t bring himself to. So he goes to the bar, he gets absolutely hammered before trekking back home and getting into a huge screaming match with his parents again. He calls Charles, who already has a hotel room booked for him and a flight for the next day ready. He spends that night on the phone with the band, laid out on the luxury suite bed with a bottle of Jameson in his hand as he listened to his mates chatter and tell him about how Murderface tried to do some stupid thanksgiving day special that went terribly wrong and how shitty it was when he wasn’t there to join in on their fun.

That’s when he reminds himself he found his family, scrapped them up from different garbage cans like he did to himself after running away. Hell be home by the afternoon tomorrow and can put this whole weekend behind him. He’ll be hearing Murderfaces voice yelling down the hall as Toki and Nathan make fun of him for something stupid he’s said. He’ll be watching gory movies with Nathan by the end of the day, and they��ll be sitting a little too close to each other for it to be normal, but neither will acknowledge it. Their hands will end up intertwined— without any acknowledgement too.

The first time he and Nathan make any sort of advance on the other is hurried and awkward, there’s hands groping soft skin and bites and scratching and curses. They don’t talk about it when they wake up the next morning, Pickles face turning beat red when Toki mentions the obscenely large bite mark on his shoulder that night before a show (Nathan’s white face paint nearly melting off with embarrassment.)

Pickles is adamant it’s not there, despite the red and blue bruising that radiates from the teeth marks. He pretends he doesn’t see Nathan glaring a hole through his head after the show, watching him sweet talk a woman in her late 30s into his bed. (he doesn’t sleep with her, and she goes home an hour later.) Only then does Nathan confront him, angrily asking who he thinks he is and why the fuck he brought some woman back to his room. This causes a whole argument, and surprise surprise it ends with Pickles pinned to the wall, Nathan holding him up with one freakishly large hand. They decide, after a jealous fuck, that there’s something they need to address (Pickles likes the jealousy that radiates off Nathan when women fling themselves at him, he’s never had someone want him so badly in every way.)

i just realized how long this all is but anyways i think about pickles a lot and his relationship with Nathan and found family and all that. if you read all that thank u love u hope u enjoyed my rambling!

[trueshellz]

Rumble

Part of my Invisible Illness Series

Warnings: IBS/IBD symptoms, nausea, upset stomach, bloating, multiple bathroom trips, pet names (kitten), cuddling, some suggestiveness, mentions of smelly boys, pregnant mentioned, reader crying, comfort.

Summary: There was nothing attractive about pooping, but having Kuroo as a husband made you feel better.

Dropping your head to your hands as you perched on the toilet for the fourth time in an hour, you held back your moans of pain as your stomach tried to digest itself from the inside out. Despite following your diet well, avoiding all your food triggers and eating at, (what you had deemed) safe places here you were again. You'd had trouble sleeping, feeling nauseous and bloated after dinner with friends and even after your peppermint tea nothing had settled.

Then the cramps started.

You'd gotten up to take your medication first, used a hot water bottle and even wrapped Kuroo's warm arm around you to ease the pain but nothing had helped. Right now you were so close to crying and then to top it all off...

"Kitten?" You heard him try the door, thanking God you remembered to lock it. "You ok?"

Taking a deep breath as you heard him yawn, you forced a smile and pushed down the pain you were feeling. "Fine. I'm fine. I'll be-"

"Babe, don't lie. I heard you get up every time."

And here you thought you were being stealthy.

"I'm fine, Tetsu."

A sigh left his mouth, receding footsteps and then you heard the front door slam closed. This time you couldn't help the tears trek down your face, you were pretty sure your entire GI system was now empty but the nausea hadn't receded. And now to top it all off, your husband had left you alone. He had always said it wasn't a big deal, you remembered the first few times you went our and barely ate anything due to nerves or food intolerances, he had taken offense and demanded you explain. Then he found restaurants that you could actually eat at, doing his homework on your condition and making sure he looked after you all the time. He carried spare medication for you, had spare clothes in his car just in case and, the one time, even stood outside the disabled bathroom making noise when you were in itso people wouldn't hear you.

After having a quick shower, you popped some pills in your mouth and started warming up the kettle for your hot water bottle again when the door opened and closed. Your eyes meeting his as he stepped over the threshold with a bag, you watched as he pulled out some stronger over the counter medication, some electrolyte drinks and some small snacks that would help you put food back into your body.

"Hey, kitten, don't cry."

You hadn't even realised until he tugged you forward, hands cradling your head and back as you gripped his t-shirt. Low shushes and words of affirmation as he rubbed circles on your back, pulling away only when the kettle button popped up and hissed. Kuroo sat you on the worktop as he filled it up, not the small ones but this huge one metre version you had found online and would lay across your body. Wiping away your tears, he kissed your forehead before carrying you bridal style back to bed. His arms were strong around you as you both lay down, his chest to your back as he rubbed circles on your bloated stomach.

"I feel pregnant."

You felt rather than heard his laughter, a small peck on your neck as he tapped your butt.

"We practising already?" He yelped a little when you picked his hard thigh. "You look cute."

"You're insane, Tetsu." A beat. "I just... I feel gross, y'know? I mean, I spent half of tonight in the bathroom and it's just embarrassing sometimes."

"Baby, I was an athlete. Locker rooms are gross. This is nothing to be embarassed about, everyone poops."

"Tetsu!" You tried to turn but his arms barely allowed you any room on the beat of days and today he was extra cuddly. "No one wants to hear about-"

"In sickness and in health, remember? I love you. And if that means I spend my time singing outside the bathroom or going to the 24 hour pharmacy at 3am or even buying shares in your pills, then so be it."

You couldn't help the smile grace your lips, even when he was being sweet he was a total dork. "Thank you."

"And anyway... I figure if we're getting pregnant I should start practising."

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptember 2023, Day 18

“You said I’d be safe here”

Ambushed | Paranoia | Being watched

The Bee's Whumptember Masterlist 

~1720 words

CW: “bad” caretaker (literally, you’ll see what I mean), mermaid whumpee, “it” as a pronoun, kidnapping, implied mermaid trafficking

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

"Caretaker? Where, uh… where exactly are we?"

Caretaker looked back at the mermaid that haphazardly clung onto their shoulders.

“Almost home.” They grunted, hiking the mermaid resting on their back up so their tail wasn’t dragging on the ground again. Caretaker was decently strong, but lugging a mermaid from the docks where they had been captured all the way back to your house would have made anyone's body protest and ache after a while. Theirs was no exception.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Whumpee whispered. “You should have just let me go… Someone could have seen us. I think I saw someone following us!”

“Yeah, well I couldn’t just leave you there, and I couldn’t just let you go. They’ve got hunter ships covering half the gulf, you’d never make it.” Caretaker spotted their house in the distance, the single lit window a shining beacon through the oppressive darkness surrounding them. A second wind graced them with new energy. Almost there… Almost there. God, their back was killing them. “And if someone’s following us, then I’ll kick their ass and we’ll keep going.”

The mermaid sat silent for a moment, the day's events flipping through their mind like an ancient film reel. Their eyes flicked around the darkness pressing in on them, odd shapes morphing and charging in the blackness and making their imagination run wild. Goosebumps prickled up their arms and back. 

“How… How do I know I can trust you?”

“Does it really matter? Not like you could do anything about it one way or the other.”

The arms clutching around Caretaker’s neck grasped themselves tighter, and Whumpee went silent, leaving only the sound of gravel crunching under Caretaker’s feet as they continued their trudge to the cottage. Caretaker sucked in an extra deep breath and let out a small groan. Maybe that response wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been.

“... look, I promise you can trust me. You’ll be safe here. We’ll get you in a bathtub with some water, and figure out our next steps together, okay?”

Whumpee took in a raggedy breath near Caretaker’s ear, one that Caretaker knew was in a vain attempt to hide their dangerously dried-out state. “Yeah… thank you.”

A sudden beam of light cut through the night from down the path they had just trekked, swooping over their heads as it slowly came up over the hill.

“Shit…”

Caretaker ran the rest of the short distance to their house, much to the dismay of a very jostled Whumpee, and they quickly locked the door behind them, turning off the light and running to the bathroom to turn on the water before sloughing the now wide-eyed mermaid into the filling tub with a small yelp.

“What’s going on?” they whispered, as if the danger would be able to hear the conversation and snatch them away again with yet another net.

“You know how to work the spigot? Turn the knob to make it hotter and colder?”

“Uh, I do now… But–, but what’s happening, please?”

“I think you were right, someone followed us.” Caretaker held their hand under the water for a moment before adjusting the knob as the blood drained from Whumpee’s face. “I saw a light coming up the trail and my house is the only one up this way, so it couldn’t be for anyone but me. I’m gonna turn off the lights in here, and you’re gonna have to pretend you’re not here while I deal with… whoever.”

“They’re coming for me!” the mermaid squeaked, clutching at the sides of the tub.

“You don’t know that, it could just be someone on a late-night visit.”

“That’s not a thing that people do!” 

“Actually, my friends do sometimes–”

The mermaid grabbed Caretaker by the lapel and pulled them in close. “You said I’d be safe here,” they breathed, serious as the grave, practically shaking as they held themself up. “You just promised me.”

Caretaker cupped the mermaid's hands in their own and pulled them off their shirt, firmly setting them back down on the edge of the tub. “Sometimes people break promises. I’ll do my best to keep this one.”

A hard knock at the door echoed through the house, sounding out over even the noisy water hitting the porcelain of the bathtub. Caretaker jumped up to the door and quickly flicked off the lights.

“I’ll go deal with this then come back to get you as soon as we’re done. Don’t make a sound.”

“Wait!” Whumpee called. “Should I turn off the water?”

“No, you need it, I’ll just say I’m drawing a bath for insomnia or something. Don’t let it overflow.”

“Oh, uh–” The door slammed shut, plunging the mermaid into near-complete darkness with the click of a lock. They tensed up even more, if that was even possible, only kept company by the gushing sound of water and the sliver of light peeking under the door. Their head whipped around in the darkness, looking for any signs of someone watching them even though all logic said that was very much impossible, and they felt their eyes starting to burn. They weren’t even sure if it was because of held-back tears or their sorely dried-out face. Probably both. They could barely breathe. The bathtub wasn’t large enough for them to be able to dunk their face down, so they had to resort to splashing water onto their face and hoping a more sufficient solution would come along once Caretaker came back…

 If it was Caretaker who came back… 

Whumpee didn’t want to consider it might be the very hunters who had captured them who might be the next ones to grace the bathroom doorway.

They leaned back, biting their lip as they death-gripped the sides of the tub. Someone was going to find them, they knew it. If not now, then soon. It was impossible to smuggle a mermaid across land, especially such a ‘prize’ like Whumpee, so they’d been told. So many people would be searching for them. It was only a matter of time. 

They’d never be able to feel the water rush against their face again, the briefest moments of euphoria when they jumped out of the water and felt gravity take hold, pulling them back down into the water’s cool embrace. They’d never see the vibrant colors of the coral again, the fish all around them, darting this way and that without a care in the world, before becoming one unified entity and moving as one away from some predator. They wouldn’t even see any more of those stupid eels that they hated when they were a child, the eels that still creeped them out to this day. Their heart hurt for the eels.

Tears sprang to their eyes, which just alarmed them more because they’d never cried above water before, and then they started crying harder. They just wanted to go home. Just one more time. Just one more time, that’s all they asked.

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

Caretaker gently closed the bathroom door and clicked the outside lock into place just as another knock echoed through the house, making their heart nearly seize out of their chest.

They stormed over to their front door, slamming it open to the sight of a person leaning against the doorframe, one foot pressed up under them, arms crossed and head tilted down in a vague caricature of a… mobster? Hardened detective? Caretaker narrowed their eyes, aggressively unamused.

“Ya got the goods?” they grunted in a very bad approximation of an accent. They looked up at Caretaker through eyebrows and half-lidded eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing, Partner?”

Partner straightened up. “Uh… you said to meet you here at midnight?”

Caretaker clapped their hands together as they stared at Partner with dinner plate-sized eyes and gritted teeth, in a vague attempt to not throttle them. “First of all, it's almost two, and second of all, no I did not.”

“Right, whatever.” Partner cooly walked past Caretaker into the house, flicking the light switch and bathing the living room in a warm glow. “You got the mermaid though?”

“You were supposed to wait for my call, which I said would probably come tomorrow morning and then you’d come over and I’d introduce you. No one ever said anything about meeting at midnight, and especially not at 2 a.m. in the middle of the heist.”

“Right, yeah, but did you get the mermaid?”

Caretaker slammed the door and growled. “No thanks to you.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is. You got the mermaid, and no one’s following you, ‘cept for me, of course, because I was looking out for you and trying to make sure you weren’t being followed.” Partner lied halfheartedly. “Everything’s going great. We already got the hard part done, now we just need to smuggle it across the border and sell the damn thing.” 

Partner flopped down on the couch and patted the seat beside them, an invitation which Caretaker ignored in favor of standing directly in front of them, seething.

“The problem, Partner,” Caretaker growled. “Is that we saw your light coming up the road, and now it thinks the hunters are onto us. I mean, hell, I did too, I was fully ready to cave your face in. It's probably having a panic attack in the bathroom now, and it’s gonna be a nightmare to calm down. We need it to trust us.”

“Who cares if it trusts us?” Partner groaned. “Not like it can run. And even then, there's two of us and one of it, we can just knock it out and be done.”

Caretaker snatched the back of Partner’s jacket and dragged them off the couch toward the bathroom.

“Right, I’m gonna tell the thing that it was just my friend after all, then you’re gonna introduce yourself and be so nice and believable and you’re gonna help calm it down. And it’s going to trust us.” Caretaker hissed in Partner’s ear, the sound of the still running faucet growing louder with each step. “Got it?”

Partner rolled their eyes with a sigh. “Got it.”

“Good. You better pray to whatever god you believe in you haven’t ruined this.”

“So dramatic, Caretaker. We’ll be fine.” Partner jumped in front of Caretaker and unlocked the bathroom door, slamming it open with little care.

“What could go wrong?”

Whumpee let out a terrified scream.

@whumptember