#and how they were both abandoned and they found a kid who they thought had been abandoned and they took him in

[dirkxcaliborn]

scanlations are so funny

"hi I'm picking up this series!!! btw I'm TLing from thai bc I couldn't find the jp raws, oh and also I don't know thai or japanese ^_^ ok enjoy!!!!!!!!"

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[bumpkinspice0]

Office Hours

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!FemReader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: A few months into working back at the mansion and Logan still can't keep his hands off you. A/N: This is vaguely tied to my other Logan fic "No One Knows…" but not at all required reading. All you need to really know is reader is a returning X-Man that can control Earth/ rocks and is codenamed Dozer (Short for Bulldozer) Warnings: S M U T, medium plot??? but mostly just porn, established relationship, under desk blowjobs, office sex, light dom/ sub, a single spank possessive Logan (Someone needs to put me down)

AO3 if you prefer to read there

_______

The morning light pours in through the windows of your bedroom. Logan holds you close against him in bed while you, less than enthusiastically, try to squirm out of his grasp.

A few months back into your old life at X-mansion and you can confidently say it was the best decision you’d ever made in a long, long time. All the kids returned to a brand new environmental science teacher and a newly reconstructed mansion that somehow looked almost exactly the same— give or take a few changes to the gardens.

You’d missed this, you missed being part of the X team, whether it was as an X-Man or just a teacher. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were making a real tangible difference in people's lives. 

Yes, you desperately wanted to return to your roots and start over— but he was also a nice perk to all the chaos. 

Your relationship with Logan was just as new as your employment in Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. He reeled you in like a fish on a hook. Whatever the two of you had, it was nice. You think it had been a long time since he had something like this too. Someone to care for. Someone to please. 

Neither of you could keep your hands off each other. 

It was too early for ‘I love you’s’ or to declare something like moving in together, but he already spent most nights in your room as it was. If he didn’t spend the night he’d find you in the early morning just to hear you moan his name. That boy was determined never to let you sleep— not that you’re really complaining.

You’d never had a lover like Logan. Someone so… starved. He craved your touch, rambled on about your scent, and held you on the edge for what felt like hours. It was all new and some parts of it, admittedly, a little weird, but fuck was it exciting. 

You’d started a new life for yourself, more or less. Started over, more accurately. And he was there to soften all the blows. You hope you did the same for him. 

You can’t believe you thought he ever had ulterior motives about you when you came back. Once you found out you both had more similar pasts than you’d realized, you were sure the only thing he'd want was information from you. How glad you were to be wrong. 

Victims of the same cruelty but you were both different. You still had your memories. Your identity. He didn't. 

You vowed to help find out who he was, and that seemed to mean more to him than anything— but it was a slow process. Old information and long abandoned facilities. Still, you had each other through all of this and that helped the pain, just a little. Facing your demons together. 

Right now, however, Logan was your only tangible demon. He still had you trapped in bed and late for class. 

“Just a quickie,” he purrs, nibbling at your ear.  

“I have a class to teach in 20 minutes. You should have gotten here earlier,” You muster up any strength you have against him, “And it’s never quick with you.”

“Or you just don’t want it to be quick,” His mouth finds your bare shoulder, already marked with week's worth of love bites from him. You can’t deny the trill of excitement it sends through you.

This fucking man. 

You want to. Lord in heaven, you really, really want to. Sometimes this being a responsible mentor thing got in the way.

“Logan…” You push lightly against his chest. It’s not much of a protest, really. None of your weak-willed squirming was.

“Okay… okay,” His grip around your waist finally loosens and you reluctantly get out of bed. He gives your ass a playful spank as you do. 

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” You scold him with a smile as you dig through your dresser for anything that was clean. 

“Got a good reason to be,” He grins, resting his arms behind his head and stretching out over the bed. You can’t help the blush that creeps into your cheeks. Logan never missed an opportunity to compliment you. 

You, a little reluctantly, pull on a pair of jeans and one of his white shirts. Slowly but surely all your laundry was getting intermingled to the point of no return. That and you know he always liked when you wore something of his. You don’t think any of your own tee-shirts were clean anyway.

Yeah, it’s probably time to do laundry. 

You top it off with a loose black cardigan to seem somewhat teacherly. You gather your folders with today’s syllabus. You had three classes today. Logan usually had two— if you could you really call PE and survival basics a class. The kids usually just roped him and Kurt into playing flag football with them. It was adorable in its own Logany way.

“I’ll see you out there, Professor Logan,” you give him a peck on the forehead before shimming on your shoes. 

“God, don’t ever call me that again.” He chuckles, covering his face with his forearm.

“Would you prefer daddy?”

His hand immediately drops, “Don’t tempt me, darlin’.”

You’re at the door now, giving yourself one last moment to admire the perfect man sprawled out in your bed.

“Don’t sleep in too late,” you open the door. 

“See you out there, toots.”

______

There are only a few more warm days left in fall and you refuse to let them go to waste. You always liked holding classes outside anyway. This was Environmental Science after all. As an earthmover, it always felt natural. Feeling the actual ground under your feet made everything easier to teach in a way. 

You’re teaching the different types of erosion this week. The class is gathered on the grass on the edge of the pond as you hover different rocks around them. Examples of river-smoothed stones, bed clay, and a few from the Grand Canyon you’d brought in from your personal collection. 

You’d never thought of yourself as the best teacher but the kids seemed to at least enjoy the theatricality. You knew dirt. You knew the earth, and that seemed to be enough.

You hear the PE class run out onto the other side of the lawn, Logan dutifully following behind them. You don’t even need to look to feel his eyes on you. You're not sure if you're irritated by the distraction or think it’s a little cute he wants to be near you.

Well, if he’s going to distract you and your class, you might as well distract him. The kids had started a game of frisbee golf, something his full attention didn’t need to be on anyway.  Logan always joked he was just a glorified babysitter. You take off your cardigan when you feel a small gust of wind. His head immediately snaps your direction when you do. 

He’d told you before he liked the mix of your scents. The more animalistic part of him liked it anyway. He always seemed ashamed of it, despite your insistence you didn’t care. You could never truly understand, sure, but that didn’t change your feelings for him. Besides, you didn’t mind feeding the animal every once in a while. 

You’d reached the end of your class period and quickly dismissed your students, reminding them of the homework as they scurried back into the mansion. You remain outside, cleaning up the small mess your lesson had made. 

You still feel Logan’s eyes on you. You can’t help the excitement his gaze stirs in you. Logan did something to you no other man had ever done— he made you feel desirable in ways you’d never experienced. 

It was an incredible turn-on, to say the least.

You feel your panties slowly start to wetten. You see a shift in his posture in the distance. You smile, bending over to pick up the loose papers you’d left on a nearby bench. You pause there far longer than you needed to— just a small tease but you know it’s something that’ll drive you crazy. He always said he liked you in these jeans the most.

You feel his eyes burning into your back the entire walk to the mansion. You can’t help but smile.

______

You're leaning against the front of your desk, looking over tomorrow's lesson, when you hear his signature booming steps hurrying down the hallway. It’d been an hour since your last class ended. He enters the office, closing the door behind him immediately. 

“Professor Logan,” You greet him teasingly, leaning back against the desk. 

He says nothing as he stalks towards you with heavy steps, crashing his mouth into yours. You pull him in as he inserts his body between your legs. His mouth is hungry against yours— desperate even. His lips trail down to your jaw.

“You think you’re cute, huh? Prancing around in my clothes, showing off your ass, gettin’—”

“I’m very cute,” you giggle as he nips at you.

He growls, pulling you up to lead you back to the desk chair. He liked it when you sat on his lap. It was both of your lunch breaks. You’d always spend them together, though usually not in your shared office.

Charles required everyone to have office hours, even Logan. He fought it every step of the way until he finally relented to just sharing yours. He was almost never here. He didn’t have a reason to be— well unless you were there. His desk sits across from yours just as bare as the day it was put in. Yours, on the other hand, was quickly cluttering as the school year went on.

“Still worked up from this morning,” Logan admits as he nips at your lip, “Need you, sweet thing.”

Absolutely insatiable.

“Poor boy,” You tease, your hands slowly trailing down to his obnoxious belt buckle. “I’ll take care of you.”

You always liked to tease him more than you’d care to admit. He’d get so worked up over the smallest things. You were always happy to indulge him… every fucking time. 

You sink down to your knees, pulling his jeans with you. His cock bulges out against his boxers, already hard and waiting. You palm at him, giving him a rough squeeze through the fabric. He hums in approval. God, he always felt so good.

There’s almost a sigh of relief when you pull him free. You give him a few rough strokes before your tongue follows, trailing up from his base and swirling around his tip, pre cum already leaking free. His rough hands grip your hair as you lavish his cock with your tongue. 

You pause at the tip, placing a single feather light kiss before taking him completely into your mouth. He chokes out a strangled moan, doing his best to stay quiet. Luckily, the walls of the mansion were thick. 

The grip in your hair tightens as you find a rhythm. 

“T-that's it,” his voice is shaky, dripping with pleasure, “Just like that. Good girl.”

He always praised you. Whether giving or receiving, he always made sure you felt seen. 

A part of this excited you so much. It was scandalous, having him splayed out like this at your work desk, doing your best to suppress the moans that brew in your throat from the thrill of it all. You loved making him fall apart. This was just as much for him as it was for you. You were both having fun. Both acting like giddy, horny, little teenagers. 

His grip in your hair shifts, and you feel him tense under you. He can’t be close already? Before you have time to ask what’s going on you’re being shoved underneath your own desk. You want to scream what the absolute fuck?! before you hear the office door being clicked open.

“Logan?” It's Scott’s voice. 

“What?” Logan bites out, leaning over the front of the desk to conceale you completely. Thank god Charles always insisted on these massive solid oak desks.

“I’m just— You’re sitting at Dozer’s desk,” Scott stammers out. 

“Had something I needed,” he quickly lied. 

You’re cramped into a wooden box basically, one of the walls being made out of thick muscled legs with a heavy cock still hanging between them. You were playing a game with Logan, might as well make it more interesting. 

“Have you seen her?” Scott asks, “I needed—”

“No.” Logan only grits out, “She’s probably down in the—”

He cuts himself off the moment your hand grasps his cock again. You can’t help but smile when you run your tongue back up the velvet length. He can’t move his arms because that would expose you. He can’t move his legs because there’s not enough room with you between them. He’s stuck here while you torture him in the sweetest way possible. You don’t miss the way his cock jumps when you take him back into your mouth. 

“She’s where Logan?” Scott, blissfully unaware, prompts him.

“I don’t— I don’t fucking know,” You swear you can almost feel him shaking with the effort to keep his voice steady, “Why don’t you go fucking look for her then, huh?”

There isn’t as much room to move your head as you’d like, so you let your tongue and hands do most of the work. 

“Well, can I just get on her computer?” You hear Scott take a step closer. Oh no, “I just need a—”

“Piss off, Summers!” He practically growls it out. “You need her then go fucking find her.”

You hear Scott scoff as he takes a step back. To be fair, this was completely in character for the two of them. It was doubtful Scott suspected anything. You reach up and give Logan’s balls a gentle fondle while you worship his tip with your tongue as silently as you can.

Finally, you hear Scott retreat to the hallway. 

“I don’t know why she’s with you, Logan. I really don’t.” He spits before slamming the door behind him. 

Logan doesn’t waste a second once the door is closed again, pushing the chair back and grabbing your face roughly. His cock falls from your mouth with a wanton gasp. You must look like a mess but can’t bring yourself to care.

He just holds you there for a moment, your mouth just inches away from his cock. His eyes have glossed over with lust. He loved this, you know he fucking loved this because you did too. 

“You’re trouble,” he says, pulling you both to standing, “You’re so much fucking trouble.”

He turns you around and bends you over the desk immediately, a few pencil cups shaking with the force. He yanks down your jeans a little rougher than you’d like but you still kick them off the rest of the way. Your underwear still remained in place. He kicks your legs wider and trails a hand up your back, pressing his palm down between your shoulders. His other hand drips between your legs, a finger rubbing over your clothed pussy.

“Fucking soaked through already?” he purrs. “You get wet sucking my cock, baby?”

“Yes.” It practically comes out as a plea. Well, it’s only fair he’s toying with you now. Your legs are almost shaking in anticipation. 

You squirm as he starts to rub the damp fabric directly over your clit. His hand on your back presses you down harder, pinning you in place. He’s doing what you did to him�� in his own way. Trapped at his mercy. 

He pushes your underwear to the side, two fingers running through your slick folds a few times before delving in. You bite your lip to suppress a moan, barely successful in silencing yourself. He curls his fingers, back and forth as he works his hand up and down. Anyone could walk in that door at any moment. Logan would stop if he heard anyone coming again—right?

“You know what you do to me?” His voice is ragged, almost pained, “Fuck, do you have any idea?”

His pace is speeding up and your restraint is slipping, but there’s nothing you can do to get out of this. And, fuck you don’t want him to stop either. You’re completely his right now. 

You finally let out a wail when rips his hand out of your cunt and slaps it across your ass. His touch stays there, gripping the stinging skin, sharp pain quickly melting to the pleasure that was racking your whole body. He takes his other hand off your back. You don’t move, your stomach stirring in anticipation.

It feels better than it should when his hard, massive cock runs over your soaked pussy. He’d dialed up all of your nerves to eleven. You involuntarily ach back into him like a fucking bitch in heat.

“Oh Christ, why are you with me…” he lines himself up, “That’s what Summers said, right? He doesn’t know why you’re with me?”

“Logan—” You attempt to speak up before the air in your lungs vanishes when he thrusts inside of you in one jarring motion. He stays there a good moment, grinding his hips into your ass, gathering himself. God, he was so fucking deep. He draws out and slams back in again. You hear the desk creaking in protest this time, several items falling off. 

He leans over you, hot tongue trailing up your spine before nuzzling his face in next to your ear. 

“I know why,” He starts to roll his hips against yours. His imposing body and magic dick were taking over every sense you had. God, you wish you could scream. “It’s because you know no one else can fuck you like I can. Can take care of you like I can.”

He nips at your ear as he finds a pace, tiny low grunts escaping in rhythm with his hips. This was just as much about dominating you as it was about being as close to you as humanly possible. Mixing your scents and desires together until the line is blurred between the two. Yes, Logan fucked you unlike anyone else had, and your certain better than anyone else ever could, but he also loved you harder than you ever knew possible. 

Loyal to a fault. It’s instincts, he always said. You always hated when he compared himself to an animal, but in a lot of ways it's just part of who he was. He seemed past trying to deny it and embrace it in his own way. Let the beast free, so to speak. 

“Tell me,” He growls into your ear, “Tell me who makes you feel this good.”

You struggled to form the single-word answer, but it eventually came out, whined and shaky. 

“Y-y-you,” you swear you’re drooling, “O-only you, b-baby. O-only—” You trail off, likely losing all brain function to the intoxicating filth of it all. 

“That’s right. T-that’s right,” he chants a few times like he’s fucking praising himself for it, “Only me. You’re all mine. I’m all yours.”

You’re not sure if it’s a gasp of surprise or pain that escapes you when he lifts you both. He holds you against him, still fucking you while you’re both standing. You’re forced to stand on your tiptoes, your hands grasping onto the forearm around your chest for any sense of balance. You weighed nothing to him. He’s still fucking you senseless. He’s holding you both up and still fucking you senseless.

You swear you go blind when his other hand snakes down to your clit. 

“Shoulda stayed in bed this morning,” His stubble rubs against your cheek, “Wouldn’t have to fuck you like this if we— shit— if we had time this morning.”

“L–Logan, I–I—” You start to warn him but can’t manage to get it all out. Nevertheless, you’re sure he knows. He always knows when you’re close. You feel it, the mounting pressure at your core. Sweet, precious relief. 

“I know, baby. I know.” 

It hits you like a train, hard and almost completely by surprise. The hand around your chest immediately comes up to clamp around your mouth. You scream against his palm while he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, practically using you like a goddamn sex toy at this point. 

He mutters out a string of curses while he attempts to maintain his equilibrium— and eventually fails. He collapses back into the chair behind him, dragging you with him. He almost slips out. Almost. He holds you close against his chest, hips completely still against your ass as he pulses rope after rope into you.

“Good girl, good girl,” you hear him muttering into your neck like a prayer. 

Your haggard moans into his hand eventually fade into one long heavy sigh, finally allowing yourself to relax against him. You feel his body unwind as well, his previously firm hand over your mouth coming to stroke your cheek. His lips lull around your neck, placing sloppy kiss after sloppy kiss wherever he could reach. He was always so gentle after sex. Those hands that were so rough just a moment ago gently glide over your skin. You always find comfort in their heft. 

“Do you think anyone heard us?” you finally ask, leaning your head back against his. 

“Fuck ‘em if they did,” he nuzzles himself right under your jaw. Close— he always had to be so close. 

“Charles is gonna fire us if he ever finds out,” you bring your hands up to your face, rubbing into your eyes just a little too hard.

“You can’t fire an X-Man.”

“Teachers, Logan, we’re teachers.” Ah good, the mortification was settling in just in time to ruin the moment. Fabulous. 

“Stop it,” you swear you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“He’s gonna read our minds and see what absolute animals we are and he’s gonna fire us.” The irony that you're saying this out loud while Logan is still fully inside you in your shared office is not lost on you. You feel his chest bouncing against your back, chuckling lightly at your dismay of your surely oncoming termination. You can’t help but laugh along with him, just a little. 

You eventually untangle your bodies and fish your pants off the floor. Maybe you had time for a shower before your next class. Christ, you need one. Logan wasn’t the only mutant with advanced senses in the school and the last thing you need is teenagers starting a rumor mill about two teachers fucking in their office. Still, when you look back at Logan you know you’d do it all over again regardless.

Whatever this was with him, whatever you’d started, you know you can’t stop it. The thought should terrify you, but for once you’re not afraid.

You reach out and grab his hand, “Wanna grab lunch?”

“Thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

[shaisuki]

SHAI I NEED YANDERE MICHAEL KAISER BABY TRAPPING CHUBBY READER..... PLEASSEEEEEEE AHSHSJZJZNJ

❝ BED OF ROSES. ❞

( ၴႅၴ FEATURING. YANDERE! MICHAEL KAISER

CONTENT WARNINGS. babytrapping + sabotage + brief chap. 260 spoilers + implied abuse + abandonment issues + gaslighting + emotional manipulation + smut.

SYNOPSIS. kaiser is ready for a baby but you aren't ready so you leave him with no choice.

“i'm not ready for a baby, michael.”

that wasn't the answer he was expecting coming from you. michael had put a lot of thought on this, starting a family with you and you straight out refused him. never did he felt betrayed from the person who is you.

he have the influence. connection and wealth to raise children no matter how many you want but why the answer of you not being ready when in his mind you were the perfect mother to his perfect kids.

“so when you will be ready for children, rose?” the nickname rolling smoothly in his tongue. grasping your soft jaw softly and lifting it up to meet his baby blue eyes. his lips quirked in soft curve. a smile he had shown to you many times.

“i don't know, michael. honestly, i've been thinking that we're both not ready for it and i'm scared. scared that i'm bringing a life in this world where i'm unsure of what to. i don't want for the baby to have a mother whose unsure of herself.” you reasoned and you watch as his smile deflates. replacing it with a thin line. a look of disappointment in his face. his baby blue eyes darkening.

you meant it. he's sure of it and despite for searching for a subtle hint that you are lying, he found nothing. only the features of what a anxious person is and michael hated it.

everything was going fine. he's the ace of bastard münchen, the one who will replace noel noa, an emperor and he can't get what he wants. needs. he only want a fucking child with you and you can't even be prepared for it when your job is only to bear his kid.

your explanation meant one thing. you don't want to be with him anymore. that's right. that's the reason you don't want to take it on the next step and sooner or later, you'll be leaving him for good.

he won't allow you leave him. out of admirers and his potential lovers none of them made connection and attachment to him like you did. you were the chosen one for him and a devious idea formed inside his thought. he could impregnate you without your knowledge and you won't be thinking of leaving him with a child inside your already round stomach. he's sure of it. you're nothing a like to his greedy mother. you're perfect for motherhood, to him.

he'll be killing two birds with one stone and thus, it begins.

“m-michael....” you softly moans out his name after reaching your release and kaiser groans from the tightness of your cunt milking him dry. it's still the same from how you call his name, the hold you have in his arms, everything. however it didn't change that you leaving him since you confessed that you don't want a baby from since he expressed his desire for wanting one.

michael eyes the pill bottle in disdain watching as you popped two pills in your mouth. birth control pills. one of the things he certainly dislikes. preventing you from being swollen with his child.

he softly pats your head. the questions reeling in his mind. “you know we're going to be great parents to a child.” he commented out of the blue of the dimness surrounding the room. you tense at the subject of being parents. shifting in your place where you lay your round cheeks in his lean chest. you pressed your palm in his chest and meeting his gaze. “michael, please not again. i'm not ready. we're going to be one but not today.” frowning at what he's implying again.

“i apologize, my rose. the thought don't simply want to leave me.” the pad of his thumb grazing on the softness of your cheek. “i always think that our child will be blessed with a parents like us. imagine a mini-version of me or yours and better a mix of us. having us for them to look at. both they will love.” his voice gentle and sweet. a glint of fondness swirling in his eyes and it made you sick. staring at those eyes of him when he talks about it.

sighing, “i want that too, michael.” your simply murmured. avoiding his gaze and he's quick to met yours again. “we both want it.” catching your lips in one of a desperate kiss before pulling back. pushing your round shoulder. laying down with your back in the sheets. michael hovers above you. his blonde hair streaked with blue were like vines hanging.

“we should have plenty of conversation once it happened. looking forward to seeing this stomach of yours getting rounder than already it is with our baby.” he cheekily commented although it was laced with honesty. “michael, i'm on the pill.” you giggled. the striker smiles at you. “i know. let me have you like i'm going to get you pregnant.” he's one with you again.

the sudden blaring of the timer startles you. five whole minutes of waiting and your life is about to change, maybe michael's too. you weren't sure and your hands shakes like they were electrocuted. exhale and inhale. you repeated it. the tears is already pooling in between of your lashes and you didn't know wether to cry or not.

building the courage of grabbing the flipped pregnancy test down. you reversed the stick and you bursted into tears. the results clear as the daylight.

all two lines. it is positive. all three of the pregnancy sticks littered in the sink indicated you were pregnant with kaiser's child. why? the first question appeared in your mind. you were careful and so is michael since you made it clear you didn't want a baby and michael was respectful of it. you don't know what you're supposedly to do know. your misery in exchange for kaiser's happiness.

a triumphant smirk blooms in his face. his jaw resting in your head while he comforts his girlfriend who told him minutes ago that you are pregnant with his baby. switching from shushing and comforting you that he knows best. listening while you cry your heart out. “we were careful, michael.” you sob. “i know.” he whispers.

“i was on the pill. i took them regularly at the right time.”

sugar pills.

sugar pills is what you had been taking for the past months. a bit hard to differentiate them from the real ones, your birth control pills easily switched with those sugar pills. you didn't even suspect a thing and during that time where you began taking them is where he made sure to breed you full. cumming deep inside and staying for a bit to make sure it took and it did.

michael cups your cheeks. “it was meant for us, my rose.” was his only explanation to you. sparks and sparks of new emotions bubbling inside of him. he's going to be a father. the best one and you his girlfriend is about to be a mother. he would spend the next months looking over for his soon-to-be wife and baby. of course, wife. the baby would not to be illegitimate child of his.

as much kaiser dislikes your tears, it was better. you can no longer leave him. not with his baby inside you. it would be considered a crime for you to take it away. truly, it wasn't going to happen if you simply just agreed with him. have his baby, end of story.

it's going to be a bed of roses from now on.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Two / Part Three

Ao3

It's 8:45 am. 

The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.

It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?

No one was complaining. 

They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves. 

It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.

He doesn't mind it.

Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.

This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.

Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.

(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise. 

The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)

As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.

 It was a nice little system that worked for them. 

A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.

This was not unusual.

Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face. 

What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand. 

The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.

Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him. 

(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.) 

"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it. 

"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.

Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.

'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'

Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him. 

"Mind if I have a word outside?" 

Dammit Eddie.

"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely. 

There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once. 

"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. " 

"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy. 

Wayne stared up at him. 

"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.

"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in." 

If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.

It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.

They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass. 

Hopper really did let the kid off easy. 

Wayne really did owe him. 

So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them. 

"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context. 

Wayne hummed to show he’d heard. 

“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.” 

A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn. 

“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.” 

A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut. 

"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?" 

The Chief chewed on his split lip. 

"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town." 

Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble. 

The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction. 

How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird. 

Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have. 

Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab. 

The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters. 

This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around. 

The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion. 

(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)

"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it." 

"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed. 

"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.” 

This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going. 

Hopper took a breath. Than another.

A third.

It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life. 

"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.

Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions. 

“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.” 

Wayne sucked in a breath. 

"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.

It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy. 

Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t. 

Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.

He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there. 

(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.) 

“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.” 

His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest. 

“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.

 “A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.” 

Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie. 

“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.” 

“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished. 

“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.” 

'Ain’t that the damn truth.'

“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind. 

This one, he figured, was the most important. 

“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.” 

Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one. 

It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.

Except, apparently, Steve Harrington. 

“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.

If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.

No point in it. 

“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn. 

“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say. 

Once again, Wayne waited him out.

“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.” 

A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.

How they almost hadn’t. 

“Alright.” Wayne agreed.

Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.

He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy. 

He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross. 

Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer? 

Wayne had a feeling it was needed.

[ak319]

Lovesick bubbly hubby x fem reader

ミ☆Headcanon#3𓏲

(Warnings: Contains mpreg (bxg pairing, YES, boy x fem reader), and matriarchal themes/gender role reverse so don't interact if you are not comfortable!! ‎♡‧₊˚)

♥︎ Headcanon #2

🍭"Narin, just one more paragraph, c'mon. Then we can go get some ice cream."

"You know, you're the cruellest wife anyone could have. Making me do assignments in this condition."

"What condition? You're fine, Narin. You're not even the one typing your essay. Just one more paragraph, c'mon, you can do it." He acts as if he's in his last months, when he’s only three weeks in. After another exaggerated sigh, he finally gave in, and you closed the laptop with relief.

"It's your last semester. Just get it done, and then your lifelong dream of staying home will come true."

"Are you taking me out for that ice cream or not?" You chuckled, getting up and offering him a hand. "Let's go."

Narin finally got what he wanted after so long, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be enough to pull him out of university. Still, the thought of becoming a father—of your child—filled him with uncontrollable excitement. He just prayed that your family wouldn’t cast an evil eye on the baby. Hmph! Lost in thought, he unconsciously placed his hands over his stomach as you drove, unaware of the silent storm brewing within him.

Meanwhile, your mind was all over the place. First, an unexpected husband, and now a child on the way?! You couldn't stop worrying about the future. You never imagined yourself as a mother, especially not with a husband like Narin, who could barely take care of himself. Maybe he would mature once the baby was born... or would you just have two kids to look after instead? How did this even happen? Weren’t you both careful? Wasn’t he taking pills, too? Well, it didn’t matter now. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him, hands protectively resting on his stomach, looking content and as happy as ever. You sighed and decided to put on some music to drown out the spiralling thoughts. Soon enough, you both reached the ice cream shop.

Months passed, and Narin’s university days came to an end. It had been three months into his pregnancy when one day, you came home to find him curled up on the sofa with Prince. There was no usual excitement, no running up to greet you like he always did.

🍭"Narin? You okay? Is something wrong?" By now, the panic in your voice was impossible to hide. You gently made him sit up, cupping his face, and your heart sank as you saw his puffy, red eyes. He was still sniffling, avoiding your gaze, his usual brightness nowhere to be found.

"Narin? You're making me worried. Tell me, what's wrong, baby?"

"I-just-what if you... leave me?! Does your family think I'm not competent enough to bear your child?! Because I feel like it!" His voice cracked with emotion, and you could hear the frustration in every word. Where was all this anger coming from?

"What are you talking about? Who said that?! And why on earth would I leave you?" You could feel your own heart racing. Narin might be childish and immature at times, but he was still your husband, and you cared for him deeply even more so now. Why couldn’t he see that?

"I would never abandon you. Never, you or our child."

"What if it’s a boy? Like me?!" His voice trembled with insecurity, his eyes wide with fear. It was clear the pregnancy hormones were heightening all his worries. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself to stay calm. He needed your reassurance more than ever now.

"Then we’ll love him just the same, Narin. Just like I love you." He finally looked into your eyes.

"Listen, Narin baby. You’re very, very important to me. I love you and our future child, no matter if they’re a boy or a girl. I just want you both to be healthy, and my family wants the same. No one is doubting you, and if they are--just tell me their name. I’ll have a talk with them myself. Now, tell me, did someone say anything to you?"

He shook his head sincerely.

"Then?" you asked gently, stroking his hair.

"I... just had these thoughts..." he whispered, voice trembling slightly. He grasped your collar tightly, his body now almost in your lap. "You won’t leave, right?"

"Never." You held him closer, your voice firm with reassurance, and yet he needed more. He needed to drown in that reassurance, to feel it in every part of his being. You held him tighter, but it still didn’t feel close enough. "And don’t let these thoughts ruin your mood or stress you out. You hear me? Promise me, you won’t."

He nodded, but this time he clung to you like a lifeline, his fingers tightening in your shirt. "Promise," he whispered, his heart racing. He knew that you were not going to leave him but he just wanted to make sure and...was bored. Damn, he can be a really good actor if he wants to but in all seriousness, it's important to remind you that he is now your everything, your new family. In his head, there was no room for doubt. You belonged to him, and no one else could ever come between you two.... and now three of you. Not now, not ever.

In his eyes, the most delightful thing is making you run for whatever he craves, even if it’s the middle of the night or a drive to another town just to get a snack he tried once. He revels in the fact that you’ll do anything for him, and he takes immense pride in bragging about how caring and romantic his wife is. He squeals with childlike excitement when you’re out fulfilling his whims, loving how dreamy and devoted you are.

But lately, there’s a shadow of sadness in his eyes as he watches you work harder than ever. You’ve started a new venture with your friend, and it’s consuming more of your time and energy.

🍭"You should take a break now," he said, plopping down next to you on the couch and peering over your shoulder at your laptop. His tone was light, but there was an edge of concern beneath his playful words. "I don’t want to be a widower in this condition." You jerked your head towards him in shock at his bluntness. It was classic Narin--his naive habit of saying whatever came to mind without fully thinking it through. You just sighed, shaking your head at his antics.

"I’m not dying here, you don’t have to worry. I’ll be done in a few minutes."

"Why are you even doing this?! Isn’t your salary enough-"

"No, it’s not enough. Certainly not for the future when the kid is going to grow up and go to school and stuff." Narin grumbled, leaning his head against your chest with a sigh. He was like a needy kitten, wanting your comfort and attention, and the warmth of your chest made him feel a little safer. 'As disciplined and farsighted as ever. So fucking hot.' Well, he is kind of glad too, now that you are working so much, you rarely have time to visit your own family. Hehe. That's right wifey, work for me and your child now, our child.

"Yeah, you’re right. And also, it’s not like we’re going to have only one, right? I was a single child, so I want more than one kid. Got it?" Your hands paused momentarily over the keyboard.

"Um--yeah, but focus on this one for now..." Narin’s smile widened as he traced his finger lightly across your chest. "Oki! Our kids are going to be the prettiest and the smartest!"

You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, even as worries about the future tugged at the edges of your thoughts. "Of course," you replied softly, placing a gentle kiss on his crown before returning to your work. In that moment, the presence of each other made the stress feel a little more bearable.

@mel-vaz 🍭

[harveybwabbit92]

Grocery girl: Ken Sato x reader Pt. 2

You were a delivery girl who was frequently dispatched to the famous baseball player's Ken Sato residence, you were a nobody that anyone hardly paid attention to, until you found the legendary baseball passed out on his front steps looking like hell, being a bit of worry wart you help him inside and that things took a HUGE turn when you find yourself playing mommy for a giant baby dragon....

Part 1

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

It had been almost a month since that strange incident with Sato. R/n tried bury it in the back of her mind but it always seem to find it's way back to the surface, it also didn't help that he was the main topic on every news outlet or at every water cooler gossip R/n has accidentally eavesdropped on. Apparently things weren't going very well for Mr. Sato's career.

Heck, even Meimei seems to have lost her earlier admiration for the baseball player as the younger girl had stopped asking R/n about him and switched to swooning and gushing over some K-pop group she fell in love with to anyone that would listen; R/n included, but that's teenagers for you they loose interest in things too easily, not that Meimei's uncle AKA the Boss was complaining he was just happy the kid was taking her job seriously now! So was R/n cos that meant Meimei would stop following her around asking about Mr. Sato every time she got back from a delivery.

Speaking of...

R/n pulled into Mr. Sato's driveway it seemed like the usual drop off situation until R/n got out of the van and nearly dropped the box of groceries at the sight that waited for her outside, R/n had to take a minute for her brain register what she was looking at first.

She thought it was a dummy left outside, before realizing it was person passed out on the steps and not just any old person. "Mr. Sato!" R/n put the box down and ran over to the downed baseball player she rolled him over to get look at his face and winced. Cripes! he looked like he'd been dragged through hell and back again!

R/n quickly tried to rouse the knocked out Sato by shaking him but that did little other making him mumble incoherently, R/n then through great struggle managed to lift him up off the stairs and was stunned at how heavy the baseball player was as his weight damn near sent them both tumbling backwards!

But R/n managed to steady them both as she pretty much dragged his limp body up the stairs. "This would be so easy for me if you'd just wake up." R/n grunted as she readjusted Ken so she could knock on his door; Hopefully his assistant was here and she could take care of him.

However when the front door opened on it's own there was no one there waiting. R/n stared nervously into the seemingly empty house, she heard nary a creak or breeze as she reluctantly took a step inside and tried not to yelp when the door suddenly shut behind her leaving the house in almost complete darkness.

Then the thoughts started creeping in and for brief moment R/n wondered if this was all possibly all a ruse and that Mr Sato was secret serial kill and that strange noises she heard last time was screams of his last victim...After all, who would suspect the famous baseball payer?!

But then R/n's more rational side reasoned how that ridiculous that was! if there was a killer on the loose there would've been some kind of news about it. R/n calmed herself down and dragged Mr. Sato to the first couch she found before getting his abandoned groceries from outside, R/n went against policy and opened them, grabbing a bottle of water and a Melon pan from it.

She left them on the coffee table for when he wakes up and was going to leave Mr. Sato for his assistant to find, But then R/n felt something off...did the floor just vibrate? Her brows furrowed as her eyes looked up at the ceiling and saw the boxy looking chandelier was swaying around; R/n shook her head. No, it wasn't her business... She got ready to leave, but then the thoughts about Mr. Sato possibly being a covert serial killer came back with a vengeance and she thought if he was hiding someone could that vibration them calling for help?

Checking to make sure Mr. Sato was still sleeping R/n cautiously crouched down low and pressed her ear to the floor only to jumped back with a gasp when she heard the same wailing from a month ago echoing from the floor below, R/n stood up and looked around the house for a way downstairs and found her only option was the large glass elevator cos of course the rich boy's got an elevator.... R/n stepped in and looked for a control button only for the elevator start moving on it own.

R/n tried to duck down in poor attempt to hide herself as it got closer to the bottom floor when it finally stopped and the delivery girl cautiously peeked out to see; well, she expected some kind of blood soaked torture room to be waiting for her, instead her eyes widened in awe at her futuristic surroundings if this was a basement it was like one she'd never seen before! The thoughts about Mr. Sato being a serial killer were quickly replaced with him possibly being a superhero fanboy.

This whole place screamed 'Batcave' as R/n stepped out of the elevator and began to wander around she wondered how much this place cost the baseball player to build? While R/n was gawking she failed to notice the large shadow slowly rising up behind her until it was too late.

R/n looked down and slowly turned around looking up as did her awe struck face slowly contorting into fear as she stared up at the beast behind her and shuddered.

"I never knew the harbinger of death would be so... pink!" 

*hours later*

Ken is woken up to by the baby squealing and his alarms going off like crazy! He looked at the time 11 pm...Oh, he missed her 9pm feeding, he wondered Mina didn't wake him up? when he spotted the water and Melon pan on the coffee table and ate and drank those as he made his way to the elevator but it was already downstairs causing him to pause.

Ken's mind was still hazy from juggling everything he couldn't remember if he'd gone downstairs earlier and went outside through the airlock to get back up into the house? Or maybe Mina brought something downstairs for the baby to use?

The answer was the last thing Ken expected as he descended into his base to find the baby playing Daruma-san (statues/red light green light for us yanks) with Mina and...Ken choked on his food when he saw his grocery girl standing in the middle of his base in posed like Hamlet (she holding Mina in the Alas poor Yorick pose) She nearly fell over when she saw Mr. Sato gawking. "What the heck is going-Oh, nonono!" When then the baby noticed him and she immediately run up to Ken and picked him up much to his protest.

While this was going on R/n used this as her attempt to escape to the elevator only for Ken to notice her sneaking away and changed into Ultraman and block her path with his hand... R/n gasped as she looked up at the silver giant completely flabbergasted. "Okay, So not a serial killer." Now it was Ultraman's turn to be confused. "What?"

Cut to R/n trapped in her own containment chamber sitting down bored as she watches a frustrated Mr. Sato pacing around his base. "Y'know, You'll go bald if you keep tugging at your hair like that" she said with a sigh the baseball player ignored her as the delivery girl tried to readjusted herself in a more comfortable position but the tube was to narrow for her legs to properly stretch out. "Couldn't you have given me a bigger tube? this one's too cramped." Mr. Sato shot her a seething glare that shut R/n up as he walked up to her tube.

"Oh, I'm sorry, maybe you should've called ahead before breaking into my house!" He sneered The delivery just rolled her eyes. "For that last time, I didn't break in I found you outside..." Ken snorted obviously not believing her. "Hey you, floating eye lady" R/n called out to Mina who floated over to them. "Doesn't this place have cameras or something" Show this knuckle head I'm telling the truth." She said crossing her arms, while Ken barked a Mina not to listen her and wait for the cops, who were taking their sweet time getting here.

"The police are not coming because I haven't called them." Ken looked at the orb in disbelief. "What? why not?!" Mina played the footage from a few hours ago showing Ken staggering up his front steps and then dropping like a sack of potatoes 15 minutes later R/n's van pulled up showed her jumping and quickly checking Ken over before picking him carrying him inside, and showed how she got into his base.

"Told ya, if this is the thanks I get for helping; then maybe I should've left you there for the birds to crap on!"

"Okay, okay... but that still doesn't mean you're off the hook."

"Oh? what are you gonna do? keep me in this tube forever?"

"No, You going to help me...With her."

Mr. Sato points at the baby Kaiju in the tube next to R/n's who babble happily and waved when he pointed at her, R/n meanwhile got this shell shocked look on her face, she thought he was joking until R/n was free from the tube; but by the next morning found herself in a moving van with her belongs hastily stuffed inside headed back towards Mr. Sato's house.

{Bonus, how R/n ended up playing with Emi: 

R/n tried to back away from the pink dragon thing that was staring her down when it took a step near her, She gasped and instinctively covered her face...But, nothing happened? The delivery girl curiously peeked between her fingers and saw Pinky was staring at her; she put her hands down.

The monster moves again R/n throws her hands back up and the monster did the oddest thing it smiled while chirping and clapping at her. R/n was very obviously bewildered by it's strange behavior as she repeated same action a few times before something clicked in her head; Peek-a-Boo.... It's thinks R/n was playing Peek-a-boo with it . "You're just a baby, aren't you?" The Kaiju tilted it's head at R/n bemused.

*Ken Sato has a baby Kaiju in his basement...what the crap?!*

The delivery girl screamed mentally as the baby Kaju chirped and covered it's face with it's hands; R/n knew what it was doing and played along "Oh no, where'd the baby go?" The delivery girl pretended to look around while side eyeing the elevator which the baby was currently blocking, The kaiju pulled it's hands away from it's face as R/n cheered "Oop, there you are!~" the baby squealed excitedly as this floating eye-ball robot suddenly appeared and started asking questions.

R/n explained herself and promised that she wouldn't tell anyone about this if the eye would let her leave. However, as soon as R/n took a step towards the elevator... The baby started sniffling and tearing up causing the delivery girl to panic. "No, no, I'm not leaving I'm not leaving, I promise, I'll stay here!" R/n said petting it on the leg and not realizing just how true those words would end up being in a few hours.

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

Cross posted on my A03/Squidgeworld/Wattpad.

[aphroditesmoon]

Heyy I love your Clarisse work!!! Can I get a Clarisse being protective over fem reader when Percy Jackson arrives and he tries to talk to us? Thank you!!!!

back to you

clarisse la rue x fem!demigod!reader

warnings: ep2 spoilers, protective clarisse, kissing.

a/n: thank you for reading n enjoying my clarisse fic! I hope this is to ur liking<3

wc: 1.7k

---

The new kid was lost. That much was easy to tell. He had been clamied as Poseidon's son, and yet no one had the thought of actually directing him to his new cabin.

You've been watching him from the corner of your eyes as you help fix your cabin siblings' stance for a spar. He's been walking back and forth in circles like an abandoned kitten. It was honestly amusing to watch.

It was about 2 minutes later when you hear his footsteps nearing you and turned ariund to meet the boy's face. "Hey." He greeted breathily like he's been running a marathon.

"Fish boy." You responded, making him frown. "Um, I'm actually- never mind, I was wondering if you uh, know where the Poseidon cabin is?" You cross your arms and studied the confusion on his face. "Did Chiron not show you?"

"He did, I just, forgot?" Of course he did. "I'll show you, come on." You walk past him to where his cabin is at, the whole map of this camp is engraved in your mind.

"It's really not that far." You tell him as you kept moving. You had to slow down a bit when you remember he's carrying his bags with him.

Percy Jackson looks less threatening to you now than he did before. It's almosf hard to believe that this is the same kid who destroyed a minotaur and broke Clarisse's spear. He was just a boy, and not even a mean or bratty one.

How is it that Mr. D and Chiron both founded it totally fine to let this 12 year old boy live in an empty cabin alone is beyond you, but that's not your problem to think about.

He's quicker on his feet than you expected and asked questions less stupid that others have.

"There shouldn't be a curfew if I'm the only one here, right?" He ask as he drops his bag on the floor by the bed. You watch him from the door, leaning against the frame. "I mean, technically, I'm head of the cabin."

Your brows raised at that. "I don't think that's how it works."

"The curfew is probably the same as any other cabin's curfew, though like you said, it's not like there's anyone else to tell you when to go to bed here." He gets the implication you're making. You weren't going to tell him that he could go around and do as he likes, but he could actually do it if he wanted to. There's not much supervision here.

You turn on the lights from where you're at, the switch button being on the wall by the entrance. The walls of the place were blue and white, it seems more well kept than the other cabins. How disappointing that he wouldn't have anyone to share the space with.

Percy had stood up from his bed to walk over to you to say his thanks when the both of you were interrupted by a familiar voice. He flinched at Clarisse's presence. But you, as surprised as you are, is used to her sneaking up from behind.

"What does this punk want with you?" She questions boldly. You spin around to find her a few steps away from you. Percy physically shivered, walking deeper into the cabin. "I was just asking her for directions." He explained before you could.

She's looking him up and down like predators do to their preys with a demonic glare in her eyes. It's been less than 12 hours since he broke her spear. And losing dessert privileges and her spear wasn't exactly a recipe to making Clarisse happy.

You pat her shoulder with your hand, in which she quickly shrugged off as she steps closer to the cabin, standing next to you and eyeing Percy suspiciously. "You expect me to believe that no one else has shown you the direction here."

"I forgot." He spoke at the same time as you told her, "Clarisse, he forgot."

“Forgot?” Clarisse turns her gaze from him to you and then back to him with a frown. "Well, you've already led him here, haven't you?" You gave her a look that says 'can you not?' She easily ignores your meaning of course, glaring at the boy again.

"Yes, I have. So I'll go now, come on Clarisse." You announced loudly, pulling your girlfriend by her arm to leave Percy alone.

She remains unmoving at first, sizing up Percy, until you tugged at her arm again, calling out her name. “Clarisse, please. Let's just go back to training.” Finally giving in, she lets you drag ger away from the blonde boy. You could almost hear the sigh of relief leave his body.

"Thanks for the help-" you hear the fish boy shout from behind hesitantly.

"Absolute brat." Clarisse mutters under his breath once the two of you are away from him. "He was just asking for help." You felt the need to defend him.

She put her right arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to her as she scoff at your words. "Great, you're already siding with him after what he's done to me. Really? Are we forgetting that he broke my spear?"

You did chase him around with it like a lunatic, you thought of telling her. But you knew better than to upset her even more.

"I'm always on your side, you know that." You replied gently instead, letting your own arm wrap around her waist as the two of you make it back to the training grounds.

"Good, you're the only one I want on my team, so that better be the last time I see you around him" You smiled at that and leaned closer to her face to place a peck on her cheeks before other people could see you two coming over. "Yes, ma'am." You teased her.

She pulls your face back to hers before you could fullt pull away and kisses you harder, cupping your cheek with her free hand, uncaring of anyone's eyes on you.

[heart2beom]

cliché

pairing: bsf!yeonjun x reader

genre: fluff, best friends to lovers, crack, little angst

synopsis: after yeonjun hears you referring to him as someone who's like a brother ...he tries his hardest to make you see him as a potential boyfriend.

or in which you're perplexed at all the movie hangouts your friend has been initiating.

warning: mature language, reader is assumed to be fem

notes: honestly, i always try to cut down the word count to make it more available for people who only read drabbles/blurbs but i just CANT. so here's another short oneshot T-T and as always, reblog to help the algorithm pick up on this :D

yeonjun was confused walking back home -- no, the whole day, he was disturbed. the reason for this was yesterday...when he went to get drinks for both you and him at a frat party.

the crowds were insanely hard to get through (and it didn't help that people kept on stopping him to 'catch up' or whatnot) so it took him more than fifty minutes to come back with the drinks he promised to get.

but it looked like it was too late because the people you were surrounding yourself with when yeonjun was there...disappeared. instead, you're bundled up, alone in a corner, with a guy he does not know. which was already weird because yeonjun knew everybody, and that was enough reason for him to hurry his ass up through sweaty frat drunks and make sure the unknown guy isn't some sleazeball.

that time he wasn't aware that he rolled his eyes but he did conciously plan to squeeze himself into the conversation...and technically cockblock.

but when he neared you...that's when his world shattered...on more dramatic terms. it was more like his confidence was shot down to the deepest depths of hell.

"oh, yeonjun? pfft, he's like a brother!"

even though it was almost barely audible due to the blasting music, 'brother' to his ears were magnified -- the word circling through his head.

brother. brother?!

and as a result of this baffling situation, he had backed himself in an opposing corner with your cup in his right and his cup in his left, way further than you now, thinking of where did it go wrong?

he's never had someone friend-zone him -- for heavensake, he's yeonjun, he's aware of how attractive he is. but brother-zone? that was even worse of an attack!

it doesn't matter that you said it -- come on, that's barely the case. it's the fact that someone was so unattracted to him that he was seen as a sibling.

sure, you and yeonjun were a sort of bunch that have been together since... forever, really. seriously, you were friends since elementary -- when you joined the school, fourth grade, mindlessly kicking rocks at recess he approached you like the social butterfly kid that he was, asking you if you wanted to come play with his friends.

once he took another sip of the red cup in his right hand, the fruity punch being way too overbearing (just how'd you like it), he furrowed his brows together.

he definitely doesn't see you as a sister.

he'd have to admit that when middle school hit and his puberty was acting up around ...the seventh grade? he was convinced that he would eventually marry you like the way his parents were. a brother wouldn't have felt that way about his sister! normally that is...

granted, he mostly blamed that on the first strikes of puberty because right after middle school, he moved on from the thought -- completely abandoning his pre-puberty dreams, but that was besides the point!

he was getting nauseous from the sweetness of his drink and the further he thought about the way you thought of him, he felt that he would ruin the party by vomiting on someone.

his night was officially ruined. absolutely, fundementally, literally ruined.

and thats how he found himself unfocused on everything around him the next day, finally making the decision to consult with his roommates about this frankly, very big conundrum.

"you can't just purposefully leave out important details? like, how am i supposed to diagnose you properly bro?" beomgyu asked as he spammed the keys on his controller.

"you're not diagnosing me--" yeonjun exhaled, wanting to to keep the banter to the minimum in respect to the issue he's facing. "literally what do you think we're doing right now?"

"i'm going to be completely honest and say ...i have no idea-- shit, what the fuck are you doing heeseung? jump! jump!" he yelled towards the big screen in front of him.

yeonjun groaned, turning his head to behind the couch. "soobin, it's not too late to help out your only friend!" he yelled out in hopes of it reaching the guy's bedroom.

and with no response, he turned back to watching the game beomgyu was playing. "god, you know how many times i gave that guy life changing advice on women?"

"and this is how he repays me?"

beomgyu nodded along to whatever yeonjun was mumbling about until the brunette magically connected dots and euphoric realization hit him. beomgyu almost scrambled around to completely face him this time, "hold on, hold on. yeonjun you lost me, are you having girl problems?"

to that, yeonjun rolled his eyes. "i wouldn't call it 'girl problems', that sounds like a problem soobin would have."

"uh-huh ...uh-huh. no, no yeah." beomgyu said nodding mindlessly to save the guy some face. "heeseung i'm logging off dude, yeonjuns got girl problems."

yeonjun just deadpanned to the back of the guys head, having no will to correct him.

he wanted to get the pending issue out of the way first.

it was more situated a few minutes later. instead of beomgyu sitting on the floor criss crossed, leaned on the couch yeonjun was sitting on, beomgyu was now sitting on the chair next to the couch, his elbows on his knees, brows deeply furrowed.

and not to forget yeonjun's pen and paper in hand.

"so... you're trying to get a girl to like you?"

"not like. i want her to see me as someone she would want as a boyfrie--" when he saw beomgyus brow raising up as to say 'whats the difference' he cleared his throat. "yea, basically."

"don't you know how to do that though?"

he shrugged, "it's different this time."

"how?"

"trust me, it's very different."

"okay but how?"

"you'd be the last person i'd ask for an interrogation beomgyu, that'd be a task for like... taehyun or something."

"i'm sorry that i need to understand my client first--"

"i am not your client" yeonjun said, rolling his eyes.

"what's going on here?", yeonjun turned his head to see soobin behind the kitchen island, scooping himself some icecream.

"dude, where were you when i needed you?", yeonjun asked.

"me and yj are holding a dating therapy session."

yeonjun turned his head to beomgyu, "again, it's not a therapy sessio--"

"you're getting dating advice from beomgyu?" soobin asked, his face scrunched up doubting if it really got this bad.

and back to soobin. "when you say it like that.." "soobin can you please leave yeonjun alone? he's in a very vulnerable state right now"

then beomgyu again. "i'm seriously going to beat you up." he said, biting his bottom lip and raising his fist against his roommate. beomgyu immediately jumps dramatically, shielding himself with his arms up.

"see? he's getting violent!"

soobin finally plopped on the couch next to yeonjun with his cup of icecream. "explain it to me, maybe i can help you out."

"i'll save you the trouble, he's not explaining for whatever reason--"

"a girl said that i'm like a brother to her." yeonjun reluctantly mumbled.

a wave of silence hit the dorm, for a minute yeonjun thought they just didn't hear him and to be completely honest, he was about to thank the gods because he regretted saying anything the moment he did, but that thought was immediately shot down when both sides of his ears were being blasted by humiliating laughter.

soobin got up, patting yeonjun's shoulder as reassurance, still laughing. "yeah, good luck with that hyung."

"okay, it's not even that bad--"

"dude, not even cha eunwoo would survive the sibling zone." beomgyu said, a hard reality check for yeonjun. "though hyunbin might.." he mumbled to himself. yeonjun caught it though, but it didn't matter. yeonjun was no hyunbin.

"fuck." he breathed out, the utensils he was holding had lesser grip on them as he just stared into nothingness. beomgyu was right. he's forever stuck as a brother in your eyes.

but then a ring of his phone snaps him out of it.

when he checks the id, his ambition is restored almost immediately for whatever reason; it was you.

"yo why are you smiling?", beomgyu said trying to peep at yeonjun's phone, but yeonjun reflexes took over, and he immediately turned his phone off.

"beomgyu, don't you think i kind of resemble hyunbin?" he said with a head tilt and an overconfident smirk, talking like he just had an epiphany.

"the one from crash landing on you? uh no."

yeonjun jumped from the couch a new man, his pen and paper in one hand and his ringing phone on the other. he finally faced beomgyu as the man he was, choi motherfucking yeonjun. "i gotta answer this call...and also, if you ask anybody who my celebrity doppelganger is, everyone would proudly say its hyunbin dumbass."

then yeonjun left with a smile and a surge of new confidence overtaking his face as he spoke away on the phone with you, while beomgyu was left in the living room more than confused as he looked up the actor on his phone.

instead of finding the difference, beomgyus brain was tasking him into finding the similarities...which, there was one to yeonjun's credit.

black hair.

"when are the others coming?" you asked looking around the crowded floor as yeonjun was buying popcorn and drinks. "the movies about to start.." you mumbled, checking your phone for the hundredth time.

"oh, i guess its just me and you again." he said with the popcorn and bottle of coke finally in his arms.

"again? don't you think this is getting suspicious?" you said as you walked alongside yeonjun, not noticing the way yeonjun just gulped.

you stopped in your tracks, in turn yeonjun bumping into your back a little, a few popcorns dropping on the floor.

"hey...you don't think.." you furrowed your brows, in deep thought. this has been on your mind for a while now. "you don't think they're trying to set us up or something do you?"

after the third time your friends stood you and yeonjun up, you were starting to think they were pushing, what they called, the 'ynjun' agenda..but it was the first time you'd ever bring it up to yeonjun, so you just laughed it off -- scolding your friends will come on a later date.

"nevermind, lets go inside the movie theatre jun."

"ya' y/n, wait."

you turned around to an awkward standing yeonjun at first, but he immediately straightens up and clears his throat, with a smile you've grown so attached to -- the smile that reached his eyes. for something so simple, it made your heart beat a little quicker than normal.

"can you hold the coke for a sec? i'm trynna--i'm trynna do something."

you break into a light laugh, "um, okay." that snapped you out of it because you remember who he was again -- your platonic best friend.

you took the cola bottle off his right arm, expecting him to take his phone out of his pocket to check something.

but as you stared at your sneakers, checking if they're untied, you felt his hand on top of your head, which startled you.

you looked up to meet yeonjuns eyes, a brow raised.

before you could say anything, he ruffled the top of your hair gently, leaning towards you a bit, to shorten the height difference.

"y/n, let this be our first date." your platonic best friend's voice, so warm and gentle you thought you would only hear in dreams, said those words...to you.

"so you asked her out on a date but you don't even like her...? that doesn't make any sense." soobin said, sitting on the couch watching beomgyu hog up the tv screen, his use time running out.

"bros an asshole..but i feel like we knew that already-- fuck you heeseung. you fucking suck ass you need to get off my team." beomgyu yelled.

"okay, first of all, it's not that bad. she doesn't like me at all, plus the date was how we would usually hung out anyway."

soobin just shook his head -- being the only guy with a functioning moral compass amongst the people he called his friends was exhausting.

as soon as he was about to lecture yeonjun, the tv timer goes off -- and that makes his plan a fleeting thought.

"it's my turn now, throw me the remote."

"bro give me a second, let me finish this gam--"

"no! unplug your console." soobin yelled impatiently, he knew better than to let beomgyu go over the timer again.

beomgyu groaned, abandoning heeseung in the game and unplugging his console. when soobin got control of the tv and opened up netflix, beomgyu stood up to sit next to yeonjun -- who had gotten a notification from you.

"yj, who's the chick? you never told us."

"uh, you don't really know her." he mindlessly answered, focused on the messages from you.

[y/n, 9:16 pm] that serenade ..as cringe as it was.. [y/n, 9:16 pm] like lets be serious, there was NO reason for u to get on top of the cafeteria table lol

he hadn't yet told his roommates what he did this morning, thinking that he'd get a longer lecture by soobin.

but he had took inspiration from the movie you guys were watching the other night at the cinema. you talked his ear off about how romantic it was, how you would fall at the feet of dicaprio if he did the same to you..

he was no dicaprio, but he could try is what he thought. and though you forced him to get down half way through, he could still enjoy sharing the laughter, your laughter, that was ringing in his ear.

[yeonjun, 9:17 pm] as cringe as it was...? you're in love w me ;)

he typed it as a joke, a smile tugging on his lips waiting for your reaction to his teasing.

but beomgyu hovered over his phone out of boredom again, and out of instinct yeonjun threw his phone -- the three chois looking at the phone on the floor in shock.

"bro, why are you being so secretive? were you sexting?" beomgyu yelled, accusatory.

"can we collectively have some decency in this house, jesus fucking christ beomgyu." soobin muttered.

"shut up church boy, yeonjun's hiding something for sure."

"or maybe he just wanted some privacy dude?" soobin retaliated.

yeonjun jumped up pointing at soobin, "exactly! exactly! listen to soobin, you were invading my personal space. so not cool beomgyu."

"yeah, okay. you've never agreed with me with this much enthusiasm before. he's hiding something. quick, check his phone." to soobins order, beomgyu was prepared to run to the phone when he made eye contact with the owner -- but yeonjun was quick.

"good god, wait wait. what do you want beomgyu--fuck, if you wanted her name it's y/n alright? the chick's y/n!" yeonjun doesn't do well under pressure, at all.

"what are you talking about--" beomgyu's face morphed into shock with his mouth agape. "--oh my fucking god. yeonjun, y/n's the chick? the one who brother zoned you?" beomgyu yelled.

"yeah...?" he said hesitantly.

"i can't--i just can't. soobin knock some sense into him." beomgyu turned away dramatically, shaking his head.

"yeonjun--" soobin started.

"dude, y/n has been in love with you for like a decade!" beomgyu blurted out, turning to face yeonjun again, interrupting soobin.

"uh..no? guys, i literally told you that she said she sees me as a brother. i saw her telling some guy that at the frat party last week."

beomgyu walked towards yeonjun, grabbing both of his shoulders, shaking him, "she. didn't. brother. zone. you. you stupid fuck!"

"she's been saying that to people because its so obvious that every time she tries moving on, she still likes you." soobin added in.

yeonjun, with his brows furrowed, tore beomgyu's hands off his shoulder -- walking towards his phone.

and it felt like a million thoughts were racing around his head the three seconds it took for him to get his phone, like a storm, a big tornado clouding his mind. but the most heavy was...how long? a fucking decade? and he never noticed?

he found it hard to swallow, almost nervous...that it was true.

the two other chois were staring at him, exchanging glances.

and when he picked up his phone, it was like he feared.

his text was left on read.

yeonjun's roommates were right for once.

all the secret glances he'd catch, a smirk twitching on his face as he pretended not to see, all the times you'd practically asked him out -- he shot it all down subconsciously thinking it was nothing more than coincidences on top of coincidences.

"you know, i was thinking it was weird you freaked out so much about the brother thing. yunjin told you that right to your face like last month and you didn't say anything." beomgyu said as he let himself fall on the couch.

beomgyu was right, he didn't care when yunjin said it.

yeonjun looked at beomgyu, eyes confused. "so...what are you trying to say?"

"maybe you feel the same way...? god, do i have to spell it out for you every single time?" he said dramatically, groaning.

"okay yeonjun. drama's over, go do your walk of shame to your room." soobin said, getting comfortable on the chair again to watch the premier of his show.

"and reflect!" beomgyu shouted out as yeonjun went over to his room, obeying soobin with his phone tight in hand.

"what are we watchin?" beomgyu finally asked, soobin giving him a side eye in response.

"we? beomgyu, i'm not watching another show premier with you again."

"just because my commentary is too good doesn't mean you have to get all jealous--"

yeonjun bursts out of his room through the narrow hallway that lead to the main door, a coat hanging on his right arm as he hurriedly slipped on his sneakers.

it startled both of the guys on the couch, looking over at him with brows raised: what is yeonjun doing?

no one could get a word in, not even beomgyu, before he was totally out of sight.

only adrenaline was rushing through his veins as he shut the door behind him, putting his arms through his padded coat, and sprinting to the elevator -- frantically spamming the button to make him falsely hope the elevator would reach his floor any faster

it wasn't like he had to do something in the ten minutes his head thought he had left, no, it was the realization that had him acting in urgency he never thought he'd have for a girl. all of his stupidity dawning on him -- for fucksake, of course it mattered that you said he was like a brother, it was you.

and as he ran out the building -- his head felt dizzy, not because it was overwhelmed with thoughts, no, this time he only had a few but those were harder to manage his head.

did he ever give up on you in middle school?

did he ever move on from you in highschool?

did he really dump a dream, you -- the dream he had as a boy, with all the other dreams he never thought would happen?

when yeonjun was finally in front of your family house, the one you still chose to live in through your college experience, he moved to where'd he guess the window of your room was.

"y/n?" he shouted out with all the energy he could muster up. he had to bend over his knee to catch his breath, because he would shout your name again.

again, and again, and again.

blood rushed up to his cheeks, not because of the cold, because he was embarrassed -- what if you weren't even here?

he waited, staring up at the window which showed no sign of your room light being on.

but he wouldn't give up, he'd have to try something else.

yeonjun looked down at his feet, the absence of the sun being harder on his vision. there were no rocks, the only thing visible to his eyes were branch sticks which only made him hope that his aim was good enough to get your window a few times.

it wasn't.

when the last stick that he found hit a window that wasn't the one he was trying to aim at - he cursed under his breath, defeated. yeonjun concluded that this was a bigger fail than the fucking time he found out that he was flirting at a family--not a class, reunion.

he could just go back to his dorm and call you is what he thought as he exhaled, a fog escaping his lips into the cold, feeling even more of a loser.

"yeonjun?!" he turned around at the familiar voice calling out for him and his eyes widened, lighting up as they set on your face, finally out of the window, with your room light making it a little easier for him to see your features.

"y/n?" he shouted back, ecstatic.

"what are you doing out here?", you shouted the words slowly so he could pick it up. then add, "it's fucking cold!"

"i just wanted to know" he inhaled, the cold air burning his nostrils, "why you didn't answer my text!"

it was silent, yeonjuns lips agape waiting for a response.

"you're fucking insane!" you said laughs slipping between your words, yeonjun scoffs lightly, a wide smile on his face.

he put his hands up as walls to his mouth to echo his words louder, "for you!" he shouted out in response.

"shut the fuck up!" it was a distant yell, one you both assumed, as you met eye contact, was y/n's neighbors. and then you laughed again at the untimely part of it all.

when you turned away from the window, yeonjun found himself yearningly waiting for you to come back. hands that were in his pockets felt a vibration -- his phone.

he took it out just to see a notification from his, quite frankly, favorite person ever.

[y/n, 10:26 pm] lets talk on here lol

he looked up and saw you at the window again, with you waving your phone at him -- it earned a smile tugging once more, on the ends of his lips.

just how did he manage to ignore overwhelming feelings about you, of you, for the past decade?

[yeonjun, 10:27 pm] come down. i'm not gonna tell u this thru text [y/n, 10:27 pm] why not? [yeonjun, 10:27 pm] don't wanna [y/n, 10:28 pm] youre asking me to get out of my cozy ass room just bcs u dont wanna??

"yeah! basically dumbass!" he shouted, startling your poor self out of your focus on your phone. you glared at him, yeonjun most likely missing it.

[y/n, 10:28 pm] STOP DONT DO THAT THOSE PSYCHOS ARE GOING TO CALL THE COPS ON ME [yeonjun, 10:29 pm] ok then come down before i freeze my fingers off

when you slid your window closed, closing your curtains, he immediately turned to quickly run towards the front of your house. yeonjun leaned on the fence of your porch, smiling with thoughts of you clouding his mind, as he looked up at the moon.

it was all so cliché -- the type of scene his roommates would squeal over and one that he would roll his eyes to, but if he were to watch this part of his life, again and again -- the moment you opened the door, the moment you both exchanged looks that communicated 'we feel the same way don't we?', a short awkward laugh that was shared, the moment you hesitantly opened your mouth to say something -- and then, the final moment of his longing lips crashing onto yours, his cold hands warming up the moment he cupped your face, the repocracy from your side making him smile into the kiss, the euphoric realisation that he wasn't late, you didn't stop loving him yet, and when he cut the kiss short, both your lips barely apart, yeonjun whispered an i love you, and to it you smiled, pulling him into your house, to finish your kiss -- he would too, squeal over the scene, kicking his feet like a highschool girl.

ending a/n: YOU FINISHED IT YAY :D yeonjun was lowk an asshole for wanting to lead on mc at first for his own benefit, but hes such a cutie im sorry, its easy to forgive T-T let me know what you feel about this piece, it was so fun to write!!

[hypewinter]

Prev

Tim came down the stairs with an empty mug in hand. As he entered the dinning room he found a kid happily eating pancakes. Ah this must be the new adoptee, he thought to himself as he recalled last night's group chat.

"This is not a new adoptee," Bruce said looking up from the boy. Man, Tim hated when the old man guessed their thoughts like that.

"Say whatever you need to convince yourself B," Tim replied with a shrug as he went into the kitchen.

Bruce shouted after him, "He already has a family!"

The boy immediately interjected, "She's not my family silly! She's my friend."

Tim chuckled to himself as he filled his mug and came back into the dining room. "Aw B," he said smugly, "he doesn't even have a family. You're not saying we're gonna leave him on the streets are you?"

Bruce for his part, glared halfheartedly at Tim before turning back to the little boy. Tim also took this time to observe the boy. He believed Oracle had said his name was Danny. Danny was currently happily kicking his legs as he stabbed at his pancakes. Tim couldn't help but note how the pancakes had already been cut into bite sized pieces. Other than that, he seemed perfectly fine. No apparent injuries or adverse reactions to sudden movements. His clothes were also nice and clean. Probably Alfred's doing. Speaking of the old butler, he came in and set a plate down in front of Tim.

"Oh I'm not-" One eyebrow raise was enough for the young man to shut his mouth. He looked down at his plate only to immediately turn back to Alfred with an eyebrow raise of his own. "Mister Danny claimed it was not fair he was the only one to receive such special pancakes. He was rather insistent that everyone experiences such happiness this fine morning," Alfred informed.

Ah, that explains why Tim had gotten star shaped pancakes. He looked over at Danny who was smiling giddily at him. As Tim took his first bite of pancake, he couldn't help but agree with that assessment.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Danny?" the boy looked up at him. "As you know our... mutual friend left you in my care. As such after you're finished with your pancakes, what do you say I take you back home?"

"Ok!" the boy replied before shoveling more pancakes into his mouth.

"I think I'll tag along too," Tim said. There was no way this little "drop off" was going to go as planned and he wanted to be there to see it. After all, someone had to keep the group chat updated. Besides, he took great joy in Bruce's half perplexed half annoyed expression.

"Don't you have some meetings to attend today?" Bruce asked through gritted teeth, guessing his son's angle. "Nope," Tim answered sweetly. "My schedule's all clear today."

"Fine," Bruce relented. "If you want to come along on this very quick drop off, I won't stop you."

Tim smiled into his mug. This was gonna be fun.

-----

"We're here!" Danny exclaimed as they pulled up to an abandoned looking apartment building.

"Are you sure this is your home?" Bruce asked cautiously. Tim couldn't blame him, this place was on the outskirts of the Bowery and looked like nobody had lived there in years.

Danny opened the door and hopped out. "Yep!" he said. "I know because I'm a big boy and big boys know how to get home." He puffed out his chest proudly.

"Right," Bruce muttered pensively as he examined the building.

They all entered the building and began ascending the questionable stairs with Danny taking them two steps at a time. As they climbed, both Bruce and Tim noted how rundown the building looked. Walls were peeling and there was rubble and trash all over the floors. The railing on the stairs looked so rusted that a gust of wind could probably knock them over. Most of the lights didn't work because of one thing or another which luckily wasn't a problem considering it was daytime. But none of that was even the most concerning part. No, the most concerning part was how silent it was.

As they walked down the hall, it was simply too silent. Even taking into account that most people would already be at work right now, it was still too quiet. There was no hint of people coming back from work the night shift. No sound of those staying home sick or someone with a day off. No dogs barked, no cats made any noise. It was an eerie silence that seemed to blanket the whole building. It was unnerving.

Danny stopped in front of a door and opened it with ease. There was no lock or anything. Once again adding to the list of concerning evidence. They entered after Danny to discover a shabby looking flat past the door. There was barely any furniture, and the furniture that was there looked like it should have been thrown out years ago. The floor boards seemed as if they would give way at any moment too. The windows to the far side allowed lighted in but that only served to illuminated the mountain of dust everywhere. The apartment didn't even look lived in. There were no clothes anywhere, no dishes, no sort of decorations, nothing.

Danny seemed undeterred by any of this and happily pranced into a room off to the right. Tim followed him as Bruce stayed behind to look around more.

As he entered, Tim was relieved to find that at least this space looked lived in albeit barely. The bed had Superman themed sheets on it and there was a backpack leaning against the closet. The bed also had a blanket laying on top of it which Danny ran to and grabbed. He came back over to show Tim.

"This is my most precious thing!" he explained excitedly. "My friend gave it to me. Feel it! It's super soft."

Tim knelt down and felt the blanket which was black and had stars all over it. "You're right," he said. "It really is soft." Danny beamed. "Told ya!"

Tim smiled at the boy's obvious excitement despite his less than stellar living arrangements. Just then, Bruce called for him. Tim returned to the main room with Danny in tow, still clutching onto his blanket.

Bruce turned to him and handed him a piece of paper with an unreadable expression. The paper had cursive scrall on it that simply read, Take care of him my knights.

Danny looked up at them both curiously and Tim just sighed. So much for this being a quick drop off.

[macfrog]

jet

🎉 thank u guys so much for 1k followers 🎉 i don’t know how we got here but i love you all endlessly and can’t thank you enough for all the love n support. here’s some smutty joel to celebrate 🤩 this might become something, it might not. i dunno. wanted to try it out tho. lmk your thoughts ✨

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel have an agreement: follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. what happens when, one night, he asks you to break the deal?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, pining i guess?? when don't i pine for this man, praise kink, light bondage, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (don't u dare), creampie, dom!joel, soft!joel, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), cursing, cute horsies

word count: 6.9k

main masterlist

Somewhere between Missouri and Illinois, last time you checked. Joel has the map, and you don’t bother asking him to see it much. You’ve been following the Mississippi north, on his orders, looking to hit St. Louis sometime tomorrow. Provided you don’t run into any trouble, that is.

It’s been three days with no safe refuge. Camping out in deserted houses with wood for windowpanes, stores infested with rats, office buildings with infected roaming. Joel figures the outskirts of the city are a good spot to stop for a couple nights, regain your strength, find supplies.

You’re a few paces ahead of him, only turning your head slightly when you notice an offramp, and looking back ahead when he doesn’t give any direction. You weave in and out of abandoned cars, hips swaying with the clipping of your horse’s hooves on broken asphalt, Joel’s horse in time at your heels.

You’d untethered the pair of them on a farm back in Nebraska. Joel had told you to stay put while he cleared the house, but you’d wandered over to the field when you spotted them. Timid, skittish, starving.

Five minutes hooked over the fence and they were both eating grass you’d pulled from the earth, right out of your hand. Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching had spooked them back a few steps, but you’d petted their muzzles and when he did the same, they soon warmed to him, too.

He’d jerked his head in a nod and muttered, “Good job,” before finding two saddles, strapping them on, and helping you onto the chestnut brown one – who you’d named Jet.

Joel had found tins of food in the farmhouse, and a switchblade for you to carry. He had a new stain on his shirt.

“Infected?” you asked.

He grunted in reply. Then rolled the tins into his backpack and hoisted himself onto his own horse, giving her reins a tug.

You knew that meant that yeah, there’d been infected inside. And recent, too, going by how well-kept the horses looked. It can’t have been longer than a week.

Joel’s silence as you both wandered down the farm track probably meant that there weren’t just adults in the house, either.

You’d glanced over to him, giving him a small smile. Bent over and reached for his horse’s ears, scratching where her soft black coat met her mane. The reins lay loose around Joel’s knuckles.

Protecting and providing for you was more important than some infected kids in a farmhouse. Joel had made that more than clear over the time you’d been with him. But somewhere, buried deep underneath years of fighting and killing, tucked away under a dusty flannel shirt, you knew his heart was hurting.

That was two weeks ago. Joel hasn’t talked about it, and you’re not interested in bringing it back up. Y’all got to the farm, took everything it had to offer, and you left.

Jet clicks her way along the highway somewhere south of the city. It’s still bright out; Joel reckons probably a few more hours of sunlight, so you know he’ll be scouting for places to camp out soon.

You lean back to stretch your spine, hand steadying yourself on Jet’s rump, her tail swishing as she walks. Her head bobs, looking from left to right, from the trucks with smashed windows sprouting moss, over to the trees losing leaves in the fall breeze.

It’s peaceful. Not much is, these days.

It’s quiet enough that Joel can listen for any sound of oncoming threat, and quiet enough that you can shut your eyes and pretend like you’re on some trail in the Texas country, on a warm summer evening; not exhausted, covered in dirt, weeks since you washed, days since you slept.

You’re humming gently to yourself, imagination taking you down by a creek where Joel pulls you by hand off the horse and you sit down to a picnic or something. He’d bring a basket. Maybe a bottle of wine, or a cheese board. Maybe he lays you back and kisses you on the blanket. Maybe his hand starts to wander up your thigh, skirt ruffling as he goes…

“Not much out here, is there?”

His voice startles you, bursting the seams of your daydream. He isn’t much of a talker, not unless you start it. You sit up straight and give your head a shake, as if dislodging the fantasy from your mind.

You twist around to look at his face; squinting under the bright white sky. Tired, same as you, lined, flecked with years and sun and survival.

“Hm?” he asks when you still don’t reply.

“Not a lot,” you finally say, clearing your throat and turning back to the road.

Finding the horses isn’t the only thing that’d happened two weeks ago.

Joel hadn’t wanted to camp in the farmhouse, hadn’t wanted to have to shift the bodies. Too much effort, or too much for you to see, maybe. You’d protested, heart set on a night’s sleep in an actual bed, but he hadn’t budged.

And you knew not to push him.

The sun was setting, though, so Joel led you down a dirt track toward a barn and burst the padlock. He tied the horses up just inside the door, used bundled up hay as a makeshift mattress upon which he laid out a blanket for you.

He barricaded the door as you lay back, did a walkaround of the place just in case any infected – or worse – were waiting to surprise y’all, and then sat down next to you.

Your head by his thigh, you put a hand on his knee.

“You can lie down, too, y’know.”

He grunted in response, breathing deep and steady.

“Joel.”

You took his shoulder and tried to pull him down to you, but the man is stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, even in his late forties, and you were convinced he’d only pretended to be yanked toward you so as not to hurt your feelings too much.

He remained upright. “Just want to keep watch for a while.”

Joel’s like this when you’re on the road. He’s cautious. On high alert. Always watching ahead, always listening out for whatever he thinks he might hear in the distance. Sometimes you can say something to him and have to give his leg a kick for him to answer you.

You’d sighed and pushed yourself up to lean your bicep against his. He furrowed his brows and scanned you from your jeans to your jaw.

“If you’re up, I’m up,” you told him.

“You need sleep,” he replied flatly.

You shrugged. “So do you.”

“What good is both of us tired?”

You sighed again and shook your head. You weren’t gonna argue with him.

Good thing he didn’t feel much like arguing, either. Ten minutes later he was on top of you, jeans loose on his thighs, head buried in your shoulder, fucking you senseless. Grunting and groaning into your skin.

You’d scored marks into his shoulder blades with your nails that you’re sure, if you peeled back his shirt right now, would still be there.

It’d tired you both out enough that Joel settled with your head on his chest, his hand in your hair, eyes trained on the barn doors. You don’t know if he slept a wink. You never know if he sleeps these days.

Joel hears the hoarseness of your voice and knows that you’re tired, ‘cause he clicks to his horse and she trots up alongside you and Jet. He pulls the map from his backpack. You tilt your head to take a look.

“Keep ridin’ for another hour,” he mumbles. “’m sure we’ll find somewhere soon. Looks like we’re still a little way out of St. Louis.”

You nod, rolling your head back. The cloudy sky burns your corneas as you watch a bird fly overhead. Joel slips the map back into his bag and you feel his hand on your thigh.

“You okay?”

“Mhm. Tired,” you whisper.

“Only a little while longer.” He gives your leg a small squeeze and his hand returns to the reins. He doesn’t fall back, instead, stays ambling along by your side. It feels like company. Feels nice. Feels…normal.

Two weeks is a long fucking time. Especially when your adrenaline peaks on the regular, sometimes multiple times in one day, and you’re alone with Joel all day and all night. Trusting each other, relying on each other. Saving each other time and time again. It was only natural that you began to rely on each other for…more than just survival.

You can’t remember when you found him. It was in the QZ, back when you believed in stability and structure. When you believed in people. Now, the only thing you believed in was Joel. Broken, hurt, shut-off Joel, who’d grumbled an apology when his shoulder brushed yours in the hallway and changed everything.

You like to think you were something new to him, something different. A challenge, maybe. Something worth holding onto, anyway, for reasons he was yet to let you in on.

He had an apartment of his own, with a bed of his own, which was something you weren’t used to. You shared a cramped apartment with Luce, a single mom with a two-year-old. Joel’s was where you went when the tantrums, the screaming in the middle of the night, the ration cards being destroyed either by ripping, by eating, or else by other means, became too suffocating.

Joel didn’t believe in anything or anyone, either. That’s what kept you coming back.

He’d just open his door and step aside to let you in. Barely a word. He’d ask if you’d eaten, and share his plate with you either way. Wordlessly picking away at the same food, making sure you got the last spoonful of soup, the last strip of jerky.

Most nights he’d fuck you until your mind went blank, nothing but the smell of him, feel of him, sound of him. No talking, no kissing, no touching. Just the sound of the bed springs, Joel’s soft groans as he bottomed out inside you. The feel of his hot skin, hips rubbing against the inside of your thighs. The bare, cracked brick walls of his apartment would fade away with each thrust, and then slowly seep back in when your orgasm began to wash away.

You knew it was time-wasting, for both of you. Scratching an itch. But some nights, it felt like more. The nights when he’d be so caught up in what he was doing, so caught up in you, that he’d forget to pull out. The nights his hips would snap messily and suddenly he was spilling inside of you, a deep groan humming against your skin between his teeth.

He wouldn’t care to ask, and you wouldn’t offer the information for free, but you remember every fucking time he did it. Where it’d happened, the position he had you in, how long it took for him to finally peel his body off of yours.

And afterwards, he’d let you sleep with your head on his chest. Let you play with his fingers. Let you talk to him; let you ask questions.

Didn’t mean he answered all of them. Didn’t even mean he answered much. Some, he’d give away more openly than others, but you soon got used to clocking when he was keeping a secret. Make a mental note of it, remember to chip away at it.

He trusted you, though; you knew that. Knew it by the way his fingers knotted safely in your hair, the way he’d lie naked with you until the sun came up. The way his breathing would slow, the way he’d mumble in his sleep.

You never talked to him about the incoherent words he’d breathe – but you could piece them together well enough to understand him better than his waken self would ever reveal.

When you brought up leaving, one rainy night weeks ago, he thought about it maybe twice over. Asked how he was supposed to keep you safe.

You do that already, you told him.

‘s different outside. You don’t understand.

It can’t be any worse than in here.

You’d taken a step forward, and he’d flinched, but allowed you to take his strong jaw in your hands. You tried to form a sentence, and when your throat closed up, eyes flitting between his, he took your wrists and lowered them. The shadow of a rain-spattered window doused in a sickly amber glow across his face.

You’d wanted to kiss him. And had he left your hands where they were just a few seconds longer, you think you might’ve. Joel saw it in your eyes, and stopped it.

Whatever. It had still convinced him. He packed his bag and you snuck down the fire escape the following night. Joel’s fingers were hooked around your belt loop the entire time, keeping your hip in stride with his all the way until you were at least a hundred feet away from the QZ wall.

His other concern was his age. Why someone like you would want to run away with someone like him. Forty-something, graying, past his peak. He has, like, twenty years on you. Once he made some reference about Bruce Springsteen and, when your face blanked, he sighed and took the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

I know who Bruce Springsteen is, asshole, you’d said, just didn’t get that reference.

He’d shaken his head and given you a sly, twisted smirk, then pushed you out the door of the apartment block you guys were searching.

Still, despite the years between you, you have one major thing in common.

You’re both good at getting each other…there.

Joel knows exactly what to do to make you tick. You know exactly how to push him until he does it. It’s in the way you look at him, the way you touch him. Things you say that make his stony eyes flit once down your body, and then you know you’re in.

It’s a little harder to do while on horseback, you gotta admit. The best you can do is look at him, say a sentence or two laced with want and need. Hope that he reads through the lines.

It’s worked a few times, when Joel’s suddenly found a shed or basement you can camp out in and then made it difficult for you to walk for the next couple days.

Right now, you feel too tired to even bat your eyelashes at him, never mind coming up with lines to turn him on. You’ve been on the highway for a few hours by this point, little sign of shelter anywhere nearby. Joel holds his hand out and you bring your horses to a stop in view of a hospital a couple miles ahead.

“That’s gotta be teemin’ with them,” you say, looking over to study his expression.

“Hm,” Joel agrees, and glances to the right.

“What you thinkin’? Sun’s getting lower.”

He takes a deep breath, pulls on the reins. “Know somewhere nearby.”

He heads off the highway with a click of his teeth, and you follow. You shut your eyes, chin burying beneath the collar of your shirt. You’d kinda hoped that he’d offer to clear even a small part of the hospital for you to rest up, maybe more, but you trust him enough to lead you somewhere safer, somewhere quieter.

That trust begins to wear thin, though, when the sun disappears behind the trees, drowning you guys in a low dusk, and the temperature begins to fall. Joel’s using what’s left of the gray light to guide him, slowing down to take a hold of Jet’s reins and line her up with his own horse.

“I thought you said an hour,” you mumble, grip becoming slack on the leather.

“Changed my mind,” he replies. “Almost there.”

Your eyes start to roll with exhaustion, hips aching from the position you’ve been sat in for hours now. It’s not until you notice the silhouette of a tall sign in the clearing, black against the fading purple sky, that you blink yourself awake.

Joel pulls you and Jet off the road to a deserted parking lot, shadowed by a motel. He slows the horses down, listening for any signs of life, leading them to the side of the building.

“Easy,” he whispers, pulling on the reins. Both animals come to a halt.

He slides off the saddle, hitting the ground with a thud. He takes your hands, pulling you down to him, and you glance around.

“Stay here,” he tells you, and you don’t have the energy to argue back.

He makes off, pulling his gun from his holster. You stand with a hand on each horse’s muzzle, gently petting. Joel’s gone for a decent amount of time, his silhouette slowly sneaking in and out of every room, spending a couple minutes in each before he clears it.

He returns with a box of pills, some gauze, and a bottle of water, which he hands to you. You take a long swig and pass it back, and he does the same.

“What will we do with Jet ‘n…?”

“Huh?” he asks, replacing the cap on the half-empty bottle.

“What’s your horse called?”

“She ain’t got a name.”

You tsk. “Bad owner.”

“We ain’t their owners.”

“Mine’s is Jet. Pick a name.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, but you know he’s gonna spend all night thinking up some name to go with yours. “We’ll tie ‘em up out here.”

“What if something happens to them?”

“Well,” he says, leading them toward the shelter, “if somethin’ happens to them, it only means it’s about thirty seconds away from happenin’ to us.”

He jerks his head toward the first room as he ties them up, and you know the conversation is over.

You wander into the small, dingy room, pulling your jacket from your shoulders. It smells of damp, the wallpaper’s peeling off the wall above the bed. The sheets are in disarray, a little dusty, but they look clean enough. The bathroom walls are covered in grime. Drawers empty, closet doors missing, entire place ransacked.

It’s as good as you get, these days. At least it has a solid roof.

Joel settles the horses and closes the door gently behind himself. You’re already tugging your boots off, sat at the foot of the bed.

He rests his gun on the nightstand and straightens up, stretching his back with a quiet groan.

“’s cozy,” you offer, and he nods.

“Better ‘n risking that hospital.”

The bedsprings creak when you shimmy up the mattress, resting your back against the hardwood headboard. It ain’t the most comfortable, but then it’s not meant to be, is it? It’s only meant to be safe, which Joel’s made sure of.

He stands at the bottom of the bed, watching you as you bounce up and down a couple times, laughing quietly at the sound of the springs beneath you. His expression clouds over under low brows.

“Y’okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

He nods again. Eyes flitting up and down, from your face to your neck, back up, and then lower still. Your chest. Your stomach. Your legs. You feel your heartbeat quicken when he takes a step forward.

“Just had to find somewhere better.”

“Better?” You smile. “Have you seen the world, Miller?”

He leans his knee against the foot of the bed. His brown eyes darken even more, and his jaw tenses.

“Had to find somewhere better,” he mutters, “so I could fuck you in peace.”

Your breath catches. You stare from his lips back up to his eyes. His fists are balled tight. His chest heaves with steady panting. There’s something flickering in the depths of those warm eyes; an ember, drawing you in. Tantalizing you.

You sit forward, pushing onto all fours, and crawl down the groaning bed to him, rising onto your knees when your hands meet his shirt. Your chest against his stomach, you look up into his eyes.

His rough hands knot in your hair and he pulls down, yanking your head back and your chin up to him. He studies your face, outlined in the moonlight seeping through the window. Then he lowers his jaw and lines his lips against yours.

“That what you want?” he hums against your mouth. You swallow his words – they claw at your throat as they go.

“Uhuh,” you breathe back, trying to connect your lips. He doesn’t allow you; steadily dodges your jaw like you’re a pair of negative magnets, repelling off one another. You moan.

“Needy girl,” Joel whispers. “Two weeks too long for you?”

“Mhm.”

You’re not tired anymore. You’re fucking desperate. You feel your cunt dripping, seeping through your underwear, worsened when Joel’s hand reaches down between your legs and cups you through your jeans.

You gasp and grab his arms to steady yourself.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, hand tensing around your core.

Your lip trembles as you watch the way his mouth moves, how he shapes the words. His teeth locked between soft lips, dappled with brown hair, ends singed gray. The way he almost spits the words.

Your chest meets his torso when you breathe in, a deep, shaky breath. Joel notices; the corners of his mouth twitch, holding back a smile.

“Want you to…want you…”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. He pushes you back and falls on top of you, strong body pinning you against the mattress, hand still clamped to your crotch.

His head dips to your neck where he bites, scratches and sucks, mumbling against your hot skin, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

Your head begins to swim, body starts pulsing with electricity. Baby. Joel’s pet names are limited to one thing. One activity.

“Want you to f– fuck, Joel – fuck me.” Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

His hand begins wrestling with the button of your jeans. Thick fingers fumbling with your zipper, taking your waistband with both hands and hauling it down. The force of it pulls you down the mattress too, squealing as Joel rips the denim from your legs. You lower your hands to help him, but once they’re tossed to the floor, he bats you away.

He’s shaking his head, tsking, then takes both your wrists in one of his huge hands. Fingers twisted around your delicate skin, pinning them above your head. The bed sighs around you when he pushes your hands into the mattress. Your back arches, your chest rising to meet his.

Your legs part, knees settling either side of his waist. Of course they do. It’s what you know now. It’s basic fucking instinct at this point.

His free hand returns to cup your sex, feeling how wet you are through your now soaked underwear.

“Baby,” he coos, “this all for me?”

You nod a little too eagerly, not that you’re present enough to care. But it beckons a smug smile from Joel, who begins sliding your panties down your thighs.

Your hips lift to let him drag the fabric down, biting your lip, not willing to wait another fucking second for him. Lace meets denim on the torn-up floor, and you sigh, settling back against the rusty bedsprings and mottled sheets.

Joel’s free hand ghosts from your wrist down to your elbow, teetering along the sleeve of your t-shirt over to the collar, where he pulls it so far down into the valley between your breasts that a small noise passes your lips.

“Hm?” he asks, fingers pausing against your breastbone.

“’s my only shirt. Don’t…”

He kisses his teeth. His gaze never lifts from your heaving chest, skin damp with sweat right underneath his fingers. You can see him tossing it over in his head. What he wants to do, versus what he probably shouldn’t.

He blinks. Decision made.

“Give you one of mine,” he growls, and hooks his fingers, dragging the fabric of your shirt lower and lower until the collar tears open and it’s another scrap lost to the motel room floor.

And then there you are, naked and writhing underneath him. He’s still in his dusty flannel. There’s sweat lining his forehead. He holds himself over you, hovering, taking every inch of you in and storing it behind his eyes.

You jerk your hands, trying to break free just to touch him, feel him, but he pulls away again, tutting.

“No, pretty girl,” Joel coos, “gonna take my time with ya.”

You moan in protest, still wriggling under his body. His grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen, not even when his free hand dips to undo his belt. The cold metal kisses your naked thighs when he pulls it through his jeans; the leather drags up your torso and across your face as he lifts it.

He takes your hands individually, careful and yet rough, urgent, and slots them between the slats of the headboard. Your head turns up to watch what he’s doing. The silver of his belt buckle knocks against the wood as he slips it under your wrists, feeding it between your skin and the mattress, wrapping it around the slat between your hands.

Then he slips the belt through the buckle, and pulls. Tight. Your hands come together, wrists kissing, the leather burning your skin the tighter he pulls. You whine, head rolling back to meet his gaze, fixed on yours.

“Since you don’t wanna listen.”

The drip in his voice, sweet like honey, smooth as whiskey, forces your legs open wider. Joel smirks, pushing himself down the mattress and out of your view.

Staring up at the gray ceiling, you’re left just to feel him. Feel him as his palms splay out on your knees, pushing them into the bed. Feel his stubble graze the inside of your thigh as he drags his tongue up, leaving a trail of wet behind.

Feel when he breathes a whisper across your aching cunt, something you can’t hear over the ruffling of sheets around your head as you toss around. And feel when his fingers part your lips, opening you up wide for him to really fucking see.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, and you find the strength to lift your head to watch. He’s leant over you, one arm hooked around your left thigh, holding it open, the other fucking…playing with you. Like you’re some fancy gadget. Like you’re brand new to him.

“So,” he runs two fingers from your clit through your folds, “fuckin’,” lines them up at your entrance, “pretty – for me.”

He pushes up into you, and your head hits the pillow with a stifled groan. You’re panting through your teeth, back arching the deeper he goes, stretching you out and rocking waves of sparkling heat through you. Waves that hit the other end of your stomach and come rippling back, throbbing around his thick fingers.

His arm bears down on your thigh, forcing your legs wide open for him. His hand cups your clit and you buck your hips, rutting against the base of his palm. Joel laughs softly.

“Patience, darlin’. Don’t want it to be over ‘fore it’s even started.”

Your head rocks back and forth, eyes tight shut. It’s all you can fucking do, tied tight to the bed. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you, adding a third when you’re wet enough, thumb never leaving your clit.

You can feel your orgasm brewing in your stomach. Feel the tension between your hips. You’re chasing it, eyes shut, focusing only on Joel’s hand fucking in and out, in and out. You’re coming close, body pushing into the mattress, legs widening even more to let him slip a fourth finger inside you.

“Feel good?” he asks, almost with a laugh. There’s a smirk painted across his lips, you know it, even though you can’t find the energy to open your eyes.

You whimper in response, some small, muffled sound roughly shaped like yeah.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, and his wrist flicks harder.

You moan every time his fingertips kiss the edge of your cunt, pushing against the soft walls. You moan when he drags them out, leaving you empty. Again, when he pushes them back in, rough and fast. And then when he lowers his lips to your ear and tells you how good you’re being, how pretty you look, how hard he’s gonna…

It’s like he changes his mind in an instant.

Withdraws his hand, slick-covered and still hooked. Pulls it away as quickly as he pulls your orgasm from your body. It drains from you; reduces back to an ache you can’t reach.

Joel slips his fingers between his lips as he readjusts himself, repositioning on the squealing mattress. Sucks them clean as casually as he would at a cookout or something, then takes your hips in both hands and straightens you up.

His jeans are tugged down barely past his ass. He’s not prepared to waste any time ripping his own clothes off like he did yours. Just leans forward, pulls his solid cock from his boxershorts, and spits into his hand.

You watch through eyes glazed with lust as he strokes himself a couple times, eyes always on your swollen cunt, groaning as his spit coats his shaft. Then he lowers himself to you and does the same, only running his length through your folds.

You whine, feeling that familiar thickness separate you so close to where you need him, and yet so fucking far.

“Joel…” you whisper, but he’s not listening.

Transfixed on the sight of his cock moving against your soaked cunt. Listening to the sweet, wet sounds the pair of you make. His tip catches on your entrance a couple times and you gasp. Just fucking do it already.

“Fuck,” Joel growls under his breath, and then…

It’s been months. Might even be years. But the feeling of him pushing inside you for the first time is still the same. Every. Fucking. Time. He’s bigger, thicker than anyone you’ve ever slept with before. And he knows it, because every single time, he glides into you without hesitation. No time for you to adjust. Just fills you up straight away, lets you deal with it later.

He’s cocky like that. Too careful when you’re on the road, and too careless when you’re between the sheets. Not that you’re fuckin’ complaining.

Your mouth falls open in a choked moan. Your lungs are gasping for air. Joel’s all you can feel.

Your elbows lift into the air, arms desperate to break free just to grab onto him, ground yourself, feel him close against you. Your wrists lock against the hardwood, leather digging into your skin as punishment for trying to break free. You’re stuck; nothing but the overwhelming feeling of him between your legs, filling you up and leaving you empty over and over again.

“Good girl,” he’s panting, still watching where his cock lines up with your cunt, and then disappears inside.

He leans down and his lips find home on your shoulder, sucking sweet marks into the skin like he always does. His tip bumps against your cervix, jolts of sensitivity pushing through you each time he bottoms out causing you to whine into his flannel.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“I know, I know. I got you. I’ll get you there again, baby.”

You had a routine. Follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. Deviate slightly from that routine, even for a minute, and you threw the whole agreement into jeopardy. One misstep on a crowded street dotted with cars once had a sniper open firing at you both for nearly two hours until Joel found him and put a bullet between his eyes. That time your curiosity got the better of you and Joel almost lost a hand stopping you from walking down an alleyway and straight into a wire trap.

Repeat it, Joel had said that night. Crouched by his apartment window, rain battering off the glass. Hands on the frame, ready to hoist it up and let you slip out any second. Repeat. It.

Do as you say, you whispered back. And only then did he pull the sash.

This is not the fucking routine. This is not the agreement. You fucked, of course you did. But that’s all it ever was. Hungry, touch-starved, desperate sex. Bored sex. We-almost-died-today sex. Not this.

Not: clear an entire motel just so nothing within a two-mile radius gets to hear you fuck me senseless. Strip me down, tie me up, push me to the edge with your hands, but don’t let me go without you. Curl your lips around my ear while you’re buried inside me and whisper praises. Whisper baby. Whisper…anything you like. Anything you wouldn’t say when the sun’s up.

This feels like it means something. To both of you. Feels like Joel’s looking for something in you, asking something of you. And you want to give it to him, whatever it is.

And maybe that’s the point.

He’s proving that he could make you do fucking anything. Let him tie you to a bedframe, push you close enough to the edge that you can feel the pressure of release beckoning you forward like the wind circling your ankles.

And you’re proving that you’ll do it. You’ll do what he says. Follow him to the edge, refuse to jump. Pull his body into yours, make it feel like home for a night.

He’s proving that he’ll take care of you, and you’re proving that you’ll let him.

Your wrists are burning. Leather digging marks, searing skin, then rubbing over it again and again to cut it deeper. It’s starting to hurt, if you’re honest with yourself. Your face probably gives it away.

Probably, possibly. Definitely.

Joel notices you quieten and lifts his head from the crook of your neck. Studies your face for a fraction of a second and knows.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up. He loosens the belt with one hand whilst still deep inside you, hips thrusting slowly just as a place marker.

When your hands slip free, Joel’s clasp gently around your wrist, fingers delicate over the sensitive, reddened skin. His eyes almost glisten at the sight.

“Baby…” he whispers.

“’s okay,” you reassure him, loosening his grasp on you and settling your shaky hands on his jaw. “I’m okay. Liked it.”

Joel lowers his forehead against yours and picks his pace up again, and you moan into the space between your lips. Your legs lift higher, knees bumping against his shoulders. His hips snap into yours, his jeans rutting against the inside of your thighs, the bed creaking with each messy thrust.

“Close, baby,” his voice vibrates against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whine, chest pushing against his. “Fuck. Right there. Fuck.”

Your arm drapes over his shoulder blades, nails dig into the rough cotton of his shirt. Your left hand is still at his jaw, fingers caressing his cheek. Joined together at your hips and your brows, gaze never really meeting for longer than a second, but still. You’re right there. Joel – he’s right there.

It’s new, it’s intimate. It’s almost…sweet.

“Gonna cum with me?” he asks, sincerely. He’s not trying to coax it out of you. He’s checking that you want to fall over the edge. Not for him, not because of him, but with him.

You nod and he returns it, sweat sticking his dark hair to his forehead.

With his eyes on you, flitting between your parted lips and your batting eyelashes, too scared to settle on either place for too long, he lifts your hips and fucks into you fast. Deep. Fucking – hard. Skin slapping against yours, breath hot and tangling with yours between your lips.

The pressure between your hips begins to build again, rapidly, Joel adding to it with every movement. Every push of his thick cock against your walls only draws them in tighter, closing around him, holding him closer to you with each moan escaping both your lips.

“Darlin’…” he murmurs in a broken voice, and you know. He’s starting to falter. Thrusts weakening.

“’m there too,” you reply, gasping for breath.

“Let me – feel you,” he says, “pretty girl.”

Maybe it’s the fact you don’t normally talk. Maybe the fact he never touches you the way he has tonight. Maybe it’s him wanting you to cum first, before he will.

Or maybe it’s pretty girl, that finally sends you over.

You look so good to him. You’re being so good for him. ‘n he can’t help it, has to let you know. Has to let every thought that passes through his head slip out past his tongue.

Pulling his chest flat against yours, you throw your head back to the pillow with a moan so filthy, so guttural that you’d be surprised if you don’t have company in five minutes.

Joel’s at your heels, face buried between your breasts, groaning into your chest as his cock twitches deep inside you and you feel him fill you up.

Your orgasm’s still knocking you senseless, every nerve in your body electrified. You’re holding Joel tight to your body, his ear flat to your chest, and you know he can hear your heartbeat. Know he’s listening to it throwing punches from behind your ribcage.

He’s still groaning through his breaths, heavy and thick with his release. Cock still deep inside you, still, softening. You lay like that for…well, you’ve no idea how long. But after a bit, Joel pulls himself up off of you and wanders into the bathroom.

You sit up on your elbows, taking deep, steady breaths, and let the stars in your vision dissipate. Joel emerges a couple minutes later and finally tugs his jeans down. He lifts both his shirt and the tee underneath off in one motion, tossing them onto the sideboard, then slips back under the covers, wordlessly hooking a hand around your upper arm and pulling you down onto his chest.

Your legs intertwine with his. There’s cum seeping out of you onto his thigh. Both of you, mixed up as one. His fingers sift through your hair, doing little to untangle it but trying all the same. His breathing in time with yours, his lips pressed safely to the crown of your head.

Before you know it, you’re sleeping.

Dawn breaks early. Too early. You’re still tangled up in Joel, feeling his chest rise and fall. Listening to his heartbeat – slow, calm. The drapes – not that there’s much left of them – are too thin to stop any light from flooding in. It’s only a matter of time before he wakes up.

The rough sheets sting against your wrists – red marks scoring them where Joel’s belt had been. You wince, running light fingers over the grazes, hissing at your fingertips as they go.

It hurts way less than it thrills you. This little reminder of what you did last night. What Joel did. The pain subsides the longer you touch the scars, knitted brows melting into a smile.

You slowly lift your head, propping yourself up on your elbow. Just watching him. The dust in the room frames him in a sea of white glitter, the slow-emerging sun lights across his face and dips where the scar on his nose sits.

His arms are still around your waist, cradling you. Holding you to him. You know he’s stirring when they tighten, and then fall loose. Façade back up. Walls slowly rebuilding.

You dress yourselves in silence. Run out of words to say. There ain’t nothing to say – nothing that wasn’t said last night. Joel sinks into the mattress beside you to tie his laces, and your arms brush against one another a couple times. It’s like fire on ice.

He’s first to leave the room. Just pulls his jeans over his boots and stands, unlocks the door and lets the light flood in. You check once over for anything left behind, and slip out. The air is cool, twilight still slowly washing away. You sling your jacket over Jet’s back and pull yourself up.

Joel’s t-shirt is loose over your shoulders. He gave you a fresh one from his bag. It smells like him, but you don’t let him see when you bury your nose into it to breathe him in. The hem bunches up over the top of your thighs once you’re sat on the horse.

His eyes scan down you once, surveying you in hisshirt. Then he swerves off back toward the road, silhouette cutting between the rays of sun streaming between the pine trees.

“Ghost,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“Huh?” You click to Jet to follow.

“Horse’s name. Ghost.”

“How come?” you ask when you’re side by side with him.

He shrugs, upper lip turning. “When it’s dark, you can’t hardly see her. She’s like a ghost.”

Joel’s hand surfs gently across Ghost’s mane, fingers scratching her shining coat. Your bodies rock in time with the sway of the horses’ walking. The echo of their hooves on the asphalt masks the silence for a few moments.

“Alright,” you eventually accept, turning away to watch the sun lift above the prickly treetops.

And to hide the smile tugging on your lips.

----------

taglist: @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[wildwestdean]

enmity

based on both this request by @nochedie, and this request by @somethingsomethingcranberries! thank you so much for sending these in! 🤍🤍

summary: this wasn't the first time a hunt had gone wrong. sure, the injuries dean patched up for you were a little worse than usual, but it was nothing new - so, why was he so pissed off about it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 7.1k+

warnings: working a case/hunting, mentions of missing kids, gore, blood, reader gets injured, stitches + motel room first aid, descriptions of wounds, swearing, angst, hurt/comfort, nicknames, yelling, fighting, mature themes, kinda slow burn but not really, minor self-doubt (reader), dean acts like a dick, name calling (stupid, idiot), best!friend sam, mentions of pain killers, alcohol consumption, confessions, idiots in love, fluff, brief mention of age gap

You sat in your motel room with books and papers scattered across the bed, and a plethora of tabs open on your laptop.

“Anything?” you asked with a sigh, looking up at Sam who was across the room - the table he sat at practically mirroring your bedspread.

He huffed and set his book down, leaning back in his chair while running a hand through his hair. 

Your shoulders slumped at his reaction, a frustrated chuckle escaping your lips. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

He shook his head, glaring at the pages in front him before meeting your gaze. “I don’t get it. At all.” 

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Get what?”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he waved his hands over the littered table. “This! This whole case. I mean, there’s zero background for this- this- whatever it is!” he exclaimed. 

“Okay, maybe we should just take a break? Dean should be back with the food soon...” you trailed off as a passage suddenly caught your attention, fingers tapping atop your knee as you scanned the page.

He noticed the shift in your demeanour and sat up straight, looking at you intently. “Did you find something?” he asked hopefully. 

You shook your head as you glanced at him. “No, I don’t think so, but-” you cut yourself off, feeling unsure, but you could practically feel him watching you, his eyebrows raised as he waited for you to continue. “What if we’re looking in the wrong place?” 

“How so?” he questioned. 

“Okay, well,” you started. “Right now we’re looking for things that are common around here and travel in groups. Like werewolves, demons, or vampires, right?”

Sam nodded his head, looking at you as if you were losing your mind. “Yeah…” he said slowly. 

Huffing at the fact he wasn’t following, you carried on. “So, right now we’re looking for groups of monsters. Monsters that are likely native to this area. Maybe that’s why we can’t find anything,” you tried to explain. 

Sam nodded, eyes lighting up in realization. “So… you’re not only thinking this is something mainly solitary, but also not typically known to show face around here? Like Lamia?”

“Yes, exactly! Technically there’s multiple, but-” 

“There were only two found around here,” Sam finished for you, clearly deep in thought. 

Folding your arms over your chest, you leaned back against the headboard. “What do you think?” you asked softly. 

He grabbed his laptop and placed it in front of him. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “Seems like it could be a good shot, though.”

You smiled once more, gathering up the abandoned books and loose papers just as the motel door creaked open. 

“So, what did you nerds find out while I was gone?” Dean asked, clicking the door shut behind him.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Sam beat you to it. “Girl wonder over there may have just found us a good lead,” he said, eyes still locked on his computer as his head jerked in your direction. 

Dean beamed at you as he set the bags down, settling for the empty chair across from Sam when he couldn’t find any free space on the table. “That’s my girl!” he cheered. “What did you find?”

Trying to prevent a blush from blooming across your face because of his comment, you focused on organizing the piles of research in front of you. “Sam’s giving me too much credit, I didn’t even find anything concrete.” 

Dean walked over and sat down on the other bed, a look of interest on his face. You shifted nervously as he accidentally brushed your knee along the way, feeling your heart rate quicken like a smitten teenager. You glanced up and caught Sam’s eye, and his gaze darted between you and Dean before resting on his laptop screen, a tiny smirk playing at his lips. 

“Tell me what ya got,” Dean said, popping open a bottle of beer that seemed to appear out of nowhere. 

You shrugged dismissively. “Like I said, nothing concrete. I just suggested to Sam that we were looking in the wrong place.” 

Dean shook his head, taking a sip of his beer. “You already lost me.” 

“I mean, most things we’ve hunted have come in swarms, and were typically common to the area. I suggested that perhaps we were hunting a singular thing, something foreign, like when you guys took down that Lamia,” you supplied, standing up with a stack of books to move out of the way. 

You could practically feel Sam’s smirk behind your back as you set things on the dresser. Ever since you realized that, when it came to Dean, you felt something stronger than your adopted kinship, you confided in Sam. He’s been one of your best friends and confidants for as long as you’ve known him, yet a small part of you regrets telling him; he still refuses to let you live it down, and is smug as shit about it at every possible moment. Between him, and the fact that your behaviour is growing increasingly uncharacteristic around Dean due to the fear of your own feelings, it won’t be long until Dean realizes that something is going on.

Dean laughed softly behind you, and you were thankful he couldn't see the smile that grew on your face because of the sound. “Assuming I even remember what the hell this Lima-”

“Lamia,” you and Sam both pitched in to correct him. 

“Whatever,” Dean huffed. “What makes you think this thing is some lonely foreigner?” 

Shrugging your shoulders as you set the last book down on the stack, you thought about it. “I don’t really know,” you said, spinning around and walking back to your bed. “Just a hunch, I guess? I mean, I could be really off base here.”

“Nah, your hunches are never wrong, sweetheart,” Dean told you, bringing his bottle to his smirking lips. 

You heard Sam snicker, and you sent him a death glare before declaring that you were starving. 

Setting the bottle on the nightstand, Dean eagerly stood up and grabbed the bags. “I got your favourite,” he declared, sporting a proud grin as he brought it to you. 

“Thanks, De,” you said earnestly, matching his grin as you took it from him.

One quick glance confirmed that he didn’t forget a single detail of your order, and you felt your heart swell about three sizes. 

“Sammy?” Dean asked tentatively, looking over to his brother now; the remnants of his smile still lingering.

Sam shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on his screen. “You can go ahead, I’m not all that hungry right now.”

Rather than argue, you and Dean simply shared a look and shrugged before digging in. The three of you brainstormed some more while you ate, resulting in Sam sending you and Dean an occasional look of ‘stop talking with your mouths full, it's disgusting’ - which only encouraged you both to do it more.

Eventually, Sam had all he could take and shut his laptop with a groan. “I’ll be in my room,” he muttered, all but storming away to the room next door. 

He always got his own room whenever he could, given that not only was he often up late with a lamp burning to carry on with research, but he was also always up before the sun to go for a run if the case allowed for it. It was now more than ever, though, that you assumed he got his own room to also just escape the pestering from you and Dean. 

You both watched him march out of sight for a moment before Dean turned to you, the corners of his mouth twitching. 

“It’s just too easy sometimes,” you giggled. 

He couldn’t help but snort a laugh, a grin taking over both your faces as you high-fived. 

The two of you carried on together for the rest of the night; working on the case a little more, coming up with new ways to mess with Sam, settling onto your bed to watch a few episodes of your favourite show - one that he always complains about, yet refuses to miss a single episode of.

It was the same as every night. 

Only this time, you could’ve sworn that he sat a little closer to you. That he laughed a little harder at your jokes. You even thought that you saw more fondness than usual reflected in his gaze whenever he turned to smile at you.

Yet, you didn’t dwell on it. You couldn’t dwell on it. 

It was a dangerous game to think that he saw you the way that you saw him, and it was a game you refused to play. 

A few days later, you were all seated around the room again, growing increasingly frustrated over the lack of answers. Children kept disappearing, no one knew why, and panic was rising. 

You scrolled through the page, sitting up straight as something caught your eye; and you noticed Sam do the same a few moments later. 

“Gurumāpā!” you both yelled, looking at each other. 

Dean looked up from the book he was searching through to stare at the two of you. “Uhh... gesundheit?"

“The Nepalese bogeyman,” you confirmed, ignoring Dean’s confusion. 

“You really think?” Sam asked. 

You spoke quickly, excited yet unsure “I mean, I don't know. It could be. It’s our best shot. Stories vary here and there but the moral is the same.”

“He takes disobedient kids,” Sam agreed with a nod. 

Dean shut his book with a snap. “Great! So, where do we find it, and how do we kill it?” 

You opened your mouth, but had nothing. You looked at Sam, but he only shrugged. 

“Awesome,” Dean sighed, resting his cheek on his palm as he dramatically threw the book back open to flick through the pages. 

“Are we sure about this?” you asked suddenly, having two heads snap to attention. 

Dean spoke first. “Are we ever?”

“Dean’s right, most of the time we barely have a leg to stand on,” Sam added. 

“I know, but,” you started to say. “Why’s he here? He’s supposed to be secluded on a field in Nepal. It doesn’t make sense he’s here.”

“Nothing ever makes sense,” Dean said, rubbing his eyes. “This is the best lead we’ve had so far, we can’t turn back now. For all we know, someone could’ve found a way to summon him- hell, or smuggle him here.” 

Sam nodded. “It has happened before,” he reminded, and you all took a silent moment to remember that case before shuddering. 

“We’ve done a lot more with a lot less - so come on,” Dean said, tapping a finger on your laptop to get you to keep reading. 

You obliged with a heavy sigh, and silence stretched on for a few more hours; all of you painstakingly searching through any book or entry you could get your hands on. You, working on finding a possible location this thing could be camping out in, while they tried to find a way to kill it. 

You considered it a lucky break when Dean announced he may have found something, thus allowing him to help you when Sam took it upon himself to dive deeper on what was discovered. 

After a few more hours, you all found yourselves outside of town and surrounded by nothing but abandoned farmland and its ramshackled buildings.

“Great, so… now what?” Dean asked, surveying the expanse of seemingly endless land. 

“I guess we split up? Try and find any kids first?” Sam suggested with a shrug. 

Opening your mouth to respond, you were quickly cut off by Dean. 

“No,” he said firmly, taking a subconscious step closer to you. “We don’t even know if what we’re after is what we think we’re after.”

“So?” you asked, glancing up at him. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” 

“No,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. We stay together until we get a better feel for what’s going on.” 

“Well, let’s go then,” you declared, slinging your duffel over your shoulder and strolling down the path. 

The brothers were hot on your heels, the only sounds to be heard being the gravel under your shoes and the birds up above as you explored the property.

“This isn’t gonna work, Dean,” Sam huffed after a while. “This place is massive and we’re wasting time. It’s gonna be dark soon.” 

“He’s right, De,” you agreed softly. “We need to split up.” 

“Fine, okay,” Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “Do not do anything stupid. Call the second you find anything, got it?” he added with a pointed look; seemingly only directed at you.

“Yeah, I got it,” you said in annoyance. “I’m not an idiot.” 

“I never said-” Dean started to argue before Sam interrupted with a loud groan. 

“Guys? Can we, like, not do that now? Kinda life or death here.” 

“Right, yeah,” Dean grumbled with a curt nod. “No one get dead,” he muttered, choosing a direction and walking off.

You and Sam exchanged a quick glance before following suit, heading off in your own directions. 

The sun was getting lower and lower on the horizon, and you grew increasingly frustrated as every single place you checked came up empty. 

You were just about ready to start landing punches on some unsuspecting barnwood when you heard it. It was quiet, distant, but unmistakable. 

Someone - or something, you guessed - was in the next building.

It was dark. 

Dark and quiet. 

Why was it so dark? 

The sun still wasn’t set as you stepped into the barn, and that was only moments ago; wasn’t it? 

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to recall what happened: the noise that caught your attention, the apparent nesting ground you came upon, the footsteps behind you, the struggle, the fight, the searing pain as you were sent flying.

A small whimper escaped you as it all came back, breathing rapidly as you realized you were alone with no idea what was happening outside these creaking walls. You tried to move, but searing pain shot through you, a hand instinctively going to your side to instantly become warm and slick. 

“Dean?” you tried to call out, but his name only came as a broken sob. 

Choking back tears, you forced yourself to calm down so you could listen to your surroundings; yet all you could hear was your own heart pounding in your ears. 

“Dean?” you tried again, but it was like all the air was being stolen from your lungs. 

Taking a big breath, you forced yourself to your feet with a yell, bracing yourself on the closest beam you could find as you fumbled for your phone. Panic continued to rise within you when you realized it wouldn’t turn on, and fear for the boys’ whereabouts turned your blood to ice. 

Moonlight was filtering into the barn through the slats, piercing the darkness around you just enough to help you see the way out. You didn’t know where you’d go once getting outside, but you knew you just had to get outside. Forcing yourself to move once more, you pushed off the beam and trudged through the rubble and debris, heading towards the opening you had squished yourself through to get in here. Shoving your way back out, however, was not as easy, and you couldn’t help but let out a scream as the wood pressed into your wound on the way through. 

Suddenly, you heard your name being called. It was soft, like an echo in the distance, but you recognized the voice - you would know it anywhere. 

“Dean-” you attempted to call in return, but you still couldn’t find your voice. 

Once you were completely outside, you made your way in the direction you thought he was in, trying to keep pressure on the wound as best you could; thankfully, it didn’t seem to be bleeding too badly. Your head was absolutely pounding, and you weren’t sure if your vision was blurry, or if it was just too dark to clearly make anything out. Nevertheless, you carried on, using Dean as a beacon to guide your way. 

The second you saw his familiar silhouette appear up ahead, you knew you were safe. You knew you could finally let yourself give in to the pain and exhaustion, collapsing to your knees with a heavy sigh. 

You faintly registered him yelling out your name before sprinting towards you, his voice growing louder as he got closer.

“Hey,” he cried out, skidding to his knees in front of you. “Hey, look at me. Look at me,” he pleaded, cupping your face in his hands in a desperate attempt to try and meet your gaze.

“The barn,” you said urgently. “I tried to-”

“It’s okay,” Dean hushed you, shaking his head. “It’s okay, you’re okay, we got it.” 

“You got it?” you asked hazily.

“We got it, sweetheart,” he assured, his fingers brushing away your hair to try and examine you better. “It’s over, you’re okay.”

“I don’t feel okay,” you admitted quietly. 

Your vision grew even cloudier, and you didn’t know if it was your consciousness slipping away, or more tears starting to flow. 

“No, you’re okay,” he said shakily, wiping away what must have been tears. 

You nodded in response, but the movement caused your breath to hitch as the pain grew worse, and your hands shakily reached up to grab his wrists in a feeble attempt to stop everything from spinning. 

It was at this exact moment he noticed your hands were painted with your own blood, and the fear that surged through him as he glanced down made him want to throw up. Quickly slipping his flannel off, he wrapped it around you with unsteady hands, tying it tightly after warning you it might hurt.

“See?” he asked nervously, swallowing thickly. “It’s not even that bad, alright? It’s not that bad.”

The fact that it was too dark to properly assess the damage was setting his nerves on fire, and at this point he didn’t know whether he was trying to convince you or himself that everything was fine. 

He doesn’t even remember calling out for Sam, yet he must have, because his brother was suddenly skidding to a stop beside him after finally finding you.

Sam took a moment to assess you himself, though once realizing there was nothing that could be done right here and now, he decided it was time to move. 

“Can you walk?” Sam asked you, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“Not as quickly as you two gigantor’s can,” you admitted, huffing a bitter laugh. 

Neither of them laughed with you, and they shared a pointed look that you couldn’t see. 

Dean dug in his pocket, pulling out his keys before tossing them to Sam. “Get the car and start heading our way. We’ll meet you.” 

“Got it,” Sam nodded, sprinting away. 

“Alright, let’s get you up, sweetheart,” Dean announced softly, grabbing you as firmly as he dared. “Ready?” 

With a tiny nod of your head, you let out a groan as he helped guide you to your feet, letting you lean heavily on him for support. 

“Good,” Dean encouraged. “Good. How’re you feeling?” 

“Tired,” you breathed out, resting your heavy head on his shoulder. 

“Okay, hey,” he called, gently lifting your head back up. “I’m gonna carry you, alright? But I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?” 

You really, really wanted to say no. It seemed like he had three heads, all dancing around in front of you, and all you wanted was to close your eyes. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t. 

“Why?” you asked, clearly confused.  

“Can’t let you sleep until I check out that head,” he told you, getting ready to scoop you up into his arms as gently as he could. 

You were somehow even more confused. “My head?” you asked, before letting out a strangled gasp as he picked you up.

“It’s bleeding,” he pointed out, swallowing down the lump that formed in his throat.

As if in a way of question, you gingerly brought your fingers up to the side of your head - only to flinch in response as you came in contact with what must’ve been another wound. “Oh.”

It wasn’t long before the world around you became aglow with headlights, and Sam pulled to a screeching stop before rushing to help Dean get you in the back seat.

“Are we close to a hospital?” Dean asked, placing your head on his lap as Sam spun the car around. 

“Not at all. The motel’s our closest option right now,” answered Sam. 

“Fine, then drive faster,” Dean ordered, running a hand through your hair. 

“I’m going as fast as I can, Dean,” Sam grumbled. 

“Well, I said go faster,” Dean replied curtly, before fully turning his attention back to you.

He focused on keeping you talking as Sam sped towards the motel - discussing the latest episodes of your show the two of you had watched, how there was a new movie playing that he wanted to take you to see once back at home, that during the drive back home he’d stop at that cute cafe you spotted on the outskirts of town earlier this week; anything that came to mind, he said it.

There were multiple motives behind him doing so: to keep you distracted from the pain, to keep you awake, to keep him distracted from your pain, and to try and gauge how bad that head injury was - so far, it didn’t seem to be so much damaging as just a nasty blow. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, and the wound by your hip wasn’t bleeding as much, so he was hoping all it would need was a few good stitches once he could look at it. 

The panic he had felt since first finding you was finally starting to subside, yet he had still never been so thankful to pull into a dingy motel parking lot before. After carefully leading you to your room, he and Sam both took turns to evaluate your wounds and current condition. 

“Looks worse than it is,” Sam told you, letting out a breath of relief. “Definitely gonna be sporting a nice goose egg for a while, maybe a stitch or two, but your head seems fine.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally fine,” Dean pitched in, sarcasm dripping from the words. “What about that nice gash on her side - what would you say that is, Sammy? Four, maybe five inches?”

“Dean,” Sam chastised, shooting him a warning look. 

“Oh, here we go. Sammy the protector,” Dean muttered, heading to gather the first aid kit. “Well where the hell were you when she got turned into Raggedy Ann, huh?”

“Where was I? Where the hell were you?” Sam spat back with a scoff. 

“I was the one who didn’t want to split up in the first place!” yelled Dean, snatching a bottle of liquor off the counter to use as a disinfectant.  

“Guys?” you cut in, hoping to stop them before it escalated. 

“What?” they both shouted, turning their attention to you 

“Oh,” Sam said, realizing he was now yelling at you. “Sorry,” he added awkwardly, clearing his throat. 

Dean, on the other hand, remained quiet as he approached you. His face was as dark as an impending storm, yet his hands remained as gentle as the touch of a summer breeze while he tended to you.

Time stretched on, and the silence that now filled the room was almost harder to bear than the needle Dean was currently threading through your skin. You cast a glance over at Sam, hoping for some reprieve, but he looked just as helpless as you were. 

“Did you end up finding anyone?” you asked tentatively, addressing the room instead of either Sam or Dean.

“Sam brought a couple kids over to the station while I looked for you,” Dean informed, voice as taught as the suture he pulled through for one final knot. 

“That’s good,” you replied, wringing your fingers together. “What about-” 

“Everything got dealt with, alright?” Dean interrupted, cutting the excess material off with a harsh snip as he finished his stitching. 

“Okay,” you said, feeling like a scolded child. “Look, I-” 

Your words got stuck in your throat as Dean stood abruptly, tossing everything aside before storming over to the sink. You watched as he stiffly scrubbed your blood from his hands, the silence becoming as overbearing as before until Sam broke it. 

“Look, you just…” he trailed off, as if he were testing the water before continuing. “You really scared the hell out of us.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, mainly because you didn’t know what to say. It’s not like you meant to get attacked, for crying out loud. 

“Sorry?” Dean barked, whipping around to face you. “You’re sorry?” 

You stared at him, watching as the fury swirled in his eyes while you thought of what you were supposed to say. 

“Okay- maybe we should all take a breather here,” Sam quickly jumped in, trying to diffuse his brother’s anger. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Dean said, dismissing the idea as he stared daggers at you. “I think we should go ahead and talk about what a goddamn idiot you were back there!” 

The words felt like a slap in the face, and they hurt more than anything else you endured tonight. “I was not an idiot.” 

“No?” he asked, stepping towards you. “Because last I checked, you were supposed to call us if you found something! Not go blindly running in to meet who knows what without any fucking backup!” 

“Oh, please!” you groaned, already fed up. “Just how was that gonna work, Dean? I just stand there and wait for you guys to show up while potentially letting some innocent kid bite it? I had to check it out!” 

“It was stupid!” he shouted back. “You wanna check it out solo, fine, but you still drop a dime! We had no idea where the hell you even were!” 

“Guys, c’mon,” Sam pleaded, desperately wanting to put an end to this. 

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean spat. “She needs to own up to her mistake.” 

“It wasn’t a mistake!” you yelled. “I’m not in this gig to play it safe, I’m in it to save lives.” 

“Yeah, and then I’m the one who ends up with your blood on my hands!” he cried out. 

“Oh, do you always have to be so goddamn dramatic?!” you asked. “Don’t act like getting hurt isn’t part of the job. You’ve got over a decade on me, Dean, you should know that better than I do!”

He laughed sardonically, shaking his head as he backed up to lean against the counter, hands rubbing at his face. “I just don’t understand how you can’t see how fucking stupid you were.” 

“Ah, yes,” you replied saccharinely. “Stupid little me. Just a naive girl who can’t do the job, huh?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying!” he barked, rubbing his face in exasperation. 

“No?” you asked incredulously. “Then tell me, Dean! What the hell are you saying, huh?” 

“God, just- you know what?” he asked, shoving himself off the counter. “Screw this. I’m done here. I’m getting my own fucking room for the night,” he muttered, storming away. 

Before you could even blink, he was slamming the door behind him. You must’ve made a move to follow him, because you suddenly felt a hand lightly grip your wrist as Sam kept you in place. 

“Just leave him to cool off for a bit,” Sam told you quietly. 

You wanted to argue, to rip yourself from Sam’s grasp and go find Dean, who was likely pacing around outside in an attempt to blow off some steam. Yet you knew it was best to do as Sam said; Dean didn’t want to listen right now, and following after him to try and talk would only make things worse. 

“Yeah,” you said belatedly, slipping from his hold. “Okay.” 

“Do you need any help?” Sam asked, watching as you gathered your things for bed. 

“I’ll be fine,” you told him, shaking your head. 

“Alright,” he sighed, not fully believing you but knowing better than to call you on it. “I’ll go next door and grab my stuff. I’ll stay with you tonight.” 

“Sounds great,” you said, despite not fully listening to him. You were too focused on trying to hold yourself together until you made it to the bathroom, letting the emotions run through you as soon as you were locked inside. 

Time seemed to slip away from you while you were in there, lost in thought while the water melded with your tears as you cleansed yourself both physically and emotionally. It was only when Sam knocked on the door with a call of your name that you finally came to your senses. Once you assured him you were fine, you quickly finished up. 

Doing your best to avoid eye contact with Sam, you made for your bed as quickly as you could move. Hiding yourself away in the safety of the blankets, you hoped to avoid any further discussions of this entire event. 

You should’ve known better. 

“You do know we need to talk about this, right?” Sam asked softly. 

“Do we?” you asked in return, staring up at the ceiling. 

He sighed, and soon after you felt the end of your bed dip under his weight. “I meant what I said. You scared the hell out of us.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you said meekly, keeping your eyes trained on the stain above your head. 

“I know that,” he said calmly. “I’m sure Dean does, too, but-” 

“Does he?” you cut in incredulously. 

Sam sighed again, falling silent as he weighed his response in his head. “Yes. C’mon, you know Dean - hell, probably even better than I do. He was more scared than he was angry, and I think you know that.” 

“Well you were scared, too, weren’t you?” you asked, finally turning your gaze to his. “You didn’t try ripping my head off.” 

“That’s because my biggest fear didn’t almost become reality tonight,” he said simply, giving you a look as though you should understand; which, you didn’t. 

“What?” 

“Look,” Sam started, carding his fingers through his hair. “Death is part of the job, right? We all know it’s the risk we take with this life. But you… if I’m being honest, I don’t even know what the hell I’d do if I ever lost you; you’re my best friend, the annoying little sister I never had, and I love you. But Dean… him losing you… I don’t know if he could ever come back from that.”

You stared at him carefully, his words echoing in your head as you searched his face for any insincerity - you didn’t really know what to say once you found no trace. 

“I’d like to get some rest, if that’s okay,” you finally settled on. 

Sam smiled sadly, knowing you didn’t believe him. “Sure,” he agreed, squeezing your calf affectionately before standing up. “I’ll check on you in a few hours, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nodded, tucking the sheets up under your chin. “Night, Sammy.” 

“G’night,” he responded gently, quietly getting himself ready for bed as well.

It was torture. Pure, never ending torture. 

You had been laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, for hours, unable to sleep a wink. 

Not only was your mind still reeling from your fight with Dean, but you weren’t able to get comfortable; the stitches in your side pulled every time you shifted positions, sending a new wave of pain through you that even the painkillers you swallowed down earlier did little to conceal. 

Letting out an irritated huff, you tossed the covers off and slid from the bed to search the dark for your shoes, doing your best to not wake Sam - all you wanted was some fresh air, and you didn’t want to deal with his questions or insistence he go with you. 

After shrugging on a flannel that Dean had left in his haste to get away from you, you carefully slipped from the room and did your best to make sure the door shut silently in your wake. 

“Running away?” came a voice from behind you, making you jump out of your skin as you whirled around. 

You came face to face with Dean, who was leaning against the trunk of his beloved car, one hand shoved deep in his jacket pocket and the other holding a can of beer. The moonlight cut through the darkness, mingling with the fluorescent and neon lights to cast an otherworldly glow upon his face. 

“Why?” you asked tightly, folding your arms over yourself. “Hoping you won’t have to deal with my stupidity anymore?” 

You may as well have slapped him for the way your words made him flinch, and he fixed his gaze on the can in his hand. “You know that’s not how I meant any of it,” he muttered guiltily. 

All you could do was scoff, biting back your snippy response in the hopes of trying to avoid another blow out. 

“Why are you out here?” you asked after a few moments of silence. “Thought you got your own room.” 

Dean shrugged, chugging down some beer before jerking a thumb in the direction of the upper level. “I asked for one, but all they had was one up in the corner.” 

“What, too many stairs?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He shook his head, falling silent as he stared at the puddle by his feet. “Just… too far away.” 

“From?” you asked, taking a few steps to lean against the closest pillar. 

By the sigh he let out, you could tell he didn’t want to answer, yet after a small stretch of silence he finally looked up to meet your gaze. “You.” 

“What, not mad at me anymore, then?” you questioned, hoping to mend this bridge. 

“Oh, no. I’m still fucking pissed,” he instantly admitted. 

“Right, well, spare the lecture this time,” you replied with a scoff. 

“You just don’t get it, do you?” he snapped, setting his can down on the trunk. 

“You wanna know what I don’t get, Dean?” you quipped, glaring at him. “Have you always thought I was such an incompetent hunter, or did your opinion of me just suddenly change?” 

“That is not-” he started to argue, before taking a calming breath. “That is not what I think,” he finished, more quiet this time. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes. 

“Okay, you wanna know how I see it?” he asked, shifting his stance a little straighter. 

When all you did was meet his gaze with your own look of determination, he carried on. 

“You almost died!” he said adamantly. 

“No, I didn’t!” you denied, throwing up your hands in exasperation. 

“Well you may as well have!” he yelled, palm slamming down on Baby’s exterior in an outburst of rage. “You disappeared! You disappeared, and I couldn’t find you, and when I did-... I mean what else was I supposed to think, huh? I find you on your damn knees, covered in your own blood, and I can’t even see how bad it is because we’re literally out there in the fucking dark. So you know what? As far as I’m concerned, in that moment, you did almost die.” 

Stunned into silence by the intensity of his words, all you could do was watch the storm of fear and fury dance behind his eyes before he turned away. 

“I thought I was gonna have to watch you die,” he muttered, choking on his words as he braced his hands on the car to steady himself. 

“I-” you tried to speak, but all words failed you at that moment. 

“And I know, okay?” he carried on desperately. “I know that this job, this life… that’s the risk. And me? Hell, if I go, I go, I can make peace with that. But I’ll be damned if I get to keep on living and you don’t. I’ll be damned, if I have to sit there and watch you die.” 

“Dean-” you tried again, feeling like an idiot for not being able to form a proper response. 

“Look, I- I overreacted okay? It’s what I do, I know that, but-” Dean cut himself off with a sigh, quickly wiping at his eyes before the tears had a chance to appear. “I can’t- I can’t handle the idea of facing a world without you in it.” 

“You’ve… I mean, I don’t understand,” you admitted with a chuckle of disbelief. “I’ve been hurt before.” 

“Trust me, I know,” he sighed, finally returning to sit against the rear end as he fixated on the ground before him. 

“So… what made it so different this time?” you hesitantly asked. 

Dean’s gaze slowly lifted from his boots to your face, and the look he gave you was one you’ve never seen before. He held your gaze as he stood tall, easily closing the space between you two with just a few steps. He reached out to carefully brush your hair away from the gash on your head, tucking the strands behind your ear. Your breath hitched as his fingers gently traced your skin, his touch lingering as he examined your wound. 

“Guess I just reached my breaking point,” he whispered, letting his palm rest against your cheek. 

“What does that mean?” you found the courage to ask. 

“You know what it means,” he replied, reluctantly pulling his hand away. 

“Say it anyway,” you pleaded, heart hammering in your chest as you fought to steady your breathing. 

He shook his head, averting his gaze as he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I don’t think I can.” 

“I know you can,” you encouraged, trying your best to catch his gaze. 

He closed his eyes as if to brace himself for what he was about to say, yet he only stayed silent. When the silence began to stretch on into minutes, you knew it was time to give up. 

“Okay,” you concluded, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in your chest from the jagged edges of your now broken heart. “Have a good night, De.” 

He let you turn away from him. He let you walk the few feet to your motel room door, but he couldn’t let you go back inside. Despite being an irreligious man, your name fell from his lips like a prayer, stopping you as you grasped the door handle

“I’ve been in love with you for longer than I even care to admit,” he confessed. “Yeah, maybe I went a little crazy earlier, but you know what? You make me crazy. The idea of losing you makes me crazy. The fact that you’re selfless enough to risk your life so easily makes me crazy. I can apologize for the way I handled it, for the things I said, but I will not apologize for being scared about losing you, okay? I just won’t.” 

“Dean,” you found yourself saying once more, feeling like you were moving in slow motion as you returned to stand before him. 

“Never thought I’d actually tell you that,” he announced, letting out a nervous chuckle as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I get it if you don’t-” 

“I love you, too,” you admitted quietly, cutting him off. 

“What?” he asked, blinking in shock. 

“You aren’t the only one who���s been harbouring that secret,” you told him, laughing softly. 

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but it was Sam’s voice that called out first. 

“Hey, I’m really happy for you guys and all… but could you just, like, shut up and kiss already or something? I’m actually trying to sleep in here.” 

It took you a few seconds to realize he was calling out from inside your room, and the realization that he likely heard the entire conversation caused laughter to bubble up from your chest and burst from your mouth. The sound was only short- lived as Dean captured your lips with his, rendering you quiet with a searing kiss that made you so weak in the knees you would’ve crumpled had he not been holding you.

You wanted to kiss him forever. You wanted to stay here with his lips on yours, his large hands framing your face as your small ones rested on his chest, for the rest of your life; and you would have, had the burning in your lungs not forced you to pull away for a proper breath.

He refused to let you go, pulling you in close as he rested his forehead against yours. You wished time and space would cease to exist as you stood in his embrace, slowly catching your breath; though as far as you were concerned, the two of you were the only ones to exist in this moment.

“Wait, hold on,” he said, pulling back to look at you, dancing his gaze between you and the door to your room. “Has he been in there this entire time?”

“Ever since you left, yeah,” you told him, a little confused by his sudden question.

“So his room’s been empty?” he asked, a little annoyed.

“Uh- yes?”

“So you’re telling me I’ve been standing out for hours, looking like a creep and getting drizzled on, when I could’ve been using his room?” he questioned.

A laugh escaped your lips without you meaning it to, but the longer you took in his annoyed expression the more giggles you let out.

“Well, it’s your own fault for storming out,” you told him with a laugh.

He rolled his eyes as you carried on laughing, shaking his head as he let you go. “The things I do for you,” he muttered under his breath as he checked the door next to yours.

“Aw c’mon, you’ve had to do worse while on stakeouts,” you pointed out, watching as he swung the door open to Sam’s former room. “Although, I’m not usually the one you’re watching - wait, or am I?” you added playfully, grinning mischievously.

“Just shut up and get in here,” he sighed, holding his hand out to you as he fought off a smile; though the twitch in the corners of his mouth gave him away.

You made your way over to him, ready to take his hand in yours as you continued to tease him. “Can’t help but notice you didn’t say no.”

He rolled his eyes once more, clasping your hand and pulling you into the room so swiftly you let out a squeak of surprise. “You,” he said, kicking the door shut as he took your face between his palms. “Are a pain in my ass.”

You grinned, placing your hands on his wrists. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, running his thumbs across your cheeks. “I really do.”

taglist: @roseblue373, @snowayumi, @iluvdeanwinchester, @winharry, @star-yawnznn, @jc-winchester, @chevroletdean, @angelblqde

if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know!

[repulsiveliquidation]

Scars || Alexia Putellas

Summary : you finally let Alexia be intimate with you. A little detail slips your mind but she soon uncovers the truth behind your hesitation to let her love you how she wants to.

warnings : smut in the beginning but nothing too explicit. angst. mentions of self-harm and bullying.

“Mm, amor you smell so good…” Alexia moans, kissing your neck. You smile and arch your back into her, biting your lip. She leaves wet sloppy kisses along your collarbones, nipping at them slightly. You giggle and tell her to stop tickling you with her blonde brunette hair, your hands tucking the loose strands behind her ears.

You hear her take a sharp inhale of your scent and feel your core throb at the deep sigh she lets out. Your hands cradle her head as she looks up at you, eyes darting down to your lips as she licks her own.

“Used that body wash you like,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss her. She kisses back immediately and you feel her melt, large hands pulling your waist closer to her.

“So beautiful,” Alexia whispers only for you to hear, the random assortment of rings on her hands leave cold shocks on your exposed skin.

 Her hands roam your build with determination as her lips nip and nibble on your chest. She pulls the tank top off you and takes a breast into your mouth, suckling gently. You shudder and moan her name unashamedly, chasing the feeling she left on your chest as she moved to the other breast. She kneaded the other and you could feel the groan in the back of her throat, strong thighs keeping yours wide open how she wanted.

The cold air in the room kept your nipple taut and hard, her fingers rolling them around as she rushed forward to kiss you.

“May I?” she asked politely, pupils dilated and full of lust.

“Please,” you beg and you see the look in her eyes darken.

But all this fun was about to be cut short.

You forgot one tiny thing.

But you couldn’t warn her before she pulled your sweats off.

“Cariño, what is all this?”

You take a split second to understand what she meant and when you finally realize it, she had seen most of it.

“No!” you yell, pulling the sweats back over your thighs and bounding for the bathroom almost tripping over yourself.

Your teenage years were not easy. Abandoned by your father and neglected by your mother, you ran away from home at age 7 hoping for a better chance at life. Two months on the streets, you were left cold and hungry, when a kind slightly elderly couple took you in. Sharon and Thomas gave you a roof over your head, hot food, and clothes; most importantly, a home.

They were both school teachers; Thomas taught PE and Sharon taught English. They were kind and gave you free reign in life.

Thomas taught you how to play football and while you were good, English was your passion. Writing came so naturally to you, Sharon was the one who suggested you write your first book. So you did. Poems came so easily to you, the words filling pages so fast, Thomas could barely keep up with buying you new ones.

Being an accomplished writer at 15 was unheard of, which gained you some local fame.

But with fame, came a price you wished you didn’t have to pay.

A local rival publishing team that had rejected your book was vengeful of the success it gained and did a little digging. They found your parents and your past, learning about your brief stint at homelessness and how you ran away from home at 7.

The headlines the next day were the topic of bullying from a group of mean kids at school. You didn’t remember their names now, years later but their words rang fresh in your mind if you allowed yourself to spiral.

Each word was one stroke of the blade over your perfect skin.

Each bloom of blood was the pain fading away.

Or so you thought.

Somehow the next day, their fresh set of insults doubled the pain. It made your chest tight, your head pound, your grades drop and your passion for writing evaporate.

“Nothing new in your notebook, peanut?” Sharon asked so sweetly, finding you sipping on tea in the sunroom. She brushed your hair back sweetly, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

“Nothing,” you lied. There were new things. They weren’t particularly parent-friendly.

“Tom and I are heading to a school meeting, dinner’s in the oven for you, okay?” she walks away, a knowing expression on her face. She can sense the pain like she was your own mother but kept her mouth shut.

“I love you,” she added and you looked at her, close to tears. If she could tell, she made no move to let you know she did but smiled when you said it back to her with a forced one. It broke her heart but she did not know that yours broke more.

You sat in your bathroom, hands clammy and shaking. The blade glimmered back at you like it was taunting you.

“It’ll take the pain away,” you convinced yourself, pressing the cold object over your mangled skin on your thigh.

The blood washed away but more pricked to the surface with each cut. Soon the water turned a dark red, and your head dully thudded against the glass wall, the pain fading into numbing nothingness.

The beeping of the monitors around you was what roused you. There were too many lights and lots of voices at once, but your mother’s sobs were instantly recognizable.

“Where did we go wrong, Tom?” she asked your father, “how did we not know?”

“I don’t know, Shar,” he said, sounding sad, “I don’t know.”

His next words broke you more than any bully's words could.

“I’m sorry we failed you, kiddo. Dad’s sorry.”

“You didn’t fail me, Dad. You saved me,” you mumbled, tears filling your eyes as they pulled away from one another and rushed to your bedside. Mom hugged you tight and thanked her stars you were okay while your father held your hand and kissed it over and over.

“There’s my little girl,” he said, looking teary himself.

“You saved me, both of you. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner,” you apologized but they were not hearing none of it.

“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to us, peanut. The best.”

You don’t know when you started to build the dam in your heart but it broke the moment your parents held you in their arms. The safety of their arms was something you didn’t know you craved. But when they gave it to you, all your pain went away.

You never felt that safety from anyone else. Until you met Alexia.

You were merely a fan in the stands, dragged to a Barcelona game by your friends at work who happened to have an extra ticket to a Liga F game. She caught your eye and you hers, shy smiles and a hastily bought jersey from the stands outside got you her signature and her number written below it.

It took two coffees and a single baked good to know you were marrying this woman. She was funny, kind, loyal, inspirational, and simply devoted to you.

But most importantly, her arms were a safe haven. For you and your thoughts that still lingered to this day.  

You explained every one of the scars on your legs after she had begged for you to let her into the bathroom. One thing about your relationship with Alexia was that you were sure she was too good to be true.

Part of you wanted her so badly, but the other part convinced you that she would leave the moment she saw the scars. the mangled skin from years of reopening wounds. The bumps and ridges that cheap blades from the corner store got you on a teenager’s allowance.

And when she didn’t leave, you hated that you felt her pity. This world-class football player felt bad for the girl she met in the stands at one of her games. But she didn’t. She sat with you and listened, eyes and mind solely focused on you.

“Show me your scars,” she asked.

“But why?” you answered, albeit through sobs.

“I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn’t there.”

It wasn’t long before you were back in her arms again, safe and sound, ready to be fiercely loved by her for the rest of your life.  

[fairyrcts]

WHY WHY WHY , M.S.

by fairyrcts contents - (unresolved) angst , intended lowercase , pet names , 2nd person , pregnancy , cursing

warning ! - this may be triggering to some readers as this story does include pregnancy and abandonment. please read with caution.

an - i unironically love shawn mendes and i needed some dad matt stuff :P

taglist - @pvssychicken , @gothiccvnt6996 , @emely9274

you'd woken up feeling absolutely terrible. you were sick to your stomach, throwing up every now and then.

matt sat on the bathroom floor beside you, rubbing your back in attempt to sooth you.

"this is so weird. you were just fine yesterday." he mumbled to himself.

"i fuckin' know."

you had no idea what came over you today. no one at work was sick, you hadn't eaten anything bad. you were confused as to why this was happening.

matthew knew you hadn't been in contact with anyone who was ill and you hadn't even left the house in a day or two, so he was confused himself.

he felt terrible that all this was happening to you. "do you think it might just be your period?"

his voice took you out of your thoughts. no, it wasn't your period. in fact, you were late. four days late to your period.

"uh, no. i'm pretty sure i'm late." you spoke quietly, scared of the response to what you had just admitted.

matt took a second to process the words that had left your mouth. he began racking his brain with the possibilities.

"do you think you're.. pregnant?" he could barely bring himself to say the word. he wasn't ready to be a father whatsoever.

the words hit you hard. pregnant?

"i dunno.." you managed to let out.

matt's breath audibly caught in his throat. "i- do you wanna get a test?"

you avoided the question for a moment, not knowing if you were even ready to find out.

"yeah, okay." a sigh followed your sentence.

the two of you stood up, walking out to the car in silence. he didn't bother opening your door like he usually does or ask what song you felt like playing.

he was insanely stressed. you'd only been dating 8 months but you were incredibly connected.

you'd moved in together a while back, you'd both met each others parents and to say you loved each other was an understatement.

but becoming parents? that's a completely different story.

he pulled the car into the cvs parking lot. "i'll be right back." he muttered to which you nodded.

when he exited the vehicle, you were left alone with your thoughts.

you knew you probably weren't ready for this big of a thing. having a kid together was huge and you were barely even an adult.

but deep down you knew if that test came out positive, you'd make yourself ready for the situation. and you had no doubt that you and matt could handle this within time.

right?

matthew came back with two boxes in his hand. "i got two just in case."

he gave you a tight-lipped smile to try and give you some sense of comfort. he was aware you were probably as nervous as he was.

you reciprocated that smile and drove the rest of the way home in silence.

the second you walked into your apartment you let out a deep exhale. you knew this was gonna be a heavy moment.

"uhm, okay. i'll- uh. i'll wait on the couch." matt said, finally managing to make eye contact with you for the first time in fifteen minutes, giving you some hope.

while you were in the bathroom, matt mentally lost it. he had no absolute idea how he was going to handle this if it came back positive.

he began biting his already less than short nails even farther down to the nub. he bit back his lip to keep tears from streaming down his face.

after a couple of moments, he turned his head at the sound of the bathroom door opening.

you stood in the doorway with a nervous look written all over you.

"matt, i'm pregnant." you spoke just above a whisper.

his eyes widened at the new found information.

"seriously?" he allowed himself to choke out.

you gave him a nod, a smile just barely noticeable on your face as you thought about how great this could turn out to be for the two of you.

"y/n, i'm not ready to be a dad. i'm barely 21, i can't be a fucking father." matt stood up, running a hand through his disheveled, brown hair.

your face immediately faltered. "what?"

"i'm not capable of taking care of children right now. i still have my whole life to live." he raised his voice ever so slightly, but enough to cause a few tears to leave your eyes.

"you don't have a choice. you act like this isn't partially on you too!" the words left your lips as you became more and more upset by his reaction.

this is nowhere near how you imagined this would go.

this is not the matt you knew. the matt you knew would tell you it's okay and would support you through the situation.

"it was a mistake! i can't do this!" you weren't the only one crying now as the conversation got more intense.

"that's too damn bad! you have a kid now, matthew! man up!"

matt simply shook his head, looking like he was ready to break down completely.

"i don't know what to fucking tell you, y/n." his voice came out shaky.

"tell me we're in this together! that you and i can get through this! we're a team, remember? what happened to that?!"

"what happened was you got pregnant!" he shouted, regretting what he had said instantly.

"you're telling me that all of a sudden everything between you and i has changed i'm pregnant? mind you, the person responsible for this was you!"

matt remained silent, not even knowing how to respond.

you tried your best not to lose it in front of him before he spoke up again, this time quieter.

"fucking say something, matthew!" you yelled, the words getting croaked up in your throat due to the amount of sobbing taking place.

"i'm sorry, i can't do this."

and with that, he left the apartment, leaving you alone, sobbing in your living room.

[aebinspa]

beg for you

PAIRING: winter x y/n reader

SUMMARY: Winter is your trusted, yet hated, co-worker. You both work for the South Korean secret service and are known to be a match made in heaven when it comes to killing or making someone disappear. Your already precarious relationship changes when you are assigned to find, and mercilessly kill, Choi Ye-won, a North Korean spy who has settled in South Korean territory.

GENRES: angst, violence, suggestive, death, blood, bad ending!

WORD COUNT: 3k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: english is not my first language! as you can see graphic design is my passion (i tried please ignore). i don't know if i'm good at writing stories like this but i tried!! i'll make it up to you by writing next time something extremely sweet for minjeong :))

It was night. Not even a sound seemed to rise in that total silence. The only noise the human ear could have heard was your breathing and your colleague's combined. The one who broke the religious silence was your colleague who began to reload the magazine of her gun. “Winter, for the love of God, be quiet” whispering had never been easy for you and, with a colleague like that who drove you crazy every second, all you could train was patience, certainly not silence. “There is no one in this hole in the forest anyway. And what's a mission without a little action?” she replied sarcastically to you with a raised eyebrow.

You, Panther, and Winter, your colleague, had been tasked by the South Korean secret service agency to find, interrogate, and then eliminate without any mercy Choi Ye-Won, informant and daughter of one of the most important men, at a managerial level, of North Korea. The young woman had been in South Korea for a few years and could get a huge amount of information to the North, without ever being traced. For a week, however, the secret services had been breathing down her neck and seemed to have discovered one of her many secret hideouts.

“I've always said that. Kill and let kill, what’s wrong with that? We are the God who decides what is right and wrong” Winter snorted, whose code name described her perfectly. “You’re crazy. We should only kill when it’s strictly necessary. What’s so nice about knowing you’ve taken someone’s life?” even though you knew no one was around, you persisted in whispering. “That you stole his life and his last words. He will die seeing you and no one else"

You and Winter thought differently about everything – it was always a debate. Nothing ever coincided when it came to you. Life, death, and desire were concepts that took two totally different paths in your subjective vision.

“Let’s stop for today, this little princess of the North won’t be captured so easily” “Well, what are you going to do?” A spark lit up in the eyes of the young girl with whom you share this difficult job. Winter took the gun and threw it as far as she could; it ended up near the abandoned house that you were observing from behind the trees. You turned to her, speechless; Winter walked past you with a satisfied smirk and headed toward the house

“Are you dumb?” “Why?” “First you complain about my inability to understand how important it is to do everything by the rules and now, not caring, you are perched on a criminal’s bed.” You yawned loudly and invited her to sit next to you.

Winter, despite appearances, sometimes seemed to let down that insurmountable barrier. The eyes, almost always empty and dull, sometimes revealed an unusual light that would have made even the darkest place shine. It wasn’t the first time you found yourself staring at her: her blonde hair, now gathered in a high bun, and the heavy black makeup made her seem more attractive - and cold - than usual.

“Are you kidding, right?” “Can't stand me at all?” your cheeks reddened slightly. “It’s counterproductive to get attached to someone you work with, Panther. Learn some basic rules” “So if we didn’t work together, would you be able to get attached?” Holding Winter’s gaze was an impossible mission; the mission you were trying to execute was child's play in comparison. You turned away unable to continue looking at those two puddles.

An unexpected thud made you turn towards the door, both with loaded guns and two lives to protect. You both exchanged a knowing look, before hearing another thud and coming back to attention. Winter didn’t fail to make a sarcastic comment before thanking God for sending you to die or kill.

“Don’t shoot” The first thing they taught you when you were still spending your days training was to not trust anyone. Sure, you wouldn’t shoot until you were shot, but you couldn’t say the same about your partner. You turned to look at her and noticed that she didn’t have any killer instinct. “Don't shoot for any reason, Y/n”

It was the first time she called you by your name. In astonishment, the gun slipped from your hands which had turned to butter. The next second Winter was pointing the gun at you.

“What are you doing?” “I thought you would end up getting more upset when this time came. I was wrong, maybe you are more qualified than I expected” “Winter” your angry gaze for the first time was able to hold the icy one of your colleague. “Everything will be fine, just do what I say”

These were the last words you heard, then something in your mouth prevented you from rebelling, and finally, darkness.

In a hotel room with furniture of questionable taste and an air that smelled of rottenness, you opened your eyes after a few hours. Your hands and feet were tied together, your mouth was dry and your hunger was starting to eat you from the inside. The first sensation when you woke up you also hoped would be the last. You didn't know where you were, you weren't completely aware of the dangers around you, and above all you were without a gun. Even though the last drastic moments you had lived with your perhaps no longer colleague were flashing through your mind, you had a hard time rationalizing everything. Was the woman who had accompanied you for the last five years trying to send you to the other world? And then, who was the little girl who had joined Winter? In the whirlwind of emotions and resentment that was building up in you, the door of the room slowly opened, contributing to creating more agitation in your nervous system.

“Hey sweetie, didn't you get scared while you were waiting all here alone?” You wanted to scream, but you only then noticed that your mouth was covered with a dirty cloth that prevented you from making any sound. “I know, I know. Take it easy. First, let me introduce you to my assistant,” she came forward timidly, in front of the bed where you had been placed, the girl who had stunned you, “She’s Choi Ye-won. Or at least, it’s Choi Ye-won on the passport that brought her here.”

Your head hurts. It felt like someone had landed countless blows on your head - maybe that's what happened. All the words that came out of Winter’s mouth came to you distorted. You wanted to answer her, but everything you thought couldn’t take shape.

“Y/n” Just saying your name for the second time, you started to thrash furiously on the bed, so much so that you scared the little girl who hid behind Winter. “Calm down, let me at least get this stuff off your face…” the blond-haired girl approached with huge strides as if to make you understand that it wouldn't be a problem for her to handle you and your outbursts.

As soon as Winter pulled the fabric out of your mouth, you instinctively grabbed her right arm and bit it so hard it made her in agony.

You tried to take your first steps after the impetuous action you had done, but you immediately realized that your legs could not move. Immediately after, cold as death, a gun was pointed at your temple.

“Let's calm down so no one gets hurt, what do you say?” “I won't play your game much longer, Winter.” “You'll be the one to say the famous last words, Y/n.”

Winter was in front of you, sitting on a wicker chair that screamed to the world that it had been clandestinely manufactured. The little girl, now sitting on the bed where you had been, was looking at you with a grim look.

“Ask me what you want.” Winter had no intention of letting you breathe: every word was accompanied by a lethal look and a gun pointed at you. Her ways were familiar to you but feeling the effect on your skin was something else entirely. “Who are you?” Winter looked at the little girl on the bed and then rested it on you. “Are you already ready to die?” “Answer me so I can die without regrets.”

Winter stood up from the chair and came closer, then sat on your lap and put her arms around your neck. This time the gun went to place behind your head. “What’s going through your head is probably right, Y/n” “Stop calling me that. I’m still in a work context” A disturbing giggle left the blonde’s lips. “I always told you: perfection will kill you”

This time Winter ran a finger over your lower lip and then over your upper lip. He gingerly approached your lips, kissed you, and then bit you so hard it made you bleed. The drop of blood hit your neck until it reached the hollow of your breast. Winter looked you in the eyes before smiling and lowering her head slightly; she slowly licked the trickle of blood. She met your eyes once more and licked her lips before speaking.

“I’m Choi Ye-won” A simple answer was enough to send you into a state of confusion. All the certainties, everything you had shared in the last five years flashed before your eyes: when was the truth falsehood and falsehood truth? “Prove it to me” Winter snorted loudly. “That’s my younger sister, she was brought to South Korea a few months ago and now everyone is convinced that she’s Choi Ye-won. They thought they had found the right person,” another stupid, irritating laugh came out of her mouth “But the right person is me and I’ve always been here. Next to you, next to the secret services, and close – maybe too close for your tastes – to South Korea”

“Why?” “Explain yourself better, Y/n” “What does all this mean?” Winter dropped the gun and, with her free hands, began to stroke your hair. “Unfortunately in all of South Korea, the agents chosen to carry out this mission were the two of us. The prey and the hunter. You understand that one of us had to disappear, one way or another”

The cold coming in from the large window of the room had numbed your body. You were unable to move. “So you're going to kill me?” “I'm not going to let you live”

Still sitting on your lap, Winter moved the gun from behind your head to your heart with a coldness that seemed forced even for her. “I know very well that after telling you everything you won’t let me escape to my country with my sister. I can’t stay here anymore. Winter only exists on South Korean soil and in your heart” “Winter is you” “No, I am Yewon. You're Y/n. I don't need to know anything else to make my own decisions."

A staring contest as painful as yours had never been seen, and yet you should have been two of the most feared women in Korea. Cold hands, throbbing hearts, and blood were all that remained of you. This time it was you who approached the blonde to kiss her and, Winter, without being told twice, returned a kiss that was anything but sweet: blood and saliva mixed, your wound continued to bleed and Winter couldn't help but be violent even in a moment that should have meant something else entirely.

“When?” “When I’m ready” “And when will you be ready?” Winter stood up from your lap and immediately the cold air hit you mercilessly. “I have to save my sister. I’m sorry, in another life maybe it would have gone differently” “It’s not your fault. After all, you always told me that it’s counterproductive to make friends at work” Winter laughed loudly at the word “friends” and then left the room with her sister. They both wished you goodnight. That day you abandoned the idea of ​​sleeping and kept your eyes open for fear that someone would kill you without giving you the chance to see her one last time.

The next morning Winter seemed intent on carrying out the final act. She was gripping the gun with all her strength and, as she paid the bill, her hand was shaking. The two sisters had planned to leave that day. They had taken a suitcase and filled it with any junk that might pass them off as respectable people. Watching them get ready so hastily confirmed to you that the two were desperate and couldn’t wait to leave and get protection. Are you willing to leave everything behind, Winter?

You walked side by side. Winter held the fully loaded gun behind your back. The two had revealed to you that a North Korean collaborator would come to pick them up and take them safe and sound, after a nice trip around the Sea of ​​Japan, back to their homeland.

“How old is your sister?” you asked, bored by the situation you found yourself in. “Sixteen” “Um. It must be fun for you to put a minor in danger.” “I have never killed or let people get killed who had nothing to do with the shady dealings their guardians were involved in.” “Your work ethic is sometimes worse than mine.” “Um?” Winter turned to look at you, shocked to hear such a serene tone.

You stopped, noticing how the boat that was waiting for the two young girls was a wreck in all its parts. “I see that North Korea treats you well” “There is no reason to expect more than salvation”

In Winter’s eyes, you see a new form of anger, rejection, and renunciation. The blonde touched the trigger of the gun and pointed it at you. “Y/n, I know it may seem terrible as an ending, but at least I will be the one to kill you. Your companion, your beloved and, soon, the incarnation of death” “Uhm” “Your last words?”

Looking into Winter’s eyes was a great way to distract her, and the five years you had spent together had proven that. You smiled cheekily, not losing eye contact with the blonde. “Maybe you really do have a heart too”

A second later a scream broke the unhealthy atmosphere between you and your colleague. Winter quickly turned in fury towards the scream uttered by her sister, who now found herself in the arms of the man who was supposed to take them to North Korea. “Leave my sister, you fucking idiot!” Oh, how satisfying it was to see a cold and calculating woman lose all her composure in an instant.

The man had a gun pointed at his younger sister’s temple. “Winter” In response, the girl turned violently towards you, pointing the gun straight at your forehead. This time it was you who had an annoying smirk on your face.

“That man works for the Secret Service, he’s a colleague of ours. There’s an entire squadron nearby ready to intervene at the first gunshot” Winter was shaking. “I'm about to offer you an advantageous deal” “Speak, you ugly bitch” “Leave the gun” "Never"

Winter had perhaps forgotten that in martial arts you had been at the top of your class for years. With a quick gesture, you threw the blonde’s gun as far away as possible. Now it was you who had the gun pointed at the young North Korean girl's forehead. Winter started laughing. “When did you realize that?” “When we were in that shitty little house and you came out with sentences I’d never heard before. Killing is your life, saying you didn’t want to do it was a pretty strong warning signal, don’t you think?”

“What do you want, Y/n?” “Your life.” Winter didn’t look scared at all. “And what do I gain from it?” “Your sister will live. I will personally send her back to Korea and cover up any clues or traces that could lead her back to you.” “Was I her doom?” “You can be her salvation.”

Winter turned to her sister and told her to cover her eyes and ears. “I trust you, Y/n.” “Me too. I know I wouldn’t screw up. Work is work and…” “Death is death. Don’t make it long and kill me.”

You pulled the trigger. You looked into Winter’s eyes one last time. The blonde seemed to feel the same. She was shaking, but nothing could stop you from completing the mission. “Thank you for everything, Winter. We’ll complete the mission together this time too” “Spare me this bullshit”

A gust of wind ruffled both of their hair, Winter’s sister let out another scream and started to cry. Tears were streaming down her face.

“Winter, your last words?” The girl smiled like you’d never seen her do. She chained her black pools in your eyes and whispered the next words. “Y/n, I loved y-”

You didn’t let her finish. One blow and the girl’s body was lying helpless on the ground. The pool of blood that formed beneath her seemed to be a representation of the blood she had taken from everyone she had killed over the past few years. She had been a liar, a murderer, the top of her class, and also the love of your life. You turned and signaled to your colleague to leave in the boat, which silently went away along with the tears of a younger sister left alone.

In the months that followed, the secret service agency named you and Winter the best agents they had ever had. Your names were now both imprinted on the golden walls of the department waiting room. No one ever knew that Winter was Choi Ye-Won; everyone cried her name believing that she had been killed by the North Korean whose body and traces you had then eliminated. Winter's sister remained safe in North Korea.

In your memories Winter was never Choi Ye-Won, but always and only Winter. Like the cold earth that now enveloped her body. In the future you asked your colleagues, when your time came, to bury you next to your beloved, yet hated, colleague. Choi Ye-Won was born and died as Winter in your heart.

[samsxowboyhat]

Redacted headcannons BUT some of them are actually cannon

After Vincent got turned and William was positive he wouldn’t go on a bloodlust spree he would sometimes go out and forget he was rich

Asher was one of those overly excited tall scrawny kids who would get colorful bands on his braces

Aaron and Elliot would play as duo characters for every video game that allowed the player to select characters

Gavin would know how to do things but wouldn’t know how he knew how to do them

Laskos powers sometimes happen as a reflex like his fight or flight instinctively turns into float the second he feels his body falling or if he’s on high places(you wouldn’t catch this man on any roller coaster)

Sam has an old outdated picture of him and his grandmother that’s in black and white

All earth elementals are naturally strong, Water elementals are naturally smart, Fire elementals are naturally determined, and Air elementals are naturally focused

Milo and Sam’s family bloodline has/had problems with addiction so they never associate with alcohol or smoking with the fear that they could get addicted

Quinn used to “joke” with Darlin when they were still together by grabbing them and pretending to turn them when they weren’t paying attention and to this day they wonder if he was serious about biting them

Asher was one of those kids who would listen to old metal songs over and over(AND OVER) again until he learned the lyrics

Sam does own a cowboy hat and the Shaw pack(main 8) has made “save a horse, ride a cowboy” jokes(Sam doesn’t know wtf they’re talking about)

Darlin would lie to Gabe and David’s mom about their parents letting them stay over because they wouldn’t wanna go home

Lasko wears sweaters WITH EVERYTHING

Gavin got his music taste from FL when they first started meeting up claiming that he wanted to get closer to them rather than having sex with them

Darlin and Sam were cautious when they had their first time always asking each other if they were okay before, between, and afterwards

David’s contact name in the pack phones is “Davey” but they’ll never admit that to his face(he currently knows that Asher and Angel have it as theirs)

Gavin has nipple piercings and a tongue piercing(he has tried to convince Lasko to get one)

Darlin has a slight degrading kink that you could NEVER get them to admit(Sam found that out when they once started crying and he thought he hurt them and was flabbergasted when they told him to do it again)

ALL of Asher’s shoes are dirty except for his dress shoes and Milo gets so pissed when he wears nice sneakers and creases them or gets them dirty

Angel and Baabe both like kpop specifically Ateez and seventeen

Sam has a house in the woods and prefers a working house over a cute one(he has a porch swing)

Sam doesn’t like talking about his family but could go hours talking about his grandma

David hates the nickname “Dave”(don’t ask me why I just feel like he does)

Darlin once thought they hurt sams feelings and disappeared for days until they came back with a gift for him and waited until he saw it before talking to him(they’re terrible at apologizing and refused to tell Sam where they went while they were gone)

Porter always kisses Treasure's knuckles

FL has once broken a comb in caelums hair(but was so confused when they were able to move their hands through his hair)

The younger Shaw pack had a clubhouse in the woods in an abandoned cabin that Gabe helped David clean up

TS TOOK ME ALMOST 3 HOURS I QUIT(I’m lying:3 GM AND GN It’s currently 4:36 IN THE MORNING)