#and now hes a thousand odd miles away and it just

[jeeyuns]

walk with me y'all: chim sees how much buck's sad sack state improves each time he babysits or does activities with jee (because she's obviously made up of the BEST parts of a buckley and a han, be SO forreal) and casually schedules for buck to come over on friday for the newly minted 'han household holiday hullabaloo'

wherein the hans and one mopey buck get to snacking on appropriately-themed holiday food while watching 'the santa clause'. jee falls asleep before the next movie on the meticulous list chimney put together begins: 'love actually'. he gets a side eye from BOTH maddie and buck for slightly different reasons but then maddie gets up to quickly put jee to bed (this is apparently buck's first time watching the movie, even though it's tommy's fa-)

and buck is looking slightly less dour while bill nighy keeps flubbing 'christmas is all around'. he gets pulled into the charm of the 10 different plotlines surrounding heartbreak and wonder around love and christmas. around the 7th time chimney surreptitiously glances over, buck has a faintly whimsical look on his face while writer jamie stiffly learns portuguese in the crowded night languages class and tries to hide his smile. he MAY be a little too transparent because maddie nudges him hard with her toes

the patented hyperfocused state that chim has seen buck get into at times over the years gradually seeps in in the way his posture changes and his eyes track the grand gestures playing out on screen over the swell of the sweeping score. the popcorn bowl in his lap has been neglected for the past 12 minutes and chimney ALMOST wants to trade it for jee's tiny sparkly princess clipboard just to see if buck will start taking down the notes he so obviously has running rampant through his brain

chimney holds back a full-belly, knee slapping laugh until after buck goes through the song and dance of leaving, trying and failing to hide just how unfocused on the present he is, thoughts thousands of miles and 20-odd years away with the characters from the movie. he tells buck to text them when he's home and turns around to maddie's long-suffering eye roll and affectionate kiss on the nose before she sashays off to her own nighttime routine

he waits until AFTER he's cleaned up the living room and kitchen after their weekly movie night (he has restraint!) to open up the text thread he has with tommy. right below the read receipt to his "You called him Buck!?" he writes:

"I'm telling you this because I'm one of your long-term friends who knows you try to hide how surprises can make you feel uncomfortable no matter how much you try to hide how grateful you are of the act.

Buck is probably going to awkwardly Andrew Lincoln you Keira Knightley christmas carolers style OR earnestly Colin Firth you Portuguese cafe style. You're welcome and now you owe me double-time for saving your life.

'Just in cases' xoxo"

[maniculum]

A post of mine from several months ago about the Perlesvaus self-rearranging forest just wandered across my dash again and made me think about it some more, so I wanted to talk about it a bit.

Perlesvaus, for those who don’t know, is a 13th-century French Arthurian romance. It’s intended to be a continuation of Chretien de Troyes’s Perceval, but it’s mostly known for being completely batshit when it’s known at all. (There’s an old book on Arthurian texts that dedicates a chapter to Perlesvaus and repeatedly speculates that the anonymous author had Something Wrong With Him. This is the longest scholarly treatment of Perlesvaus I’ve been able to find & read.)

Anyway, there’s an odd worldbuilding detail in the text. See, it’s a Thing in chivalric romances that the questing knights happen upon castles & lords & damsels & such that are unfamiliar to them and have to be explained. You know, “this is the Castle of Such-and-Such, where the local custom is as follows. It’s ruled by Lady So-and-So, whose character I shall now describe to you.”

This is a genre convention that largely goes unquestioned, but it’s a bit odd if you think about it. All these knights are at least minor nobility. They don’t know the other nobles in their region? They don’t know what castles are where? Don’t they have, like, diplomatic relations with these people or at least attend the same tournaments? Even if they’re all fully committed to the knight-errant lifestyle and don’t really engage in courtly diplomacy, you’d think they would share information with each other and get the lay of the land. But instead, to use TTRPG terminology, it’s like they’re all on a hexcrawl that was randomly generated just for them to have these adventures.

The author of Perlesvaus decides to address this. In what’s kind of a throwaway paragraph late in the text, he explains that God moves things around so knights always have new quests to do (and, presumably, is also making sure they always arrive at the right narratively-significant moment). So the reason they’re always encountering people & places they have no knowledge of is because those people & places really weren’t there yesterday. They didn’t know about the Castle of Such-and-Such because it’s normally a thousand miles away and the forest path they followed to get there used to lead somewhere else.

And I think that would be a really interesting thing to stick into a novel or a TTRPG or something. When a knight rides into the forest with the intent of Going On A Quest, at some point they go around a bend in the path, cross an invisible barrier, and wind up in the Forest of Narrative. This is a vast forest with no set geography, filled with winding paths and populated almost entirely with questing knights, damsels in search of questing knights, friendly hermits, strange creatures, and allegorical set-pieces. Then, at the narratively-appropriate time, they cross back over the invisible barrier back into the regular world, and find themselves wherever the Narrative has decided they need to be. This could be a different country, a different continent, or a different world entirely.

Whether anyone involved is actually aware that this is how it works is… optional, really. Though if it’s not a Known Phenomenon, the people whose jobs it is to handle trade & diplomacy & god forbid, maps, are going to end up tearing their hair out in frustration.

[joostsblog]

am i complex to you part one ~ joost klein fanfic

PART TWO HERE // part three here

My masterlist here 💌✨

Pairing: Joost Klein x female!reader

Description: From first meeting the blonde musician to sharing headphones and very intense eye contact, this was not how you anticipated your evening at your friend's party panning out. 

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Just a quick short Joost fic to get into writing again [i feel like its challenging to write for him bc i just can't replicate his wit and charm authentically]. I wanna practice my writing by doing requests! so please send Joost requests [do's: female!reader, smut; don'ts: established relationship, toxic relationships]

Warnings: 18+ only, consumption of cigarettes and alcohol, non proofread

The music blasting through the loudspeakers sounded like they might as well be underwater and a thousand miles away as soon as your eyes crossed the blue eyes of the blonde man entering the room. Your eyes locked for maybe a millisecond too long until the ice-cold drink in your hand reminded you of your surroundings and you averted your gaze trying to appear casual as you turned to your friend Mila again. 

"... and that's how you know all the guys on Tinder are for the streets," she concluded her story. 

"Your first mistake was going on Tinder expecting to find a guy looking for a serious relationship," you reminded your friend. 

"Yeah, what? As if I'm gonna find a guy like that somewhere else like at this party?" she joked. 

"Maybe" you shrugged laughing. 

"Yeah right, talk to me again if it happens to you," Mila chugged the last of her drink. "Want a new one?" she pointed to your cup and smiled shaking your head before Mila took off for the bar. 

You casually glanced across the room to find the handsome boy from earlier as you found him standing by the door with a group of friends. His body language was elated as he was joking with his friends. He was wearing some baggy pants, a shirt, some thick-rimmed glasses and a cap which had some of his hair poking out at the sides and just above the nape of his neck. Scattered across his arms you could make out a few tattoos. 

Suddenly, as you were calmly admiring the man across the room, his head turned and he looked at you, making you jump internally. Swiftly you turned your head away as you felt hot flashes come across your cheeks. Shit shit shit - you thought to yourself as you nervously fiddled with the drink in your hand. Well, what's the worst thing that could happen? You turned your head again to see that the man was still looking at you. Who's the weird one now? You smiled amused and cocked your head lightly in question. The blonde man grinned and shrugged innocently. You lifted your brows in return and raised your drink to cheer him across the room. He smiled and did the same and as your eyes were locked you both took a sip from your drinks respectively. But your little moment was interrupted by one of his friends trying to get his attention and quickly he was immersed in the conversation again. 

You chugged the last of your drink and decided it was time to find your friend Mila. Your suspicion that you would probably find her on the dance floor was quickly confirmed as you made your way through the crowd. 

"Ayyyy!" she cheered as soon as she saw you and reached for your hand to pull you closer. 

You threw your head back in laughter as you started to dance along to the music filling the room. For the time being you wanted to forget about the fascinating boy from earlier and just enjoy yourself. But you couldn't help but notice how your thoughts kept wandering off to him. Was he looking at me because he thinks I'm attractive? Does he think I'm odd? Was he flirting or just being nice? Is he watching me right now? I think I look good dancing. I wish he was watching me right now. 

"Wait, what's this guy doing staring at you all the time?" Mila laughed irritated as she gestured to the side. You tried to sneak a look discretely and surely you were met with the same pair of blue eyes as before. You grinned and looked back at your friend, maybe swaying your hips just a tad more than before. "(Y/N)?" Mila laughed in shock when she noticed that you weren't phased. "What's going on? That guy obviously wants you," she stopped in her tracks and looked at you intensely. 

"You think?" you giggled playfully. 

"(Y/N), who is this?" Mila persisted. You smiled and shrugged your shoulders as you continued moving your body to the music. "I can't believe this." Mila laughed as she looked back to the side. "You need to go get him or something." 

"We'll see," you said and grabbed Mila's hand to make her do a playful twirl. 

~ 

"You want a smoke?" you heard a smooth voice behind you. 

You were leaning over the railing of the balcony as you had stepped outside for a quick break. As you turned your head around you were met with the same guy from earlier, this time up close. A yet unlit cigarette was stuck between his lips and in his hand he was holding out a packet of cigs, offering you one. 

"Did you follow me outside?" you jokingly asked as you reached for one of the cigarettes, "Thanks." With him standing so close to you now you realised how tall the man was. 

"In a non-creepy way," he retorted jokingly as he lit his cigarette. 

"That's yet to be decided," you said and leaned forward as he was offering to light your cigarette as well. His other hand was cupped around the top of the flame to prevent it from blowing out and as you looked down at the tip of your cigarette you took the opportunity to admire his hands. "Thanks," you leaned back against the railing once the cigarette was lit. Your eyes met again and there was a short moment of silence. 

"My name is Joost by the way," the guy said and extended his hand for you to shake. 

"(Y/N), nice to meet you." 

One and a half cigarettes later (the latter was shared between the two of you, passing the cigarette along every few drags, your fingers lightly brushing against Joost's in doing so) you learned from Joost that one of his friends that he came with went to Uni with your friend Mila, that he was a musician and that parties aren't usually his thing. He learned that you had yet to visit the beach even though you already had been in the Netherlands for over a month and that you also tended to avoid parties because you were quite particular about what kind of music you liked when partying. 

"What kind of music do you like then?" Joost asked. 

"Hmm," you pondered as you took another drag from your shared cigarette. Joost was standing beside you, his back also leaning against the railing. "Well, I could show you," you said and pointed to the wired headphones that were dangling out of Joost's pockets. 

"Sure," he replied and quickly reached down. 

As Joost offered you one pair of the headphones and put the other one in his ear you moved over and stood in front of him now. You became aware of how close you were standing now. The short wires forced you to take just another step towards him, your feet standing in between Joost's. You studied Joost's face from up close as he unlocked his phone and navigated to Spotify. 

"Here you go," he said much softer than before as you were now standing so closely to each other. He turned around his phone and offered it to you. "Don't judge my search history," he joked as you were typing in a title. 

"Never," you said. "This song I've been listening to a lot recently," you introduced before you hit play on TEXAS BLUE by Quadeca and Kevin Abstract. 

You closed your eyes and lost yourself to the music. By the second chorus, you opened your eyes again to check on Joost's reaction only to see that he had been looking at you. You both grinned and quickly looked away. 

I'LL BE HONEST (I'LL BE) 

IT HURTS SO MUCH MORE THAN I KNEW 

As the song slowly came to a close you looked at Joost again to see that he had his eyes closed, his head moving along the the rhythm. You smiled. 

"Shit, that's so dope," he said after the last few notes of the song played and you watched as he quickly added the song to his library. 

"Now you have to show me your stuff," you said and Joost laughed. 

"Completely different vibe," he assured me. 

I don't care, you wanted to say but you were interrupted by a loud "JOOOOOST!" sounding from behind you. You turned around to see presumably one of Joost's friend stepping outside on the balcony. "Where have you been?" 

"Heeey," Joost replied and put his phone in his pocket. Quickly he turned to you, his hand touching your arm softly. "I'm sorry," he laughed apologetically. 

"It's fine," you assured him, your hand resting on his bicep just for a second too short before his friend came up to the both of you. 

~ 

"There you are," a familiar voice exclaimed beside you as you were standing by the bar, contemplating what kind of drink you should get next. 

"Glad you found me again," you said with a smile as you faced Joost who had been dragged away by his friend earlier. 

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked. 

"Sure," you smiled and told the person on bar duty your order. 

As the bartender put your finished drinks on the counter, the cups were spilling as he put way too much. Joost grabbed both of your drinks and already took a sip from his cup so as to not make a mess. 

"Take a sip," he said and held out your cup towards you. Instead of taking the cup yourself, you stepped closer, your eyes locking with Joost's. Your hands crossed behind your back you wrapped your lips around the brim of the overspilling cup and took a sip, looking up at Joost who stared you down sternly. 

"Thanks," you said after swallowing and wrapped your hands around the cup and for a moment Joost's fingers were entangled between yours. A short pause ensued and you realised you were done with talking. If there was anything you could do to make Joost touch you again, to have his body closer to yours, to be able to feel his lips on yours and preferably other parts of your body, you would do it in an instant. You and Joost were still staring at each other, not saying anything. 

"So," you started and set down your drink on the bar after you took a sip. "Do you come here often, or?" you joked. 

"Oh, shut up," Joost laughed and within just a second he stepped towards you and his hands were resting on the sides of your cheeks. Your right hand found the side of his waist before you closed your eyes and your lips finally pressed against Joost's. The kiss was hungry and hot and his lips tasted of beer. His hands were gentle but firm on your face, his thumb carefully caressing your cheek as he moved his other hand down to hold your waist. Your left hand found Joost's neck where you buried your fingers into his hair. As you pressed your body closer to Joost's it still somehow wasn't enough. Joost seemed to read your mind when he reluctantly broke away from the kiss to ask "Should we get out of here?" 

"Yes, please." 

A/N: Again, pls send in requests! Read part two here! Read part three here!

[amagust]

“Are you afraid?”

PAIRING: Four x Reader

SUMMARY: [Following the Divergent movie] After learning your new result from the aptitude tests, Four wants you into his world to show you how to pass. He’s determined to make you pass.

—————

After learning your dear friend took the hard way of not accepting the fact he was going to become faction less, you felt fear take over your body. Your mind was running a thousand miles a minute after seeing your dead friend on the ground—how could I let him do this? You began rushing toward the doors that led outside, gasping for the fresh air of the odd morning to reach your drowning lungs. Before you could make it, you ran into a hard wall, looking up you see the hard wall being your instructor Four’s body.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled as you tried to walk past him but you felt his hand grip onto your arm. He pulled you towards him but you ripped away from him. “Stop, please Four.”

“It’s not your fault he chose this way.” He says. You look up at him and see the way his eyes glistened in the lights of the hallways. His eyes.

“Even if it’s not, I don’t deserve my position I have now. I feel like an intruder.. like I’m-” you stopped yourself from saying the word. You see Four furrow his eyebrows at you. “Like what?”

You let out a shaky breath and looked into his eyes. A tear sliding down your cheek before letting him know what you felt. “They’re going to kill me.”

You felt more tears slide down your face. You knew your fate. You knew what was going to happen to you once you reached the second level of the training. You were warned what was going to happen if you were caught. You were determined to train yourself to not get caught but once you saw the cold, dead body of your once good friend lying on the floor, that hope and determination escaped your mind.

You knew what was going to happen to you no matter how long and how much you train yourself to surpass it.

“Why do you say that?” He asked but it didn’t feel like a question. It felt like a rhetorical question—he knew why but he wanted me to tell him the reason.

I looked up at him, tears staining my red cheeks and my bloodshot eyes piercing through his.

“You know why.”

He clenched his jaw from your response and let out a hum. “Follow me.” He says, turning around and walking around the corner.

You knitted your eyebrows in confusion and followed his order. You followed right behind him, his body becoming your shield from the dim lights of the hallways. His silhouette figure on the walls devoured yours—it was alluring to you.

Once you both reached the room you have been in before for the fear tests, you watch as he takes off his jacket and set it on the chair. He looks up at you and gives you a small nod, letting you know you can close the door. You do so and face him again. He begins to prep like he would do before testing one of his trainees for the fear exam.

“You’re going into my world.” He states. You widen your eyes, taken back by what he just said.

You watched as he gets the metal syringe ready for the serum. What felt like seconds ago he was telling you to be careful—to watch what you say towards him as you watched the way his jaw moved from the food he put in his mouth. Now he was allowing you into his world of fears. Into what kept him up at night and took over the controls of his body.

“You’re just going to let me into your mind?” You asked in disbelief.

“Mhm.”

“I don’t know a single thing about you and you’re just letting me into your world.” You scrambled. The way the vibration of the words slipped off his tongue made you tingle—his voice was deep and husky, it filled you with something you didn’t understand.

“What do you want to know?” He asked, stepping closer to you. Instinct kicked in and you stepped back. He stopped and scanned over your body, “are you afraid?”

During the whole duration of what felt like hours of him getting ready for the transition, he kept his gaze fixed on you. It felt intimidating the way he held his eyes so confidently over your face—your body. It was the first thing you noticed about him when he lifted you off the net when you first jumped down, the way he held his gaze so strongly over you. The feeling of his hands gripping your waist as he helped you onto your feet was engraved onto your skin ever since. The first moment you locked eyes with him and saw how dark and dusky they were, they seemed empty and bare the first time you stared into them. It made you want to know more about what he put a front on.

“You need to know how to handle your fears correctly. How a Dauntless would. If you want to pass without being suspected of what you are.” He stated. You watched as he injected the serum into the skin of his neck and release the liquid. You scan over his face to see his reaction but he was emotionless; like he’s done this a million times. He walks over to you with the syringe in his hand, ready to inject you next.

“Why can’t we just practice with my fears? So I know how to face them when the time comes.” You asked. He ignores what you say as he grabs your face with his left hand, his right with the metal syringe ready to pierce through your skin. Before he does so, you feel the pad of his thumb caress gently over your cheek, like he knew it was going to hurt you but he wanted to protect you from the pain.

“This will be a lot easier. I can’t see your fears clearly on the monitor. I need to show you what you need to do to pass.” The tone of his voice felt like he was pleading with you, begging you to open up to what he was going to show you, but he also sounded afraid of what you might think once you go and experience his fears with him.

You nodded at his words.

You felt a slight pinch into your skin, your nose scrunches in pain and you let out a small sigh from the contact. He slightly raises his eyebrows, like he was letting you know he was sorry for what he did. After he was finished, he placed the metal tab on the outer corner of your forehead along with himself. He then guided you onto his lap in the chair, your back facing his chest as your legs intertwined on the chair that was centered in the corner of the room. You felt him grab the sides of your waist as you lifted yourself to lean back into him, the warmth that overtook his body was now intact with yours. It felt nice feeling the rising of his chest every time he took an inhale and feeling the breath come out of his mouth onto the baby hairs of your neck.

“You ready?” He whispered, his lips so close to your ears. You nodded in response. You were ready to see what kept his mind uneasy on days he thought too much. You wanted to know what pained him in his dreams and screamed him out of them.

“I’ll see you in there.”

—————

A/N: hello my dudes, I am back! And with my first ever imagine of Four. I hope you all enjoyed this as I enjoyed writing this for you all.

Please let me know if you want me to write a part 2 to this of being in his hallucinations. This scene is my favorite part of the movie and I wanted to write a little something about it.

[reidmotif]

Always Bet on Black

Summary: Reader realizes she has an advantage at the Bureau's Casino Night, when Spencer can't seem to take his eyes off her and her dress.

Prompt: The BAU throws a casino night charity fundraiser. Spencer is a menace. Someone has to find a way to distract him.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: drinking, gambling (i have never gambled in my life nor have i played poker or blackjack. this will be super apparent in this fic. many apologies), nipple play, oral sex (f!receiving) hickies, Reader POV, unprotected penetrative sex

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist

“And that’s another win to the gentleman on my right!”  The dealer announces for what feels like the millionth time that night. There's a shit-eating grin on Spencer Reid’s face as he leans over the blackjack table, wrapping his arms around the hearty stack of chips in an almost in an exaggerated manner, pulling it back towards him much to everyone’s dismay. 

My dismay, especially, because while- yes, this is for charity, and what Spencer’s doing could be characterized as noble in some roundabout way, it was getting a bit repetitive. Spencer was so focused, a thousand times more than anyone else at that table, his brain working a million miles a minute to provide him with the best course of action when it came to gambling.  

And so far? It worked perfectly. While everyone else was taking their chances and betting away, praying that the odds would line up in their favor, Spencer Reid did fucking math, and suddenly the odds were his bitch.  I was beginning to understand why every casino in Las Vegas had him banned now. If he was giving the BAU Casino Night a run for their money like this, I can’t imagine the Bellagio being too pleased with having him either. 

I sighed at the thought, and it seemed Spencer picked up on it, the corners of his lips turning upwards, trying to feign a chagrin expression as he stacked his chips on top of the other. 

“Something wrong, (Y/N)?” He says, looking at me. “Are you not enjoying yourself?” 

Spencer Reid is usually nice, humble, and sweet. In all honesty, I should not be feeling this hostile and sore at the fact that he’d managed to beat me almost every single time we’d played blackjack. My embarrassment was only heightened when I thought of how I’d (stupidly) bragged beforehand that I’d never lost a game in college. 

How quickly my streak was destroyed. 

My pride was bruised, and the man in front of me knew it. 

“I’m enjoying myself just fine.” I say, trying not to grit my teeth as I say the words. 

“You look a bit hot.” He says, referring to my face that had gotten slightly red after the most recent loss I’d taken. “Would you like me to get you a drink?” He asks, his gaze turning less cocky, and more sweet and polite. 

I melt a bit. “Okay. No need to be a sore loser.” I think to myself. “This is a sweet man, and he’s offering you a drink. Yes, he’s destroying you right now and knows it, but it’s not like he’s acting like a complete dick about it.”

I nod at his words, sending a small smile his way. 

“A drink would be great actually.” I finally respond, and he gets up, pushing his chair in. 

“I’ll be right back.” He says, turning away from me, and sauntering towards the bar.

 I take a second to admire him as he walks away, the suit and tie ensemble he picked out for the night complimenting him so well. I’d never say it out loud, considering we were coworkers, but something about seeing him so dapper, so much more.. mature brought out a warm feeling in my stomach, one that made me shift in my seat as I tried to rid myself of thoughts of grabbing him by his tie, placing a hand on his perfectly sculpted jawline, pulling him against me and- no! 

He. Is. Your. Colleague. Snap out of it! 

In lieu of my wandering thoughts, I’d realized I had actually heated up quite a few degrees and in an attempt to combat the sudden body heat, I shrugged off the shawl I’d been donning for most of the night. I felt the cool air hit my exposed shoulders and chest, and relaxed a bit, starting to feel my temperature lower. Right as I did so,  Spencer returned to his seat, holding two drinks. 

I turn towards him, still seated. He’s sitting in his seat, facing towards me as well, and I instinctively reach over to grab the drink in his hand, expecting him to meet me halfway and transfer the cup to me.  But instead of the expected interaction, he seems a bit dazed, an intense expression on his face as he bored his eyes into me, studying me almost. It’s an expression that causes me to raise my eyebrows at him. 

“Spencer?” I say. “Hello?” I wave my hand a bit, trying to break him from his trance. “The drinks?” I add, and that’s what seems to break him out of his preoccupied stupor. He blinks a bit before shaking his head.

“Sorry. Sorry. I spaced out there for a moment.” He says, hastily handing me my glass and turning away completely from me, taking a sip out of his. I can notice a small tremor in his hand as he sets down the liquid on the table, and I’m a bit concerned. He was just fine a moment ago. Did someone say something whilst he was at the bar? Did he choose to ponder some life-changing information as he took his seat at the table? Was he losing it for no reason at all? 

Regardless of what it was, I didn’t have the time to contemplate it further or question him about it because the dealer was beginning to shuffle the deck of cards again. 

As the next game started, there was something fundamentally different about Spencer. He looked  almost panicked, even going as far as to loosen his tie as he played. I thought I’d maybe imagined the changes, until finally, I got a real indicator that something was off. For the first time that whole night- he lost. 

My mouth was agape as the dealer announced the house win, and as I looked between him and the table, he didn’t seem all that fazed, simply shrugging as he attempted to get up. Before he could slip away, I grabbed his arm and brought him a bit closer to me, so that I could speak to him over the sounds of the bustling party around us.

“Spencer- wait. Is something wrong?” I ask, the genuine concern in my tone apparent to anyone who might’ve walked by. 

“Yeah, no. Um. Why wouldn’t it be?” He says, his eyes everywhere except me. It was almost comical. The ceiling tiles couldn’t be that interesting. 

I grip his arm a little harder, urging him to look at me, to talk to me. “You lost! That hasn’t happened all night! Was someone- did something happen? Are you feeling okay?” I ask, my eyes trying to meet his. 

He gulps, finally looking at me. “Statistically, card counting can’t actually work every time so I was bound to lose at some point right?” He says, a little shakily, and despite his words making logical sense, the notion that something was wrong didn’t leave me. 

“You promise?” I say, looking at him as intensely as I possibly could to ensure he wouldn’t try to evade giving me an honest answer. 

He gives his signature, flat smile, nodding. “I’ll be fine. Look. I’m gonna go play some other games. Maybe rack up my luck somewhere else.” 

I lick my lips and finally let go of his arm, nodding. “Have fun.” I say, and he gives me a little wave. 

“You too.” 

For the next hour or so, I found myself dabbling at the other assortment of games offered by the Bureau that night, until yet again, my path crossed with Spencer, who seemed to be on a pretty hefty winning streak- if the stack of chips he’d accumulated wasn’t a clear sign of that already. 

I stood by the table, slightly out of his view,  a little amazed by the way his eyes followed the deck and everyone’s movements so precisely. The level of focus required to do what he was was absolutely no joke, and I couldn’t help but admire in silent awe at the exactness of the whole process. It only made him that much more attractive in that moment, if that was even possible. 

“Royal flush.” He announces, fanning his cards as everyone at the table groans. It’s only then when his gaze meets mine, watching him, and I can observe the signs of a tell-tale blush creeping up his neck. Odd.

“(Y/N)! Hello.” He says, quickly. “Still liking the party?” 

“I am, thank you.” I say, my eyebrows slightly furrowing at how oddly he’s behaving. “Mind if I join the next round?” I ask, already starting to take my seat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” He says, clearing his throat and turning his entire body away from me. Spencer and I usually got along just fine. There was nothing ever particularly sour about our relationship, and I’d like to think that in the time I’d spent at the Bureau, our shared experiences had brought us closer. However, the way he was acting as of right now, like we were strangers or mere acquaintances threw me off beyond belief. 

It was official, something was off.

I leaned over a little closer, trying to get him to look at me.

“Spencer, I know I’ve already asked but is anything-“ I start, and I can see him glance over, and then almost rapidly turn his gaze away.

“No! Nothing’s wrong. Let’s play.” He rushes out, his words teetering on almost being high pitched. 

It didn’t evade me however, in that short microsecond he took to look at me, his gaze dropped partially down. I internally followed his line of sight to realize that my breasts were practically spilling from my dress. I knew that it was a bit showy, but didn’t think much of it when I’d chosen to wear it for this occasion. The event was black-tie, and so I’d fished out a number I’d haphazardly bought during an online shopping spree. It was black and sparkly, but the main caveat of the dress was the gorgeous bodice in the front, managing to give a good show of cleavage whilst pushing up my breasts and making them all that more appealing to anyone who noticed.  I began to connect the events of the night, realizing that someone clearly had noticed.

Spencer’s losing streak had coincidentally begun once I’d lost the shawl that was once covering my chest. 

An idea slowly entered my head. An experiment, if you will. As we started another game, I barely paid attention as my fingers slid over to what looked like a glass of water on Spencer’s side. 

“Spence?” I murmur, tapping his shoulder.

“Mm?” He asks, not even taking a moment to look away from his cards. 

“Mind if I take a sip from your water?” I ask, keeping my voice saccharine and innocent.

I can see the look he shoots me, his eyes slightly narrowed in surprise but he quickly looks away. “Yeah, um. Sure. Go ahead.” He responds dismissively, as if talking to me for even a second longer would result in him breaking out in hives. 

 Totally out of character. For all the closeness in the world, Spencer Reid would never have shared a glass of water. 

As I began to sip the water, I did something that could be categorized as deeply stupid, but in the name of my experiment, it was absolutely necessary. I slightly tipped the glass, allowing the cool water to run down my neck and drip onto the swell of my breasts. I made a show of getting up, touching my chest to try and rid myself of the moisture that was now coating my breasts. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’ll get you another glass of water.” I say,letting my breasts bounce a bit as I stand up,  and when he looks at me, it’s more apparent than ever that his eyes aren’t gracing mine anytime soon. Not when I was like this. 

I grinned in secret as I turned around,  quickly bringing over a replacement glass to him, leaning over so that if he were to simply turn his head even slightly to his left, he’d get a direct look at what he simply couldn’t seem to take his eyes or mind off tonight. 

“Uh. Thanks.” He stammers again, shakily drinking the water as he miserably failed at not looking. Bingo. 

When the next round of our game commenced, he lost horrifically, as expected. His mind was in an entirely different dimension, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride, knowing it was me who’d rendered him dumb. So unfocused. So unlike himself. It wasn’t until I felt a tap on my shoulder, noticing Spencer’s hand carrying out the action. 

“Walk with me.” He says, simply. His tone was so sharp and commanding, I found myself listening with no hesitation, following as we moved to a more secluded bit of the party. 

“What are you doing?” He asks in an accusatory tone, his voice a hushed whisper. 

“What do you mean?” I respond, a faux naivete in my words, which he only scoffed at. He leaned in closer, his brows furrowed. I could notice a small vein popping out from his forehead, and the sight only increased the ache I’d begun to feel in my panties since he’d directed me here. 

“You know what I mean.” He says, dangerously. “You’re flaunting yourself.” He adds, his jaw tight. “You know what it’s doing to me. You’re enjoying it.” I could tell he wanted to say so much more, the grit in his tone leading me to believe there were some much cruder words he wished to utter to me.

 Regardless, the authority in his tone only spurred me to try and resist. It was so hot watching him like this. Maybe a bit fucked up to say that, but it didn’t matter in that moment. I only wanted to test the limits. To see the new man I could bring out in Spencer Reid tonight. 

“So what if I am?” I say, biting my lip. “It’s a party, Spencer. We’re all having fun, aren’t we?” 

“No.” He responds, darkly. “I’m not having fun.” 

A proposal came to mind. One I knew that would pan out deliciously, since I’d now gotten a look into his extensive lust tonight, and just how desperate he seemed. I leaned forward to whisper to him, my lips teasing the outer shell of his ear. 

“Win another game, and I’ll show you just how much fun you could be having.”

He immediately pulls back. His eyes narrow, and I can see the weight of my words course through his mind, evaluating the odds of my statement before clicking his tongue. 

“See you in 30 minutes.” is his response, as he walks away, beckoning me to follow him to yet another Blackjack table. I grin, sitting beside him. 

My presence doesn’t seem to phase Spencer whatsoever this time around, his laser-point focus uninterrupted even as I stared shamelessly at him. It wasn't until the game seemed to be reaching its turning point, in which Spencer had to decide whether drawing or staying would bring forth a better outcome for him. I watched as he mulled over the decision for a few seconds before his eyes locked onto mine, gaze intense. 

“Draw.” He voices, not even paying mind as the dealer announced his win. 

Spencer gets up without a word, and I can see him head towards a hallway that houses a few restrooms in the building. 

“Sir- your winnings!” The dealer calls out, but I smile apologetically, starting to follow Spencer to a more secluded area of the party.

“Sorry. He’s probably a bit preoccupied. I’ll let him know!” I respond, already turning around and making my way to the same hallway Spencer had gone down, finding the bathroom and opening it. I knew Spencer would be there, but what I didn’t expect was to be pulled into his arms, greeted by Spencer’s lips insistently pressing against mine, his free hand clutching the back of my head, as his other hand went to click the lock into place. I responded with a momentary bout of shock, but quickly found myself melting into his touch, wrapping my arms around his neck. 

“You like watching me lose, is that it?” He whispers harshly, in between kisses. I can feel the anger, the lust and passion, all rolling into one as his lips meet mine, over and over again, creating the sweetest of sensations that wracked my whole body. 

“Mm. Not just you losing. You losing because you’re distracted. Because of me.” I say, my tone a bit dazed and breathy from the intensity he was putting me through. 

“Can you blame me?” He murmurs, his lips now trailing down my neck, paying close mind to a particular spot on the side that left my knees weak. “You wear this dress and expect me to not take my eyes off of you?” 

His hot breath grazes over my skin and I can feel myself shiver. I’m completely overwhelmed by him. The feel of his hands caressing the small of my back and waist, his smell of his cologne wafting around me. I can only breathe unsteadily, and hold onto him, a needy whimper slipping past my lips. 

“Shh. You’re okay. I got you.” He murmurs. His tone was sweet, soothing, but his actions were anything but, as his fingers slipped around to find the zipper on my dress. 

In an instant, his mouth was finally all over my breasts, his mouth leaving a few marks on the expanse of my chest before his tongue began to sweep over my nipples, swirling around the raised bud, leaving me grappling to his shoulders, as more moans poured out from within me. 

“You like that?” He breathes against my skin, and I nod, frantically. I’d never expected to go this weak, but he was so much more skilled with his mouth than I’d ever expected.

“Please. Keep going.” I moan, and I can feel his hands on my thighs, urging me into his arms. I comply, and can feel myself be lifted to the bathroom counter, his hands squeezing the fat of my hips before dropping to his knees. His fingers looped around my underwear, and I attempted to move in a way that would aid him in their removal. As soon as they were off, he stuffed them into his pocket, and moved to lift my dress up, his face disappearing into my now spread legs. 

And suddenly he was everywhere, tongue swiping over my clit in rapid motions, flicking against me in a way that had me immediately squeezing my thighs around his face, to which Spencer responded by pushing them apart, leaving me shaking. 

“Oh god, Spencer. Oh-” I moan, over and over again, my hand gripping onto the strands of his hair. My eyes squeeze shut as I feel my orgasm rapidly approaching, my legs trembling more than ever. 

“Spencer- I’m gonna-” I groan out, my grip tightening, and I look down, watching him devour me with so much precision and focus, the same I’d seen during his playing all night. I watched as his eyes met mine, his lips sucking around my clit and in a fit of moans, I found myself releasing all over his tongue, my body shuddering as he worked me through my orgasm, moaning against my core. 

He rose from his knees and planted a long, deep kiss on my lips, and I moaned as I tasted myself on him. My hands started to go for his belt, desperate to feel this man inside me. As soon as his cock was freed from the confines of his briefs, I guided him towards my entrance, gasping as I felt him push into me, immediately filling me up. I breathed in sharply from the pleasure of the sensation, my eyes screwing shut before opening them to see his eyes staring back at me. He gave me a moment to adjust, watching my face for any sign of discomfort, but there was none, only the carnal desperation I felt for this man. I nodded to let him know I was ready,  and suddenly, like a man possessed, he began to jut his hips towards mine, causing me to whimper and dig my nails into his back. 

He moaned as he slammed into me, over and over again, while his mouth kissed at my neck, at my jaw, my lips, murmuring my praises over and over again. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” He groans, my hips firmly gripped by his large hands, keeping me from slipping off the counter. “And that dress. Fuck. God, I want you.” 

I nod, too overwhelmed with pleasure to even speak, rather opting to moan his name and nod furiously. 

He kept one hand on my hip, while the other trailed down to where we were joined, and began to rub fast, hard circles over my already sensitive bud, the action causing me to gasp out and open my eyes, letting him know that my second release of the night was inevitable. 

“You wanna cum, pretty girl?” He mumbles, keeping his voice low and his fingers diligent on my clit. 

“Please,” I sob out, my voice breaking with just how much I needed this right now. How much I needed him. 

“Come for me.” He murmurs, and as if under a spell, I do, coming undone rapidly in his grasp, my head falling against his shoulder as he continues the movement of his hips until I feel him still, and then spill into me, his breath heavy and chest heaving. 

I pull back, my forehead meeting his as he stares at me in a bit of a trance, our breaths mingling as we both came down from what had just happened. 

“I think.. you should probably cover up.. after that.” He murmurs, grinning a bit at the wide array of marks he’d just left on my neck and chest, undeniably exposing us. 

“Right you are.” I giggle back, leaning in for another kiss.  This time sweeter, softer.

I was definitely wearing this dress again for him.

  hello!! oh my god!! it has been so long since i've posted a fic. finals are over! i am free! i promise we will be back to a more normal schedule now (can i do weekly fics? who knows. i'll try). as usual, thank you for any and all reblogs, likes and comments. it's been a long time since i've even thought about writing, so i hope this is up to everyone's standards. this was written for @imagining-in-the-margins office party challenge. so, you know. look at the other fics there too! sorry for clearly not knowing anything about card games. also also, just a fun fact. i envisioned readers dress being meredith grey's prom dress from s2ep27.. hehe. okay, i've already talked enough. thank you thank you thank you for reading and supporting!!!

[hidtired]

sooo what i you do a Daryl x reader where the reader and Daryl had a relationship before the whole outbreak but when the world went to shit, they got separated and they didn't find each other again until Daryl and Aaron are out looking for people and they find the reader in some sort of abandoned building and it's just a sweet reunion. Btw I love your reading and I have no idea what you mean by GRAMMER MISTAKES- LIKE WHERE- but I love ur work <3

That makes my dyslexic ass very happy. I reread my stuff so much and always find mistakes so I try!

Miles Away

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

“Things are never lost to you; you are lost to them. If ever in need of something that has lost you, simply stop hiding from it.”

6.2k words

Description: A last minute trip leaves you separated from your fiancé when the world ends. Years of travel inevitably returns you to him. But years out in the world causes change.

Your POV

An unlikely relationship to have happened between two individuals, but happened all the same. It was a shock to the small town at the time. Even years later the announcement of your engagement causing some ruffled feathers. You the sweet town girl and a rugged Dixon. You were often discouraged from people about Daryl. You had dated the man for around 7 years now. Even so, the people around you told you it was a mistake to go through with a marriage. How could you not do it? He proposed, something you thought he would never do because his parents. He put it simply, “I already see you as my wife. Guess it was bout time I actually made you that rightfully.” So you told everyone to respectfully mind their business.

Then the world ended. You were thousands of miles in the air at the start. Daryl having dropped you off at the airport. You sulked with leaving, becoming mushy about going to New Hampshire to see your dementia ridden mother for the most likely last time. She was getting bad and some family had gathered and deciding to pull the plug. You still remember the last thing you said to him. Tears in your eyes as he held you outside TSA. “I’ll be back in a few days. Then I’m turning that title of fiancé into husband the next I see you.” You felt him chuckle into you, “Yes Ma’am you will.” Expressing I love you’s and the last kiss before you had to catch your flight. This isn’t the first time you had gone to check on your mom. Daryl insisted on coming but he had a hunting trip with his brother and you didn’t want to ruin that. So you had told him no. Why did you tell him no.

The first community you were apart of was the airport you landed at. It lasted a few months, food was plenty for the time and there were weapons from security. It was the people who ended up getting everyone killed. Few disagreements here and there caused a split, factions of sorts. One group kidnapped a pilot to try and fly a plane back to their loved ones. The plane they took hadn’t been run or properly check since everything fell. So it crashed into the fence destroying a good part of the airport with it. The crash attracted a horde and quickly over ran the place. You had a few survivors with you from the airport until you had either lost or seen them all killed.

You headed south, back to Daryl. Miles and miles of land keeping you from Georgia. It was 2 years going on 3 now. You would come across community’s, some still going some gone. Finding less than great people on the road. So that leads you to now. Two wannabe cowboys trying to lasso you like cattle. A scar carved into there for heads the only odd thing about them. They spit out concerning threats and comments, “You can have my seconds when I’m done Bill!” A rope had caught tight to your ankle leading you unable to run. You almost tripped but held your ground. Before this encounter you’d been having it tough for a few weeks. You had barely made any distance in the time you had traveled. The frustration and despair and shit luck wore you thin. You had a gun, only one in the chamber. Leaving one for you if you needed it. About the only ‘cure’ there is nowadays.

You thrashed around trying to fight off the men. You were already covered in grime. They were trying to capture you, not kill. That changed when the gun came out. This alone helpless woman became not so helpless. You fired your only shot at the bigger guy. The smaller one still had the rope and tugged making you miss killing the other. It hit him in the shoulder sending him crying in pain to the forest floor. It was moments like these that made you zone out. Violence wasn’t something you had in you. But now something learned, you had been out in the world too long. Taking a life becoming a norm. You used to care, then you remembered why they were all dead.

The steadiness you felt inside didn’t translate to the out. You scream and yell promises of death. You had managed to grab the rope from your ankle and used it to strangle the man who tied it to you. You broke a few ribs of his while he slowly chocked to death. You had your legs around him while you pulled back at his throat, you had heard and felt a few cracks. The man you had shot watching in horror has he struggled to decide, fight or flight? He choose froze, big scary man having his power taken from him and he becomes a coward. Your incessant screams and yells stopped when he stilled. You focus back to the injured. He rambled apologies to you at your approach. It fell on deaf ears, spotting a large rock near him. You didn’t kill him with speed. You broke his leg with the rock, slowly moving up his body. He was long dead when you were done swinging. Blood splattered and dripping down you.

A frustrated and adrenaline filled scream released out of you. All your noise attracted the infected near you. You ran still with a rope tied to you. You found a small home that was overgrown and slid into it. The knife you didn’t realized you pulled out while running tremble in your hand. You slide down the old wall in the building. The regret to your brutality flowing over you. Killing was normal for survival now, but what you did was cruel. You took your time and did it in brutal ways.

You were twirling the ring on your finger as a nervous habit. Often times doing it for a sense of safety from the man who had given it to you. You thought about him most days. Either when you do something he himself had taught you. That time spent with him in the woods had you picking up little things from him in time. It is why you’re alive for as long as you were. But come closer to night time when you just want to roll into his arms and let the world cease to exist. To just talk to him and hear his voice. But you were no longer the person he knew, and that broke your heart more. The blood covering you, the mans and yours was a very big indication of that fact.

The dead must have saw you run off and tried to follow. The sound of a leaf crunching told you only one must have stumbled correctly in your direction. The quiet movement and lack of undead moans told you all you needed to know.

‘They must have had friends.’

Daryl POV

He was devastated knowing you were far from his reach. Blame for not going with you. It was your mother dying how could he have just let you tell him it was fine? That, “We will go to the funeral when that comes.” He was bitter and angry in the beginning. Then it was hope when he got to the prison with people he now considered family. Maybe one day he would find you again. Then the prison fell and reality seemed to hit him.

Acceptance came when he finally confessed to Rick of your existence. It was when they sat against that car after the night with the claimers. He broke when he told him he was his brother. A mention of Beth stirring the thought of you with it. He looked away from Rick taking a shaky breath, “I lost her like how… how I lost m’ wife.” Rick’s eyes widened taking in the information. Tears build in Daryl’s eyes before he steels himself, “Completely out of my control and yet… somehow was.” Rick understands the feeling, it turns out Daryl knew just that to. When he lost Lori, it was Daryl that helped hold things together. That sudden understanding knocked into him. Rick cautiously asked, “Are they both dead…?” Daryl looked out to the forest. He slowly shook his head, “Just gone.”

When Beth died it also felt like you died with her. The hope he always had that you were out there seemingly dying inside him. He knew the kind of person you were. He would kill squirrels and you would feed them. He knew you were far too nice for your own good. You had spent hours in the rain trying to lure a kitten from under the neighbors shed. Catching a cold so bad it stuck with you for a week. You were his fragile thing in the world he promised to protect. To not just keep you alive but keep your innocence. Whether you were dead or not you would have had killed something in you to live in today’s world. To not be able to protect you from anything felt like he failed you.

He still held a hope you went down peacefully. It had to be meaningful because your life had to be for something. He tried to do the same by giving his life for others. Most recently that person being Aaron. In truth he was ok with dying knowing there was a slim chance of seeing you once again. Things that reminded him that maybe it was better for you to have not suffered. With the horde and assholes he tried to help and others assholes destroying Alexandria’s walls. So now that leading them, him and Aaron tracking the few Wolves who fled. They knew Rick said not to go recruiting people. The distance yells and screams caught there interest. They still need to try despite Rick being jumpy and “taking no chances”. If they could only just make sure whoever was well then that was enough.

When they got closer to a woman’s scream, which sounded in between scared and angry, the dead also seemed to take interest into the noise. The yelling had stopped near when the shot went off, so finding exactly where this person was in the woods became harder. The sight they found was not what they expected. Aaron had held a hand to his mouth, “What the-“ The sight was gruesome, two body’s laid in the dirt. One unrecognizable due to being beaten to a pulp. The other had a walker chewing on its leg. The neck of the man purple. Daryl looked on at the sight with a scowl and went to put the near walker down. He took notice of the W carved into the dead mans head, “Well shit.” Aaron perked up as he watched Daryl crouch down to the man who was choked. Daryl turning gesturing with his head to the body, “These the assholes who fled.” Aaron walked and peeked to see a W carved into there forehead. These two were the last known of the group and they had seemed to died gruesomely, but not by the dead. Aaron turned to Daryl as a realization hit him, “Where the girl who was screaming?”

A unwelcome chill and uneasiness drifted in the air. A thick cloud of a sad thought, “M’ guess they must have attacked her and she shot big fella over there. Then ran from the walkers.” Daryl nibbled at his lip, his eyes roamed the surrounding, maybe a clue confirming the theory. Some blood caught his attention, then he noticed further that in a direction something was dragged through the forest floor. He pointed in the direction making Aaron turn. Aaron looked to have some kind of resolve, “Let’s make sure she is ok.” Daryl nodded while walking forward to track, “If there comes back with us I’ll try and talk Rick into letting them stay. Hell best we can offer is at least some meds, she did use a favor with those dick bags.” Aaron eyebrows scrunched, “Maybe that would help their case. I don’t like not being about to recruit people anymore.”

The trail Daryl followed lead him to a very overgrown building. It was clear the place may have been abandoned even before the fall. Daryl walked quietly, he gestured he would go around back and that Aaron should go in the front. Aaron crouched and made his way closer to the building while Daryl went to the back. The slow creak of the wooden door making it obvious he was there, Aaron had no stealth in him. So he knows if someone was in this place they knew he was here, he might as well make himself known. He gulped seeing a hand print of blood on the wall closed to the door, “I don’t want to hurt you. Just heard you screaming and saw the bodies of those men. Your not hurt are you?” His weight making the wood underneath him bend with every step. The place was silent, but he knew that someone was here if the blood trail wasn’t any indication.

It was sudden, almost like a flow of wind whipping behind him. A cold knife pressed to his neck. You had drifted out of the dark from somewhere stunning him in shock. He nervously brought his hands up in surrender, “Woah! There’s no need for that.” He tried to stay calm but an obvious tremor to his voice giving away his nerves. The quick movement and tone had alerted the archer to his danger though. Daryl saw a grimy and bloody figure stand to Aaron’s side. Daryl lifted and clicked his crossbow of safety and pointed to the potential threat.

It was clear by the way the person froze they knew they were now out numbered. It was also evident that this person was trembling. They were in a fight mode from just being attacked and he didn’t blame them for being on edge. By the looks of it they had been out in the world for to long, something he was familiar with. This person seemed to be thinking of anyway to run and Daryl decided he should speak stopping those thoughts from getting to how you got away from the other guys.

“Put the knife down, we just were wantin to see if yeah are ok.”

The slow turn of the persons head seemed almost confused. But the soon flicker of eye contact between them revealed all. His grip on his crossbow slowly slipping. His heart pumped in his ears. You. Maybe he was dreaming? You? The building feeling dropped in him. Some way somehow he was staring at you, the women he would burn the world for. He watched as the knife was moved from Aaron and saw it fall to the floor. The sound of you crashing back to the wall behind you giving him a clear view of you. You were covered in dirt and blood. Hair was much shorter then the last he saw you. It was choppy like you did it with a dull blade. It was also tinted darker from being unwashed. Holes throughout your clothes and the collar loose. He slowly stepped closer ignoring Aaron. Then he saw it, a flicker of a sparkle coming from your finger.

The ring he gave you…

Your POV

The clumsy man sloppily creeped up into the house. A voice calmly spoke as they realized they were less than quiet entering, “I don’t want to hurt you. Just heard you screaming and saw the bodies of those men. Your not hurt are you?” The hatred still buzzed in you from your near death experience. This man claimed to ‘not want to hurt you’ but never said they weren’t going to hurt you. The man walked with heavy feet. You were in a dark room hugging the wall near the door. If he was truthful about just overhearing everything you didn’t want to kill him. It was hard to remember that not everyone was out to get you. Even so you quickly rushed to pull your knife to his neck.

The man seemed schooled while raising his hands in surrender. A good move that eased his threat level to you. You took notice of his clean appearance, something that seemed a little strange at first. He looked to you with ought moving his head. Eyes glancing down to you, “Woah! There’s no need for that.” It was clear to you this guy was not involved with the others you just killed. Before you could ask anything a click from across the hall stunned you into a sense of danger overflowing from you again. You didn’t move your sight from the man in front of you. It was clear some kind of weapon was pointed at you. You hadn’t heard the other person at all? Maybe the first guy was so loud you didn’t even think he had another person with him. Should you run? Maybe kill the guy at your knife point and use him as a shield for the other-

“Put the knife down, we just were wantin to see if yeah are ok.”

It was as if a ghost whispered in your ear. The unexpected voice from the dark pulling at your heart and memories. Maybe you were losing it, becoming crazy? All this time out in the world had gotten to you. Your eyes while scared to drift to the darkness and see nothing quickly glanced over to confirm if you lost it. Blue eyes is what you saw. His baby blue eyes that you used to joke would be the color of your children’s. Daryl, crossbow slowly lowering revealing more of himself. The knife slipped from your hand. The man near you back away after it fell. You didn’t even notice while crashing backwards. Eyes still locked with a seeming allusion of your lover. A overwhelming mess of feeling all at once made you numb. You were in Virginia… still miles from Georgia.

He stepped closer, hair longer and clothes seemed worn but still clean. You struggled to suck air in to your lungs, starting to hyper ventilate. You slid down the wall still looking at him. He crouched down to your level eyes glassy and a look of pain in his eyes.

“Darlin’…”

Both POV

Your lips wobbled as tears flood your vision. A sudden rush of air finally hitting your lungs. He almost reached out to touch you but froze halfway not wanting to scare you. The first sound of a cry released from you. You sent yourself flying up at him, encircling him into your arms. He caught you but stumbled back landing on his ass. He felt your body shake with your cry’s. A tightness stuck in his throat as he held you. A moment neither thought would have again.

"Uh, Daryl what just happened?"

Daryl looked over your shoulder and up to a very confused Aaron. A long sigh released from him, "M' Wife." He leaned his head down onto yours. You pulling back to look to him. Tears still in your eyes blurring your vision slightly. Not enough to not take notice of how he changed, for as long as you've known him he's never looked more mature. You sniffle, "I thought I'd never see you again." The clear strain to the admission broke his heart. He knew though, despite that you had been trying to get back, you wouldn't be in front of him now if you hadn't. He wiped at your tears still not fully processing. He noticed Aaron move and sigh, "I'll give you a moment, keep in mind we have to get back before dark." He walked out the door and it creaked and slowly swung closed. It had seemed you had only just noticed and remembered he was there. But you had also remembered that the world was still shit. You looked to Daryl and you notice he was looking at you already.

"Shit. Are you hurt? I saw those assholes bodies-" He seemed to realized it to. The world was different, therefore so were you. He might still have lost you. "-you killed those pricks?" His innocent little thing? He looked to the blood that covered you. Then he remembered the way those bodies looked. You looked away from his eyes seemingly ashamed, "Yes." It was a slightly cold reply. Squeezed fists, nails digging into your palm. "They cornered me so I killed them." It wasn't even a second when Daryl replied with a grumble in his voice, "Good." Your eyes spring to look at his face in surprise. You saw the unwavering truth in that moment. Yes you had changed, so had he.

You smile while tears stream down your face. He was truly here. You grab his face in your hands and look deep into his eyes. He was mesmerized by the change. The love in your eyes remain the same he last saw them, in the end you were still his. He should have clocked that the moment he still say the ring on your finger. You let in a breath before speaking, “The only reason I’m still alive is because of you.” He wasn’t expecting that. He seemed to bite his tongue and look down for a second. Guilty. You forgot how soft hearted this man was, you’re glad that somehow is still with him. You never thought that maybe he would blame himself for the separation. You lift his head to look back to you, “All the times I would watch you hunt, track, and prepare kills kept me fed. All the times I should have given up or accepted death I told myself I would crawl my way to you if I had to.”

Then is when the crashing feeling dropped on him. The love he held for you that felt like a void suddenly was right in front of him. You slowly leaned into him giving a slow kiss. His hand slipped behind your head pulling you into a deeper kiss. Something both would fantasize about now becoming a reality. You wince causing Daryl to pull back. He pulled you back and took a look at you. You huffed a sigh sitting back to the forgotten rope around your foot. Daryl’s eyes round at the rope around your swollen ankle, he grabbed your leg mumbling curses. You sighed, “Shit, forgot about that.” You flinch while he carefully unwraps it. You didn’t feel the pain until now. It didn’t feel broken but the guy must have sprained it the time he pulled on it before you shot his friend. Maybe the crunching you heard while strangling the guy with the rope was your foot. Daryl grunted and had that worried pout he did, “We gotta get yeah back to get that looked at.” He stood first helping you stand. You stumbled giving him a questioning look, “Back where?” He helped you out the door, the man you didn’t recognize turning to your exit of the shack. Daryl started to explain, “We have a community, it’s a little drive away.”

You cringe at the word community. You have seen your fair share of them, either run by crazy’s with a weird motive or something natural would happen destroying the place. “Don’t have the greatest relationship with those but, if you say so.” You look to the man Daryl was with, he seemed bamboozled. He walked closer to you and helping you walk. Daryl seemed perturbed, “I got her, I’ll get her to your car.” You watched somewhat comically as the man sassed and brush’s off his statement. You expected Daryl to hurl harsh words at him because he typically hated when anyone challenged him. But by this man’s tone, “You got shot few days ago. Not the greatest idea to carry her with your shoulder.” he was friends with him. Daryl scoffed but your eyes widened and looked to Daryl in shock. Daryl’s annoyed face at Aaron changed when he saw the worried one on yours, “Geez Aaron it was a graze! You’ll scare her talkin’ like that. Y/n don’t listen to him…”

They both were helping you through the woods seemingly to a road. Aaron chuckled as he took a glance to you, “Well to be fair never knew there was a Mrs. Dixon. Be good for her to finally keep you from being reckless.” Daryl scoffed rolling his eyes, the grip on you tightened from him, “Only ever mentioned it to one person, he’ll give me hell for her when we get back.” Daryl also can’t imagine all the rest of his family finding out you even existed. He looked down seeing you slightly amused at how he was acting. He knows he has changed, for the better he thinks. He was finally confident in saying you were right about his true nature all that time ago. He was just a big softie that denied it and put on a sour façade. He looked to Aaron then back to you, “You’ll be in the car with Aaron. Your to injured for my bike.”

You looked to this Aaron guy giving him an unsure look. He smiled to you shyly, “Best we don’t freak out the rest of are people. Those assholes you killed gave us hell and damaged are community.” That surprised you, looking as a road appeared through the trees, you hopped along, “You were out here for them?” You reached the car and Aaron left your side to open the passenger door. Daryl turning to explain, “They carved W in their head calling themselves wolves. Bunch of crazy’s.” He sighed looking past you, “Those two were the last of em. We didn’t want them doing anything else to anyone.” He rubbed your arm before helping you walk to car, “We were a little late for that I guess.” He helped you sit down noticing it was getting a little too dark for his liking. He moved down looking at Aaron in the drivers seat, “We gotta go before we worry people, I’ll lead the way.”

You sat there staring at Daryl as his headlight lit the road. Everything felt like it was moving really fast. The news of those people you killed were worse than you thought gave some justification for your brutality. Who were you kidding you had lost control. Aaron broke the silence in the humming car, “So, Y/n is it?” You glance over to Aaron just giving a hum in reply. He takes your awkward silence just as well as he takes Daryl. He heard you shuffle in your seat before asking, “How long have you known Daryl?” Aaron clocked the really meaning to the question, ‘how trustworthy are you’. Aaron chuckled, “A few months now.” Not long enough in your opinion. Yet Daryl seems so friendly with him? In such a short time? You decide to just ask another thing bothering you.

“What did he mean by he’ll get hell about me?”

Aaron sighed as he looked on to Daryl driving ahead, “Are leader will be a little pissed with bring you back. He is not big on newcomers right now after the recent incident, but you’re Daryl’s wife so not really new know are you.” This leader sounds to have the right idea about people. You fiddle with the ring on your hand, “So me staying is going to take some convincing?” Aaron smiled and nodded while he drove, “Well if anyone could convince him it would be his brother.” His brother is the leader of this place? That can’t be good. Merle was anything but a leader. This community is probably small and on its lasts legs, he did say it was just attacked and very damaged… guess you’ll be back out on the road sooner then you thought.

You looked out the window for the remainder of your ride. Aaron only speaking again when closer to the destination, “So we’re almost there. You should just stay in the car until we can give a heads up of your arrival?” You tilt your head in confusion, “I’m going in the community? Thought you said your leader wasn’t a people person right now?” You had thought you would have to stay behind considering so. Having to wait for some kind of approval. Aaron laughed a little, “Daryl has a fair amount of say. His family trusts him enough to make a call.” You sat there confused again, ‘Family?’ Just his brother? But he said it like there is a fair bit of people in this, ‘Family’. Your contemplating was interrupted when Aaron rolled to a stop. You looked around into the dark not realizing when Aaron turned off the headlights.

Then while Aaron filcked the lights on and off in a pattern you caught glimpses of a huge wall. You sat up in your seat leaning forward as you watched it slide open. Daryl rolled in first then Aaron slowly drove in. The first thing you notice was houses with a few lights on. Electricity? This place was huge… But your eyes were pealed back to Daryl. A group of people seemingly gathering around him seeming worried. Aaron unlocked the door and before getting out mumbled a quick, “Stay here.”

Daryl POV

There orders were to be back way before dark. So when they hadn’t come back it sent everyone in a panic. Not to mention they were already struggling with replacing broken parts of the wall and moving bodies. Rick had become a singled minded man again with Carl almost dying. So he wasn’t surprised when he came marching up to him unhappy about his tardiness, “Where the hell have you both been! We damn near sent people after you.” Daryl brought his hands to his hips, “Assholes are dead, but there is something else-“

“Stay here.”

Rick turned to see Aaron getting out of the car but he also noticed a figure in the passenger seat nodding. Anger flared in him, “I said no more recruiting! Damnit Daryl- put them in the cell!” Daryl was not about to be yelled at. Specially for something as important as this. “Hold the hell up-“ Rick shook his head in annoyance cutting Daryl off, “This is not negotiable!” Before Daryl could blurt out anything a running figure came screaming for Rick. It was Denise, “It’s Carl he is awake and freaking out!” Daryl felt his stomach drop. Rick hesitated in place before pointing to Glenn, “Go put them in the cell!” Then he ran off back to his son. Daryl turned to Glenn, “Nah man! You don’t get it!” Glenn looked to the people next to him before sighing and walking to the car. “Hey! Wait!” Abraham stepped in front of him blocking his path.

He huffed knowing he would have tackled Abraham if he wasn’t trying to be calm about this. “Get the hell out my way.” Then he heard your voice call out, “Uh… Daryl?” Very clear of your anxiety and how you might lash out if you feel in danger. Daryl needed to just had to suck it up, “ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT! FINE!” He stepped to the side looking to Glenn, “Your throwing me in with her. Let’s go…” Glenn paused giving him a wide eye expression. Glenn looked back and forth conflicted but sighed and lead you to the cell Morgan just made. Glenn question Daryl on the walk, “Why are you doing this Daryl?” Daryl was walking slightly ahead with you right behind him. You answered for him, “I’m his wife.” A choked cough released from Glenn, “Woah!” Glenn paused looking to him the to you. “What the hell dude! Never said you were married!” Daryl saw they were getting closer to the building and ignored Glenn’s surprise. Glenn sighed, “Well damn now I don’t wanna lock you up.” Glenn walked past you both going down a small incline. He unlocked a door and rubbed at his next, “But Rick said. I’m sure once everything with Carl calms down he will let you out.” Glenn turned to you, “Sorry about this, newcomers is a sensitive thing at the moment.”

Much to Daryl’s dismay you half heartedly chuckled while walking into the room, “To be fair best I be in a cage. I did just brutally murder two men.” Glenn mouth was agape, “uh- what? She’s joking right?” Daryl just shrugged and followed you into the cell. Daryl even closed the door and stuck his arms through the bars before answering. While it was still a new thing to hear you be so… brutal… maybe just badass, he trusted you. “Don’t tell Rick why I’m in here with her. Want to rub it in his face for pissing me off and not listening to me.” Glenn chuckled and shrugged moving to lock the cell door, “If you say so.” You while just being a bystander to this conversation spoke up, “I thought Aaron said your brother was the leader, not this Rick guy?” Glenn started to laugh, “What you thought people would follow a dumbass like Merle?” Daryl squinted his eyes at Glenn… but he wasn’t wrong. Glenn smiled to him, “No offense.” Daryl just rolled his eyes putting his attention to you, “Rick is like a brother to me.”

Your face told him you were bewildered by that statement. Granted he knows back then Merle always through around ‘blood is the only thing we got’ when you both started dating. Maybe you thought he saw it that way to. Glenn was about to go out the door, “Aw, Daryl cares for us!” Before the door closed Daryl shouted back, “Get your head out of your ass ‘walker bait’!” A nickname sure to piss him off. You only looked to me pleased with the reaction. Awe struck in your eyes drew him closer to you. Alone at last, and it seemed you both had some catch up to do.

It was a lot of talking. Sitting against a wall with your hands intertwined. He told you about Merle’s death. How he came to be so friendly with all these people. You started crying and leaned into him. At first he thought you were sad but you were smiling proudly at him. You share your own story’s. Mentioning friends you’ve lost, mostly them all dying, how a few were just gone with you having no clue to how. “Told you I’d make you my husband the next time I saw you…” He felt his throat tightened, he grieved you to the point of acceptance. So having you here and now felt like another type of grieving. To what could have been. But before he could get into it farther an angry Rick stormed down into the cellar. Hand on hip with a baby Judith slumped over his shoulder. A stature of a man trying to show leadership, “What the hell are you doing here Daryl.” Rick’s eyes only glancing over to you for a second. Daryl sat there for a second prolonging the silence. While he couldn’t exactly blame Rick for having to run off before they could talk he should have known damn well he had say. So he glared daggers to Rick.

Rick moved from foot to foot shaking his head again, “Look we can’t go bring anyone in after the shit that happened-“ Daryl stood up waving his hands, “You think I’m stupid? Like I would go and bring someone back if it didn’t mean something?” Daryl stood straight closing in closer to the bars, “Now please go ahead and tell my WIFE! That she isn’t welcome here.” Ricks mouth gapped open, air releasing from his lungs, “T-that’s her!” Rick’s hand moved to his chest while turning to look at you. Daryl also turned around just seeing you nonchalantly resting on the floor.

“You two really do argue like brothers.”

Your eyes not staring at Rick but the baby girl he carried. Daryl’s heart filled with you pushing aside the anger of the situation, because this was supposed to be a happy moment. Daryl turned back to Rick seeming to have calmed down, “Now… you gonna let us out?” Rick started to laugh, Judith perking up to her father’s laughter. “Goddamn dude, I’m happy for ya.” Rick moved for the key in his pocket. Daryl reached out a hand to help you up, a visible limp still present. While walking here you tried to appear un injured, most likely trying not to look like easy pray. You truly were out there for a long time, his group knows what that could do to your mind.

The creaky bared door swings open leaving the little girl to finally met eyes with her uncle. Daryl sighed when he gained the little girls attention. Judith happily giggled while reaching for him. Though he found really hold her if he wanted to help you walk. That’s what drew his attention back to your face. He wasn’t expecting you to be looking at Judith like she was a puppy. Then you sniffled, “She’s so cute.” Rick looked to you while juggling his daughter. The know that sometimes things like Judith keep you going in hard times. But in your hard time you had nothing. So seeing something in this broken world like Judith was definitely pulling something inside you. Daryl though could help but smugly smile up to Rick with a, ‘Just look at m’ girl~.’ Showing off the one he loved at the start to the family he now has.

But damn if it didn’t feel good.

Feedback welcome and requests open! Maybe spin off if this does well and people want more.

[pricegouge]

nik falls in love with you the first time he meets you, i think

when you first pull up behind the old beater truck you think nothing of it, inspecting the rusted out tailgate with a critical eye. you note the dirt above the wheel well disinterestedly and move on, climbing out of your low coup with a sigh at the bite of frost in the air. small cars were great in that it didn't take long to fill the tank, which meant less time spent in the frigid open air by the gas pump, but awful in that a small tank meant more frequent stops, like a kid after a theater soda.

you've only just selected your fuel grade when the owner of the truck sidles up, resting a fresh tall coffee from the shop on the roof as he blocks off the pump, sets about wiping his windshields with the squeegee. you wonder if the old girl even has windshield washer fluid in her.

it's hard to avoid watching him work. he's handsome. burly. well dressed, though the clothes themselves looked nearly as old and ragged as his truck. he catches you watching interestedly when your pump chunks loudly, tank full, but you're too interested in the way he leans casually over the truck bed to reach the middle panel of the back window.

(can you be expected to look away when you note he's tall enough to reach without issue? the soft roll of his diaphragm bulging over the bed?)

the man works his palm back across his slicked hair, smoothing it unnecessarily. his eyes are bright as he eyes you over and you take it unflinchingly, emboldened by the obvious interest you see there.

until his eyes rake over the hood of your car and the corner of his mouth drags into a smirk, one you've seen too many times before.

"it's a base model," you interrupt before he can even speak, but the man is unperturbed.

"i see that," he hedges in a thick russian accent. odd, what with the old beater and the local plates. "twenty ninteen?"

you're taken aback, but only slightly, your car's make notorious enough to garner attention, though not usually enough to keep it past 'it's the cheap model'. "Yeah," you concede, finally remembering to return the nozzle to its holster. you reassess the truck in front of you, once written off as the product of poverty or carelessness, you can see now that it's taken years of care to even get such an old beast to stay alive this long. it's a breath of fresh air, really. the kind of Car Guys your little speedster usually attracted were self-centered little twerps more worried about spoilers than... whatever the important bits of machinery were that kept a car moving, but here was a full grown man taking note. maybe the cheap little coup wasn't so bad after all...?

"you'll want to keep an eye on that timing chain."

"pardon?"

the man just laughs as he straightens out. you wait patiently for him to walk around the hood and return the squeegee. standing much closer to you now, he wipes his hands off on his jeans and you note his cracked knuckles, callused but well-suited for the cold. "the timing chain. sobach'ye der'mo, that car. does it like to shift when the engine's cold?"

you remember running late the other morning, the way the car had shook when you'd approached the stop sign at the end of your street after starting and dashing. "no."

his hair barely moves when he shakes his head, product too thick along his roots. it should maybe gross you out but it doesn't, just lends itself to his specifically eastern european charm. "it will start with cam shaft error codes - probably around seventy five thousand miles. don't listen. take it to me, da?" the card he proffers is simply designed, but effective. his name is nikolai and he owns a local shop - one you pass daily, actually. you run by it in your memories now, re-evaluate the classic models that proudly line the lot with a fresh eye.

"and what if i'm past that mileage?" you ask slyly, pocketing his card.

(breast pocket, hoping he notes your finger bosts no ring as you do so.)

nikolai pulls a deep sigh, expression the very image of concern when he informs you of your dire situation. "then you should bring it in straight away. these problems... let us just hope it's not too late."

your laugh is a bubbly thing, too bright, but nikolai doesn't know you from adam so you play it off as best you can. there's no hiding the shiver you emit when the next strong gust of wind rolls though, however, and your companion urges you back to the the driver's door insistantly with a heavy hand at the small of your back. he apologizes for keeping you even though he didn't and waits to make sure you'll call him before closing the door after you. he makes no attempt to hide the way he listens to your engine when you start and you don't know what else to do but shrug and wave when he looks back at you disapprovingly at whatever it is he hears.

stuck behind him, you watch as he clambers back into his truck, trying not to be distracted by the way his hammies test the inseam of his jeans when he makes the climb up - no runners, no lift kit. old-school.

you're still lost in your day dreams when his engine turns over with a purr, sighing wistfully when his tail lights turn on. it takes a moment to register the picture, the asymmetrical vision before you. you have enough sense to honk before opening your door, grabbing his attention so he doesn't drive off before you can collect his coffee from his roof.

you take the time to read the scrawled name on the side as he lowers the window - a task, what with the hand crank.

"do you spell it with a 'c'?" you ask, turning the cup so the americanized version of his shortened name faces him. when he simply replies negatively with a soft smile, you can't help but return the expression.

"thought not. just asking so i know how to save you in my phone."

[mindmelter]

Alien On The A-List - Ross Lynch Takeover

A vibrant, bustling crowd filled the arena, their excitement palpable as they eagerly awaited the arrival of their beloved idol, Ross Lynch. A particular individual within the crowd stood out, one of the few men among the majority female crowd, his heart racing and his palms sweaty not just from the energy in the crowd but from something more personal. His gaze never left the entrance, his eyes fixed awaiting for the man who had stolen his heart. The fan was obviously gay, horny and had a huge crush on Ross Lynch, the star and singer of the band. He had been following his idol's every move for years, attending concerts and collecting the tickets. Little did he know that fate would soon intervene in the form of a tiny, alien creature he would find that day.

The fan had been in many concerts before, but this particular place was an odd choice to host one, it was just too far away from the city and there was an old legend about the place, they say it used to be a military base where they would keep captured Aliens, but it was closed many years ago for mysterious reasons.

As the lights flickered and loud music began to play, the fans erupted into deafening cheers, their screams echoing through the arena. Ross Lynch finally emerged on stage, his charisma and charm immediately taking hold of the audience.

The gay fan felt a surge of happiness and desire course through his veins. He could only dream of having a chance with Ross, of somehow making contact with the object of his affection, but he knew it was impossible, he was just one gay fan among a crowd of four thousand people.

"Down here" The fan heard a voice say, he looked around confused, but everyone else was just enjoying the show. "No, down here! look to the ground" the voice spoke again.

And then, during this chaotic moment, he spotted it: a tiny, transparent, Alien humanoid, fighting not to be stomped by the crazy crowd.

Without hesitation, he picked it up, not realizing the significance of what he had just discovered. It was an alien creature, and it was about to change his life forever.

The alien and the fan started communicating through telepathy. The tiny creature explained that it was hibernating under the ground for decades and had just woken up but due to the loud music above. The Alien was very angry about being woken by the loud music and the singing voice of this human named "Ross Lynch" The Alien was trying now to find a new host to take over, but he almost got trampled by all those people, if it wasn't for the fan, he would have. The alien also seemed to understand the fan's infatuation with Ross Lynch and promised to help him get closer to his idol, but with one condition.

"My species feeds on human emotions, but Desire is the tastiest and sweetest human emotion, it makes us very strong. And you, human...you are full of it, I could feel your desire from miles away, and it is delicious. I just woke up from my hibernation, that means i'm starving, that's why I want to offer you a deal, I will make your dream come true by taking over the source of your desire, and all you have to do is just keep desiring him"

As the concert drew to a close, the fan devised a plan. They would do it during the meet-and-greet session that would happen after the concert.

Finally, the moment arrived. The fan waited in line, his heart pounding with anticipation and fear. When it was his turn, he stepped forward...

_________________________

Ross Lynch was in the middle of another exhausting meet and greet, signing autographs and taking selfies with his adoring fans. One particular fan, a young man who had been waiting in line for hours, approached the star with a box of chocolates and a tiny, plastic alien toy. As he kindly accepted the gift, the alien toy came to life and jumped right inside his mouth. The Alien's true form was gelatinous and slimy, so it was easy to slide inside.

Ross, feeling a foreign object in his throat, began to cough uncontrollably. The crowd around him grew silent, watching in horror as their idol choked on what appeared to be a tiny plastic toy. As he finally caught his breath, his eyes rolled back and his head went limp. The alien had made its way down his throat and into his brain, taking full control of his body.

Suddendly his white eyes went back to normal, and he glared at the scared fan. The security guards moved in to restrain the fan. But before they could touch him, Ross spoke: "Let him through." The guards hesitated, exchanging nervous glances, but eventually parted to let the gay fan approach him. As he stepped closer, a wicked grin spread across Ross's face.

"I've heard from a tiny Alien that you are a big fan of mine, is this true?"

The fan was speacheless, he tried to talk, to say yes!, to say he's been a huge fan for years, but no words came out, he was just too nervous to speak with his Idol. Ross just chuckled and turned to his staff members.

"End the meet and greet session, I'm done for today" Ross said to his staff. The possessed star then took the fan's hand and led him to the backrooms, away from the prying eyes of the crowd. The fan could barely believe this was really happening and he started to imagine what would happen next.

"That's it, keep imagining all the dirty things I'm gonna do to you" Ross told him.

The fan then continued imagining different hot scenarios of him alone with Ross. Ross just closed his eyes and started to moan while telepathically viewing all the things his horny gay fan was thinking about him. "Uuugghhhhh...fuck yes, I'm totally doing that...and that as well... Hmmm this looks hot!"

The fan was terrified but also strangely aroused by Ross's newfound dominance, he could only nod in agreement. Ross leaned in close, their breath mingling, and he whispered: "We are going to have toons of fun with this host." The possessed Ross Lynch then turned around, marching back to the halls.

They finally arrived at Ross's private dressing room, with the door closed Ross turned to face his fan. "Now," he smirked, "you're going to see what happens when you try to fuck with the wrong person."

With that, he pushed the fan roughly against the wall, taking off his white sweaty tank top and then throwing the shirt to the fan. "Sniff it" Ross ordered and the fan obeyed. Ross smirked as he watched.

"Good boy, I see you like my smell" he purred, before roughly shoving the fan's face into his sweaty armpit. "Suck it." he commanded. "It was what you wanted all this time wasn't it?"

The fan, overcome with a mixture of fear and lust, obeyed, wrapping his lips around Ross's sweaty armpit and sucking greedily. Hours of non-stop singing and dancing had left his body completely covered in sweat.

Meanwhile, inside Ross's brain, the alien creature was having the time of its life, reveling in the power it now wielded over its new host. It sent a wave of desire coursing through Ross's veins, and as he felt the fan's tongue lapping at his host's sweaty armpit, he could no longer contain himself. Grinning wickedly, he spun the stunned fan around and pinned him against the wall again, their bodies pressed tightly together. "Now," he growled, "it's time for you to see what I really want." And with that, he slid his hands down the fan's pants, grabbing his aroused member in his hand. As the two of them finally gave in to their desires, the possessed Ross Lynch and his adoring fan started to kiss, the fan forgot about the world outside the dressing room, lost in the throes of passion.

After the 8 minutes long french kiss, Ross ordered the fan to kneel before him, and the fan obeyed without hesitation, his heart racing with a mixture of fear and arousal. Ross Lynch placed a hand on the fan's head, pushing him towards his bulge roughly, and the fan felt Ross's hard boner inside his pants. "You're mine now," Ross growled, his voice deep and commanding. "This host belong to me, and you belong to this Host!"

The fan could feel Ross Lynch's erection pressing against his face, and he knew that he was going to get what he had always wanted. Ross Lynch grabbed the fan roughly by the hair, pulling his head back, and the fan gazed up into the intense, alien-possessed eyes of his idol. "You're going to worship my body, my sweat, my everything," Ross commanded. "And when I'm done with you, you're going to beg for more." The tiny alien within Ross Lynch's body was relentless, driving him to take control and dominate the situation, and the fan couldn't help but submit to the tough alpha persona the Alien was adopting.

Ross guided the fan's hands to his armpits while the fan licked his hard sweaty abs "Yeeees," Ross hissed, "that's it. Taste me, boy"

As their bodies moved together in a frenzy of lust, Ross Lynch reached down and started to unbuckle his belt.

After dropping the jeans to his ankles, Ross grabbed the fan's hand and guided it to his exposed, hardened flesh. The fan's fingers trembled as they wrapped around Ross's length, feeling the heat and the power that emanated from it. "That's it," Ross growled, "stroking your god. Show me how much you want me." And with that, Ross Lynch began to thrust against the fan's hand, his hips moving in a powerful rhythm that drove the fan to the brink of ecstasy.

The fan could feel Ross Lynch's breath hot against his ear, his words sending shivers down his spine. "This is what you always dreamed of," Ross whispered, "and I'm going to make sure you remember this for the rest of your life." And with that, Ross leaned down, capturing the fan's lips in a brutal kiss, their tongues clashing together as they exchanged their saliva.

As their hot passionate encounter came to a climax, Ross Lynch let out a primal roar, his body tense and shuddering as he released his seed deep into the fan's hand. The fan felt a wave of heat and pleasure wash over him as he came as well, his body convulsing with the force of his orgasm. And when it was over, Ross leaned back on a chair, catching his breath, his chest heaving as he looked down at the fan sprawled beneath him. The fan watched in awe as Ross's softening member pulsated every few seconds, he also could see the alien still glowing brightly within Ross's eye, its presence both terrifying and thrilling all at once.

"So? How did you like it? I tried to recreate exactly the fantasy I saw in his mind." Ross said, a smile curling the corners of his lips. "It looks like this whole experience left you speechless, I understand, you need time to recover" He laughed, and with that, he leaned down once more, kissing the fan softly on the forehead, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. "Thank you for feeding me, I'm full now"

The fan stayed on the floor, he just smiled and looked down to his cum covered hand, he couldn't help but wonder what other more adventures they would share together.

____________________________________

"This is our destiny" Ross sang to the loud crowd.

Four days had passed after the take over, and Ross was already singing at another concert as he was still on tour. The fan was now sitting in the front and exclusive row, which allowed the fan a perfect, up-close view of Ross's fit, sweaty body. For a few moments while he was singing, Ross would look, wink and point at this particular fan. For some people it even seemed that Ross was singing only for him.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

OK OK OK, but can we revisit the daughter "sitcom" scenarios?! I loved them sm.

Imagine Engel is out somewhere, like the store or whatever. Their daughter, who is about 12-13 at the time, just got her first period...😦

She just kinda awkwardly walks into the room and is trying to figure out how to tell him...

Konig is totally panicking, probably frantically calling Engels phone to get home ASAP. Poor boy probably didn't even know that you can get your period at that age and thinks some really bad is happening 😭.

But once everything has settled down, he starts to treat her the same way he treats Engel on her period, maybe even letting her stay home from school.

König is 1000 miles away from his comfort zone

I imagine the conversation goes something like this: (D=daughter, K=König, R/E=reader/Engel)

D: “I think my period just started…”

K: “Ja? Just remember to do your homework.”

D: “No, I mean… I think I just got my first period? I’m bleeding–”

K: “Bleeding? Where?? ”

D: “…??? There...?”

*uncomfortable staring and silence”

D: “I just… Do you know where mom keeps her pads?”

K: “...Pads?”

D: “Dad!! You’re just repeating my words!”

She leaves the room to look for the pads herself while König calls her mother: now imagine a colonel, a commanding officer of thousands of soldiers, responsible for important pre-decisions throughout the whole organization, calling his wife and asking what to do in this kind of a situation 🧍‍♂️ König is rubbing the back of his neck while walking anxious circles in the living room, almost bumps into a sofa while Engel calmly explains what's going on and that this is all completely normal.

When she comes back, König has just closed the phone, sighs, then takes a rather stiff stance to indicate he is about to give an important speech.

“Now then, my pretty young fawn. You are not my little girl anymore… Today, you’ve become a woman–”

“Dad, wtf?!? Ughh….”

She storms out of the room again, about to die from cringe: why does his father have to be such an embarrassment and an awkward mess? Why the hell did her mother even want this odd big loser as her man???

She’s sick of his stupid speeches and ridiculous rules and poor attempts at jokes, she's more than sick of listening to her parents’ disgusting cooing all the time. Only the noise canceling headphones can block out his dad’s profuse lovesick confessions before they start to bonk each other, thinking she can’t hear it all upstairs. Meanwhile she's not allowed to have a life of her own because the "world is a dangerous place"...

She can't wait to get out of this household, especially when even more cringeworthy conversations follow once her mother comes home. The only reason she's eavesdropping is because they're finally speaking of her instead of "how beautiful his sweet Engel looks" or "how silly and clumsy her big bear is":

K: “Does this mean she starts to have boyfriends?”

E/R: “She probably has had a few already.”

K: “What?!”

E/R: “Well not really. They’re just kids, fooling around. I wouldn't worry about it yet.”

K: “Should I talk to her about… you know, birds and bees? Just in case?”

E/R: “You? Absolutely not.”

K: “But–”

E/R: “I’ll talk to her at some point. They probably have sex education at school.”

K: “She can’t go to school. She said she was in pain.”

E/R: *sighs*

K: “What...? I already called them and said she's ill.”

E/R: “She's not ill, silly. It's just a period, it comes every month. You of all people should know...”

K: “Ja, I know... The torture days :)”

E/R: “Torture days for who?”

K: “I'm in so much pain every month, you have no idea...”

(Daughter upstairs makes a furious dive for her headphones :|)

[creepling]

odd one out - j. slaughter & l. mckinney / 3k

synopsis: reader has been with her boyfriend leland since college started. they are your cookie-cut couple destined for love. that all comes to the flip-side when reader's friend from back home, johnny, pays a visit.

tags: fem!reader x johnny x leland. smut - MDNI. porn with plot. pining!johnny. cuck!leland. cuckholding. fingering (fem receiving). mild knife play. teasing/mocking. oral (male receiving). masturbation. vogeurism. use of 'girl' as pet name. manhandling/roughplay. fucked dumb. emasculation. possessiveness. doggystyle. mating press. breeding kink. unprotected sex.

“Is someone there?” Leland called into your house, holding your hand and standing in front of you protectively.

You had just returned to your dorm with your long-term boyfriend. The two of you have been inseparable since you met in college. And now, he is trying to protect you from the perpetrator who opened the mini fridge in the kitchen.

“It’s probably just one of my roommates, Leland. It’s cool,” You say, soothing his tense arm.

“Your roommate would have answered by now,” He said, standing guard.

The fridge-raider finally shows themselves, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. Johnny – your friend from back home – leans against the door frame with a beer bottle in hand. He points it up in greeting, a sly smirk on his face.

“Johnny– what are you doing here?” You say, forcing a smile through your confusion. He had not said anything about visiting in your letters and didn’t leave a message. It was a surprise.

Leland was not so fond of the surprise visit, loosening his tension but crossing his arms over his chest. He never liked your friend, Johnny. He could tell a mile away he was a sack of shit. Everything about him made his skin crawl and bawl fists with anger. He never subscribed to the idea of him being a good friend for you, yet he also did not want to be one of those controlling boyfriends who tell you who to hang out with. Leland prefers to keep his wits about him when Johnny's around.

“I was in the city, thought I’d stop by,” Johnny leaned in to bring you into a hug, holding in his chuckle as he felt Leland’s eyes burning into his skull.

You hug back, clocking the beer in Johnny’s hand. “Well, it seems like you’ve helped yourself. You want something to eat or-?”

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Leland interrupted, making Johnny’s head turn. You look at Leland, wondering why his face is so stern, but you nod and excuse yourself. You take Leland to your room and shut the door, waiting to hear what he says in private. 

Leland paces the room, which he does when he’s agitated or stressed. You knew he never got along with Johnny. They’re opposites of each other. Something like this, pulling you aside, will only make the chances of them becoming friends impossible. You wished Leland had trust in Johnny, like he has faith in you.

“Don’t you find this a little odd? Him turning up out of nowhere, without calling or anything? You send letters every week, and he never mentioned coming to the city.” Leland voiced his frustrations, waving his hands in the air.

“Maybe he had to go last minute. He always comes in to fetch things for the yard, so no, Leland, I don’t think it’s weird,” You shrug off.

“He should at least have the decency to call you. How many phone booths are in Austin? Thousands!” He sighs out the tension built in his body, feeling guilty about complaining. “I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“I know you don’t see eye to eye. Johnny has his ways. He likes surprising me, and I like seeing him. That’s all it is. He didn’t mean to turn up unannounced.” You wrap your arms around Leland’s neck, looking at him with kind eyes.

“Where’s he gonna sleep?” He asked, convinced by your kindness. You always had a way of calming him down.

“The couch will do him just fine,” You giggle, giving Leland a peck on the cheek. Leland leaned down and kissed you, mentally cursing Johnny for sabotaging his alone time with you. He hides his vexation with a soft smile.

Johnny was sitting on the couch when you entered the standard room, smiling at the sight of you. You ask Leland to fetch more beers from the fridge, cosying up on the armchair across from the couch. Leland obliges and opens the fridge door, greeted with the empty sight. “All gone,” he called over.

“Dang, musta had the last one,” Johnny tutted, waving the empty beer bottle.

No shit, Sherlock, Leland thought.

“I can go to the store and get some more?” You suggest.

“No, it’s too late for you to be alone. I’ll go,” Leland said, pulling his jacket back on.

“Such a gentleman,” Johnny remarked, mockingly smiling at Leland, earning a hard stare from the brunette.

Leland went to the store before you could tell him off for glaring. Once Leland was out the door, Johnny looked back over to you, resting his arm along the back of the couch.

“Don’t call him that,” You tell Johnny, smiling at his so-called ‘playfulness’.

“What?” Johnny chuckled, acting dumbfounded.

“A gentleman, it’s patronizing,” You laugh, finding Johnny’s chuckle and charming smile contagious.

“I didn’t mean to offend him in any way, and you know that. I’m happy for ya. A pretty girl got herself a pretty boy,” Johnny badgers on, “a match made in heaven.”

You laugh it off, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve, peering out the window for the sight of Leland coming back. Johnny flicks the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, carefully examining your features. You only got more beautiful as you got older, and if your strict family did not make you off-limits to him, he would have had you sooner. You could've been his fine-looking woman instead of that college boy rut getting the privilege to enjoy you. The thought of Leland acting all ‘boy-next-door’ to please your family sickened him. At least Johnny stayed true to who he was. Except Johnny was always the bad boy who was too old for you, a bad influence on you. He would corrupt you and take you down a destructive path. They were right about that, but Johnny cursed his inability to manipulate you. Once you looked back from the window, Johnny relaxed his face and kept his cool, as if the thoughts in his head were nonexistent. 

“How’s college treatin’ ya? You still the brains of the operation?” Johnny asks.

“Oh, y’know, I like it, but there are people here smarter and got more chance,” You shrug. Johnny slowly shook his head in disagreement.

“I mind you being a pretty face with brains. That’s a rarity. There ain’t no one like you,” The compliment made you smile bashfully, your mind not fully accustomed to the philosophy.

You never knew how to reply to Johnny at times since most interactions with him are compliments – flirtation, but he had a good way of hiding it. Maybe that’s why Leland can’t appreciate him. He senses the intentions. To you, it’s all just fun. Johnny could have any girl he pleased and took pride in that. When he flirts with you, you think nothing of it. Johnny wants nothing more than just flirtatious banter.

What you thought wasn’t the truth. To Johnny, you are the girl he wants. The forever girl, the one he wants to settle with. Even killers have wives, the one women they tokenise. How could anyone suspect him if he’s occupied with the Southern bell of Newt? It is his one-way ticket to displaying reformation.

“Yer man’s taking an awful while,” Johnny muttered, tutting.

“The store’s quite a bit away,” You say.

Still, it’s time for Johnny to buy. He watches you stand and excuse yourself to your bedroom. “I’m gonna go change. I won’t be long.” You say.

Johnny timed it in his head, counting the beats of his heart. He slowly rises from the couch and takes off his jacket, slinging it over the sofa. Before entering your bedroom door, he fixes his hair and sucks on his teeth.

*

Leland frowns at the absence of you and Johnny, the bag of beer cans dangling from his fingers. His heart began to race, expecting the worst. His mind convinces him of a better solution as he places the bag on the table and removes his jacket. Johnny’s finally left, and you’re away to bed. That’s all it is.

He heard moans coming from the bedroom, your moans. His heart sank. They got louder as he stood there, taunting him in his fragile state. Rage burrowed within him and began to come to the surface. He stormed to your bedroom door, planning to swing it open and start the confrontation. But his hand trembles as he lingers on the door handle. A lump forms in his throat, and all he can muster is slowly opening the door. The door creaks as he shuffles inside, forcing his eyes to witness the atrocity.

Johnny had you bent over his knee, your clothes hanging by a thread on your body. His fingers were toying with your cunt as you mewled into your hand. Leland eyes are blown out wide, and he balls his hands into fists. Johnny smirks sinisterly.

“Get your hands off-” Leland protested, but he was cut short at the sight of Johnny holding up a knife.

“I guessed you would try that, so I suggest you don’t. Or I’ll cut her up bit by bit,” Johnny threatened, “You like it anyways, don’t ya, darlin’?”

You couldn’t speak, your throat closed, shame shivering over you. Leland fought the urge to scream, tears collecting on his waterline. “Please… just don’t hurt her,”

“This is what we’re gonna do, pretty boy. I’m gonna fuck your girlfriend, and you’re gonna stand there and watch,” Johnny ordered, keeping his knife tight as he ran the blunt end up your spine. You gasp at the cold feeling on your skin. The breathy tones of your moans petrified Leland. Were you enjoying this?

When he sensed Leland would comply, Johnny returned to touching you, collecting your arousal in his fingers as he ran along your glistening slit. You bit your lip, glancing at your boyfriend with lulled eyes. “It’s okay, Leland. I’m okay,” You reassure him, humiliated by his dumbfounded expression. A moan runs from your lips as you feel Johnny enter a finger inside you, slowly pulsing into your warmth.

Johnny never takes it slow, but he wanted Leland to soak up every movement he made. Prolong the experience as much as possible until it breaks him. Leland backed into the corner of the room, leaning against the wall to hold himself up. Johnny chuckled at the sight of the boy’s hands shaking.

“She’s real tight,” Johnny drawled, “you must not fuck her enough. If it was me, not even a crowbar could pry me off her,”

Leland shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek, wishing he could beat the shit out of him. Nonetheless, he knows better than to get violent. Your life was on the line as Leland carefully watched where Johnny placed his knife. His breath hitched when its sharp end hovered and glazed your skin.

Johnny slid another figure inside you, quickly grabbing your hair with his other hand and pinching his knife between his fingers. His lips lean to your ear, his deep chuckle fogging your concentration.

“Look at him, just standing there, not doing a thing. You really date this pussy?” Johnny taunted. You press your lips into a frown, but your moans are audible, shattering Leland’s ears.

Johnny slips his fingers out, smacks your ass, and orders you to kneel. You comply, gazing at Johnny’s figure towering over you, his hand stroking the bulge in his jeans. “Gonna be a good girl for me?”

Thankful your back was turned from Leland, your lustful eyes look to Johnny in awe. In compliance, you nod your head. Johnny unbuckled his jeans, mesmerised by your eyes and forgetting Leland was in the room. Johnny cusps his hand behind your head and reveals his cock, guiding your lulling, drooling mouth towards him.

Leland silently winced, his lips in a grimace. At the sight, but more so of the feeling coursing through him. Gawking at your arched back, your head bobbing, your lips firm and perked on the tip of Johnny’s cock. He yearned to see your face, the way you look up at him when you suck his dick. Going steady with determination – for your nose to graze his snail trail. Leland sighs, hovering his hand on his crotch, feeling his jeans tighten. That should be him giving pleasure. Johnny captivates you, his cock a few inches bigger than his own, his member filling your mouth until you gag. Leland detects a twitch from his erection, pining for the touch of another.

Johnny changes the mood from across the room, shooting Leland an analytic side-eye. His lips tuck up a smirk at the sight of his hand slightly on his tightening jeans.

“Would you look at that,” Johnny awes mockingly, “Yer man’s starting to like it.”

Leland avoids eye contact with Johnny, focusing on your hushed eyes, trailing down to your craning neck, your movement eager and hungry. Leland unbuckles his jeans, shame overtaking him like a cold sweat.

“Say Leland, you like seeing ya girl sucking good dick?” Johnny taunts further before drawing his attention back to you, readying his hips to buck his cock deeper into your throat.

Leland strokes his cock, collecting his precum and warming the tip, biting his lip. The sounds of your struggle, mixed with greedy drool, send him into a spiral.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, girl,” Johnny groans, fucking your face into oblivion. Leland suppressed his whines, squeezing his eyes shut and bucking into the warmth of his hand. Sweat drips down his goosebumped neck, and he shivers from the mix of hot and cold sensations. Fear and arousal consume him, the tinge of anger lingering in his manner as he hastily pleasures himself.

Johnny slides his cock slickly out of your mouth. You gasp for air, a string of drool connecting your bottom lip to his tip. It drips on the floor as Johnny motions you to the bed vigorously, prompting your knees at the edge of the bed, pressing your cheek against his as his hand grips your neck. His manhandling sends a shiver down your spine. He whispers flattery into your ear, anticipating the warmth of your pussy, massaging your breasts and pressing his dick between your ass cheeks.

Knife tossed to one side, Johnny reigns your hips with his callous hands, the immersive size of his fingers squeezing your tender skin. His dick teases your entrance, motioning your hips to beckon him inside you. Leland attempts to suppress his pathetic moans as you beg Johnny to fuck you. Please. Please.

Johnny curses under his breath, the lustrous power controlling his instincts and satisfying him like a drug. His obsession transfers into his body as he clings onto you, pushing his cock slowly into your slick cunt, sighing in satisfaction at your breathy moans.

You perk your hips to adjust to Johnny’s size. He was bigger than Leland, his girth acting as pressure against your firm walls, encouraging the pulse of your heat to welcome him. “Johnny,” You whine, “Fuuuuuck.”

Leland could cry on the spot. Forced to succumb to the pleasure you felt from another and clouded with a carnal giddiness, gratification drowning your thoughts. He was a fly on the wall, sensing your love and passion poisoned by primitive arousal. His primal instincts conflicted with him. His heart now shattered, but his cock twitched, and he touched himself with more robustness. 

“That’s it, take it all in,” Johnny sinisterly encouraged. He advanced against your firmness, burrowing his cock deep inside you, finding your sweet spot as you gasped in satisfaction. His eyes-lids droop at the feeling of you tightening around him, your cunt salivating in anticipation. Johnny bucks his hips and graduates into thrusts. His breath hitched as he picked up the pace.

You surprised yourself when your stomach fluttered at the animalistic nature of Johnny’s technique. Your knees buckled under his muscular frame, your hands gripping the sheets. Johnny takes his strong arms to hold up your fragile weight, pressing you against his chest. Whines pour off your lips as he smacks your ass and bites your neck. You thought about telling him to slow down, but the majority outvoted it – you didn’t want him to stop.

Passion and sweetness were absent as Leland leaned harder onto the wall, unbuttoning his shirt as sweat dripped down him. His abs glistening and absent of your touch, he spits on his hand and wraps the moisture around his aching cock, wishing for warmth. Leland observes Johnny’s thick arms entangling your body – all those nights of passionate lovemaking gone to waste. If he knew you liked it like this, he would have given you what you wanted and acted on the dreams he wished were reality. Now, he witnesses the result of his procrastination and watches Johnny fuck his girlfriend better than he ever could.

Johnny’s stamina does not come close to faltering. His pace is consistent and rigid. He only slows down when he feels the build-up in his stomach, stalking his climax to prolong the moment he has manifested for so long. “You know how long I spent thinking about you?” Johnny husked into your ear, “About fucking you, having you as mine? It’s been too damn long. Yeah, I’m going to enjoy this.”

You whine as Johnny’s cock slips out of you, but he quickly turns you around and pins you down on the bed. His hands manhandle your thighs, pinning them down as his eyes hunger on your pulsing cunt. He latches his mouth on your plump lips, and your tongue welcomes his, letting the roughness of his tongue explore your mouth. His mass towers over you as his cock aligns with your entrance. Johnny enters you again with another deep thrust, his length more profound than before. It causes you to yelp, his tip kissing your hymen.

“Not used to a dick this big, darlin’?” Johnny teased, smirking against your lips. His dark eyes pour into yours, and you get caught in a trance. You let his stare overtake your vision, moans bubbling in your throat as he propels deeper into you. 

“You’re mine now. After getting fucked this good, you’ll never wanna see Loverboy again. Ain’t that right?” Johnny growled, his hands gripping your thighs. The reality of his words pierced through your cock-hungry mind. You glance over at Leland, biting your lip at the sight of him pleasuring himself. His eyes locked on yours, his groans audible as you whine as Johnny’s cock pummels into you. As Leland was close to climax, he squeezed his eyes shut, breaking contact. You look back at Johnny. His gaze fixated on your bouncing breasts before staring back at you.

“I wanna come inside you so bad,” Johnny’s words escaped. You look down at his cock fucking into you, your high rising. Johnny’s affirmation wanders in your mind before you moan in defeat, pleading it to be reality.

“Come inside me,” You squeak, your mind overstimulated and hasty. “Fuck. Please, Johnny.”

Aroused by your words, Johnny plunges your pussy, picking up the pace and gripping your neck. His forehead pressed against yours, and your shaking breaths harmonise with the vibration of his growls. The muscles tensing in his neck and the flex of his arms are enough to let your body surrender to him and prepare for his seed.

“‘M gonna fuck my cum into this little pussy. That’ll be enough to make ya mine, eh darlin’?” Johnny mumbles into your ear. You grow lightheaded as his harsh drills bring you to your climax, your bottom lip and legs quivering simultaneously.

“That’s it, girl. Come all over my dick. I’m so close, baby. So close,” Johnny grunts, “I’m gonna fill you up so good. Gonna make ya mine.”

Strings of hot seed fill your insides, and Johnny gasps and growls into your neck, his teeth scraping down your flesh. From the corner of your eye, you witness Leland moan and finish in his hands, his cum pathetically dripping off his knuckles and onto the hardwood floor. It was no match to Johnny’s broad frame pressing against you, his scent mistifying your senses. His dick slowly slips out of your sensitive walls, basking at the rutting sight of you with a smirk.

He had fucked you dumb, and the lust in your eyes was enough to beckon a second round. As Johnny tried to catch his breath, he glanced at Leland in his submissive state. He was now sitting on the floor, looking sadly at his mess. Johnny couldn’t paint a better picture if he could, and he enjoyed the moment while it lasted.

“Don’t think she’ll want you after that, pretty boy,” Johnny mocked, laughing at Leland’s defeat. “She’s better off with me, anyways. Don’t you worry, I’ll be sure to show her a good time – but you already know that.”

[send-up-my-heart-to-you]

the painting in my house

422 words

In the living room of my house, there is a painting of my father and my brother. The house is as old as me, and maybe the painting is, too—it’s been there as long as I can remember. My brother is almost three years older than me, but he’s still a baby in the painting; with a round face brown as agar-wood, with small feet folded under him. They’re both in traditional clothes, exempting my brother’s bright blue socks—the obsidian kadoras they’re wearing contrasting the vibrant orange-red of the sand they sit on. 

I’ve memorized that painting better than I’ve memorized my own face, yet I still catch myself staring at it sometimes. Maybe it’s simply because paintings fascinate me, and it’s easier to analyze something you’ve seen every day since you’ve been alive. I don’t think I was born, yet, when that painting was made, or maybe I was still a baby swaddled in blankets in my mother’s arms. I don’t think it’d matter, really. The way the painting is made, you’d think they have no one else, a boy and a man isolated in a desert. 

In the painting, my father is feeling the sand under the palm of his hand, and my brother—still a child imitating the movements of his parents—is doing the same. He’s not staring at his own hand, but at my father’s, and I wonder why, sometimes. Was he remembering all those times my father carried him on his shoulders, and wondering how such a strong man could be so gentle? Maybe he was thinking of the size of their hands in comparison, and how one day he, too, would have hands that big. Or maybe he was just a child trying to copy his father.

My brother has grown up in the almost twenty years since that painting was made. He’s taller than my father, now, and their hands are the same size. His face is no longer round—he’s grown into it, with a beard growing along his chiseled jaw. He is away attending university, now, in Europe. The house feels strange without him, not quite empty, not quite silent, but like it’s missing something, its je ne sais quoi. It’s odd, having a painting of my brother hung up in the living room when he himself is thousands of miles away. Like it’s just a part of him that he forgot to pack away with the rest of his things. 

Maybe that’s why I haven’t cried over his absence, as my mother and sisters have, as my younger brother has. I know a part of him still lingers in my house, in that painting. And I know he’ll return to fill in that space he’s left. 

My brother will return, and that is why I do not cry for him.

[cobrafantasies]

Three Can Play That Game

SamSteveBucky | Rated E | 5,296 words | Complete | AO3

Summary: After the timeline is restored, Sam finds himself living with two new roommates: Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. He has mixed feelings about the arrangement especially when he tries to ask Steve out which only leads to a very unexpected confession from Steve.

Excerpt:

Sarah sounds judgemental even through the phone. Sam can hear it, plain as day, even a thousand miles away.

“Let me get this straight, you’re now roommates with Captain America and Bucky Barnes?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers simply.

He feels an odd warmth hit his face. He’s not sure what there is to be embarrassed about. It’s the truth, just pure facts.

“I don’t get it. You couldn’t afford your place anymore?” Sarah asks.

“No, I could. It’s just…” Sam pauses, trying to think of an obvious answer that would explain this all away, but the truth is all that comes to mind. “Look, Steve came back from returning the stones and he asked us to form a team — and to move in together.”

The line stays quiet for a few seconds.

“It makes sense,” Sam jumps back in, not able to handle the silence. “For convenience and I don’t know, maybe Steve just wants to surround himself with friends. He’s been through a lot.”

“We all have,” Sarah agrees somberly.

“So, anyway. We found a nice place. It’s big. Big enough for you and the boys to come visit. We got ourselves four bedrooms,” Sam boasts.

“Alright,” Sarah drawls. Sam can hear the renewed smile in her tone. “Well then, congrats on your new place and on shacking up with two of history’s finest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam laughs, brushing the comment off. “Thanks.”

What Sam doesn’t tell his sister is he’s had eyes for Steve Rogers since the day he met him running around the National Mall.

Steve is handsome, anyone with a history book can tell you that but he’s more than just his looks. Sam gets to work with him firsthand. He’s an honest leader and he’s got this regal way about him. Not to mention the endearing old-fashionedness he still clings to. And obviously, the perfected body of Captain America is something Sam finds himself staring at much too often.

Bucky Barnes on the other hand...

Read on AO3

[kryptid-writes]

Chapter 7 - Secrets Secrets Are No Fun

Coping with the new development of wings, Y/N must hide her secret from the Winchesters, but the veil falls during training when things get heated with Dean.

(2.2k)

TW: This chapter has to do with binding wings that may be viewed as similar to chest binding. If you practice chest binding, please do so safely my friends. <3

Call (1 - 866 - 488 - 7386) or visit TheTrevorProject.org for more resources.

“Disgusting.” I mutter under my breath, gazing at my back, topless in the mirror. 

The little protrusions between my shoulder blades have doubled in size since the morning light just hours ago. Reaching nearly 6 inches in length, they adorn sporadic white feathers with a golden glamor sprouting from the bone. They look frail and weak, like the feathers of a baby bird, but without a doubt, they were undeniably the early stages of wing growth. 

A single tear rolls down my cheek as I'm unable to control the rush of emotions, frustration, sadness, disgust tearing me apart from the inside out. 

This is wrong. This is all so wrong! Why me? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS!

My thoughts run a thousand miles per hour, clattering around in my brain. However, the sound of knocking on the bathroom door quickly pulls me out of my head. 

“Hey, Y/N?” Sam’s sweet muffled voice comes through the other side of the door.

“Yeah, uh, just a minute,” I reply in a panicked tone, picking up my flannel from the floor and wrapping it around my body. Unsurprisingly, the flannel did little to disguise the problem,  the fabric stretching and poking out awkwardly around the appendages. 

Great. The last thing I need right now is the Winchesters to see the freak show that is my newly sprouted wings.

“Dean and I wanna talk to you when you have a minute.”

“Sure thing!” I put on a fake chirpy voice, immediately cringing at how fake it sounds. I can practically feel Sam purse his lips and furrow his brow in reaction to my odd tone on the other side of the door.

“Right,” Sam clears his throat. His footsteps fade in the distance as he walks away. 

I let out a sigh of relief that doesn’t last long as I remember the problem at hand. There must be something in this bathroom I can use to conceal my little problem. I stumble over to the white cabinet on the wall that hangs just above the sink and fling the door open. The cabinet is practically barren with the exception of a half empty bottle of over the counter pain medication and a small plastic container with the words, FIRST AID, scribbled on it in sharpie. 

“Of course.” I say through gritted teeth, swiping the kit and slamming the cabinet shut. The flimsy white plastic cracks open under my touch, the contents spilling on the floor with a clatter. I drop to my knees, paying little mind to the bruise that will likely form from the impact, and rummage through the supplies around me. Gause, scissors, bandaids, needle, thread, and, “Hah!” I proudly exclaim as I grab the medical wrap from the pile.

Pushing myself up onto my feet and in front of the bathroom mirror, I unravel the tape and begin wrapping it around my wings. I struggle as they resist and flutter against the fabric. If they would just hold still, the process would go alot faster, and time is certainly of the essence. I bite my lip, swallowing down the pain from my sensitive wings crunching under the tape, painfully immobilized. After several wraps, I was finally satisfied and tore off the end of the bandage with my teeth, tucking it securely away. Although it wasn’t perfect, they were successfully binded flat against my back.

I pull my flannel back on, buttoning it all the way up and turn to the side to admire my work in the mirror. It’s still rather lumpy in the back, but not very noticeable unless you really squint.

I take a deep breath, regulating my emotions, wiping away the tears, and putting on my best poker face. I exit the bathroom, closing the door behind me with a quiet click.

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

Sam and Dean sit in the library, each lost in their own worlds.

 Sam, lounging in a chair, thumbing through the pages of an old biblical book. 

Dean sits on the table, a leg resting on the arm of Sam's chair as he repeatedly sharpens a long silver blade.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” I ask, grabbing their attention. I fold my hands behind my back, slowly rocking back and forth from the pads to the heels of my feet, trying to calm my nerves.

“Well, we’ve been talking it over and we think it’s best to give you some training. You need to be prepared for what’s to come.” Sam gives a reassuring smile.

“Kick the devil's ass and send him back to his maker,” Dean chuckles, playfully pointing the blade in my direction.

“Oh.” I scratch the back of my neck, conflicted at the idea of assassinating the man I have developed mixed feelings for, but also excited to learn some self defense. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, Sammy here can teach you how to exorcize demons. You can bet your ass there will be dozens guarding Lucifer. And me? I’m gonna teach you how to gank that feathery son of a bitch.” He turns the blade in his hand and plunges it into the wood of the table. It wobbles slightly before falling perfectly still.

“Okay...” Is all I can say as I struggle to process the information. 

I have no problem with exorcizing demons, the less that crawls this earth, the better. But Lucifer? Sure, I hate his guts for completely uprooting my life and turning me into some hybrid angel freak, but do I really want him dead?

The brothers give me an odd look, clearly expecting a different kind of response.

“So, where do we start?” I smile, trying to save the awkward interaction.

“I figure we start with some simple exorcism incantations.” Sam jumps up from his seat, rummaging in his jeans pocket for a folded piece of scrap paper. “This is your study guide.” He hands the slip to me.

I unfold it and written in neat handwriting is a series of Latin words. Beneath each word is the phonetic pronunciation, which is quite helpful considering I don’t know the first thing about reading Latin. I stare at the hefty paragraph, feeling rather intimidated.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna help you,” he reassures me.

I give him a polite nod and a quick smile, trying my best to stow away my doubt.

“Repeat after me, Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” he says, slow and clear, making sure to over pronounce each syllable. 

“Exorcizamu… Exorcizamus te omnis immu… Immundus spiritus,” I repeat, butchering almost every word. I stare at the paper, replaying each word over and over in my head til it sticks. “ Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” I say with confidence, smiling at my correct pronunciation.

“Excellent!” He smiles, squeezing my arm with pride.

For nearly 2 hours, Sam and I read through the incantation over a dozen times until I have the pronunciation of every word down to a T. Although my brain feels fried, I can’t help but glow with pride at my improvement and Sam's relentless praises.

“Alright, I think you deserve a break for today, but I want you to practice this as much as you can. This is very important,” Sam says, clasping his hands together.

“You got it big guy,” I reply playfully.

 He gives me a disapproving look at the nickname, but smiles as he turns his head and walks away.

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

“Alright sweetheart, you ready for some real training?” Dean says gleefully, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Born ready,” I reply with a grin, looking around the training room he had led me to.

 The walls and floor are covered in thick black padding, the fabric worn and torn in certain places. Scattered throughout the room are half a dozen training dummies, many of them riddled with stab wounds and bullet holes. An array of weights and weapons are displayed along benches and tables in an orderly fashion.

He picks up the largest blade from the table and strolls over til he’s about a foot from in front of me. 

“This here is an angel blade.” He turns the long dagger in his hands, the light dazzling off the reflective metal. “This is the only thing that can kill an angel.” He looks me in the eyes, very serious this time.

My eyes fall from his to the angel blade in his calloused hands. Anxiety and doubt plague my mind, but I swallow down my emotions and nod in understanding.

He flips the blade with ease, passing it to me with the handle end exposed. 

I take it from his grasp, the metal still warm from his body heat. It feels heavy and powerful in my hand. I’ve carried a pocket knife with me for years in self defense, having only had to use it once when some drunk guy at a bar followed me to my car, but nothing compared to a weapon like this. 

He steps behind me and wraps his hand around mine, moving my fingers to the correct placement. “Your grip on the handle is very important.” He gives my hand a light squeeze. “These fingers need to be wrapped around one side of the handle and your thumb should be pressed against the other side,” he explains. “Grip it tight.”

I do as I'm told, feeling my grip strengthen, pleasantly surprised at the difference.

“Good,” he praises. 

I can feel his warm breath on my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. He guides me to the dummy in front of us, stopping when we're all but 6 inches away.

“Now, I’m gonna teach you how to wield it, okay?” He says in a deep voice. 

“Yes, Dean,” I reply in a hushed tone. Butterflies flutter around my stomach.

He steps closer, til he’s barely an inch behind me. He wraps his warm hands around mine and I can’t help but close my eyes and relish the feeling.

“Okay, you’re gonna bring your arm back to your side, bending the elbow,” he says, pulling my arm back. 

We stay there for a minute, just savoring the moment. The tension in the room is thick, but far from unpleasant.

“Now you’re gonna use the momentum of your body to push it forward.” 

Following his directions, I force the blade forward in one swift movement.

“Straighten your elbow sweetheart,” he purrs in my ear. 

I briefly close my eyes, trying to fight the heat rising in my body, and do as he says. The sound of the blade cutting through the air breaks the silence.

“Good job,” he praises. “Okay, when you’re attacking, you’re going to want to aim right here.” He points his finger to a spot on the dummy just below the sternum, where the vital organs are most exposed.

I nod, focusing on each of his words. 

He guides my hand back, then up, just as we practiced, plunging the blade right under the rib cage until it’s buried deep inside. 

I can’t hold back the gasp that falls from my lips.

“Good, very good!” He spins me around to face him. “See you’re a natural,” he chuckles. “A little more practice with me and you’ll be a pro,” Dean winks.

“What can I say? I learn from the best.” I blush with a smile.

He thoughtfully tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes flicking back and forth between my own adoring eyes and my lips.

 I can’t help but return his interest. 

He leans in close, pressing his forehead to mine. 

My heart swells, as my pulse quickens. I hold my breath, waiting for his next move.

He leans in and ever so slightly presses his lips to mine, silently asking for my permission.

I close my eyes and lean in, claiming his lips with mine. 

Our lips move together in harmony like they are made for eachother. The kiss is soft and loving, as if we are just testing the waters, and my god it just feels so right. 

I sigh with content into his mouth as he places his hand on the small of my back, pulling our bodies together. I feel lost in the moment, wishing it would never end as his hands slowly travel up further until it reaches my bandaged wings poorly disguised under my flannel. 

He pulls back slightly, now looking at me with a mix of confusion and concern.

My eyes shoot open and my breath hitches in my throat as I realize what’s happening. The euphoric high of finally kissing Dean fades and the horror of his discovery, sits in my stomach like a ball of lead.

“Wha-,” he starts to ask.

Before he can utter the word, I forcefully push him away and rush out of the room. The world becomes muddy as my eyes blur with hot tears. I run and run until I reach my quarters and throw myself into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I toss the angel blade aside, not even registering the loud clatter of metal meeting tiles and sink to the ground, pulling my knees into my chest, not even bothering to fight the sobs that rack my body.

Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

[nc-vb]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐧

pairings -> suguru getou x reader

warnings -> sfw, fem bodied reader w fem pronouns used; mentions of alcohol consumption; main character death; talks of death, depictions of depress & grieving, etc.; non-sexual nudity; satoru x reader if you squint

wc -> 5.8k

notes -> this was repurposed into a reader fic, but if i've missed anything, please let me know. enjoy, and uhhh, here's some tissues...

Death is strange.

As a Jujutsu Sorcerer, you don’t tend to think too hard when it comes to it. Curses aren’t human, after all. They’re barely even ghosts. The only thing human about them is that they’re born from the negative emotions of them. It isn’t like it’s murder. It’s an exorcism.

But it’s when those Curses begin to involve humans that it becomes something ambivalent.

There’s a little less than two gallons of blood within the average human body, and a few over two hundred bones. Sixty thousand miles of blood vessels, six hundred muscles, nearly eighty organs, thirty-two teeth, ten fingers, ten toes— humans are so, so fragile. They die so easily, and even easier if someone or something else happens to be the cause. In their own hands, hesitation at least exists, if just for a moment.

But death caused by a Cursed Spirit is messy. It’s tactless. It’s instinct. Because suddenly there’s human remains everywhere, and now someone has to clean it up. So isn’t it ironic that even though they’ve been “blessed” with higher intelligence, it’s still just mindless killing?

Suguru used to stand above the scenes where this thoughtlessness took place. The body, or sometimes, bodies, had already been recovered, so at least he didn’t have to see them. Most of the time, anyhow. Like staring at a black dot in front of a white background at one of Tokyo’s libraries’ computer labs, and then looking away— the unfortunate times that one of his missions either began or ended with some human dying also ended up with the image of their bodies imprinted behind his eyelids.

For a while, he’d been lucky not to be forced into those chance opportunities too often. But even if only once, it’s one time too many. It’s usually just the investigation, maybe a little “cleanup” if that Cursed Spirit decided to stick around.

Death is strange.

And maybe for the longest time, him not “thinking much about death” was the problem. It’s why it built up like some bomb, finally exploding from within the blood vessels buried beneath his flesh by the end of his second year. It’s why it drove him away from any semblance of a peaceful rationality.

Did Cursed Spirits consider their own deaths? Those with enough of a consciousness did, perhaps, though it wasn’t for a fear of death, itself. Most definitely, they feared powerlessness; Suguru remembers like a recent memory, the amount of Curses who’d scramble to escape him and his power, because they hadn’t been able to face him, because they faced the same mortality they shared with the humans they’d been borne from.

Death is strange.

And it’s odd that he can’t find himself as angry as he thought he would. Shouldn’t he be angry that his plans were never fully fleshed out? Or angry that he’d never gotten his hands on that Special Grade Curse he’d desired? Or angry that he never got the chance to—

As much as a wraith like him can, Suguru freezes. The space around him feels ambiguously full, and yet, he perceives nothing through his eyes. The space is empty, and he free floats within it, eyes open and processing absolutely nothing and everything at once. It’s frustrating not being able to use any of his five senses, nor even detect Cursed energy. Such a loss of control, a loss of power, he’d only experienced it once or twice, and only back when he was still a child. It’d been different. He’d held so much in the palms of his hands, and now, quite literally, he has nothing. All around him— nothing.

The flesh behind his ear suddenly aches. In the nothingness, Suguru jolts, limbs swimming through a peerless black sea. Were his senses returning to him? It wasn’t a painful sensation, but after experiencing a loss of touch, it’d been startlingly foreign.

Raising a hand to where he’d pinpointed the sharp pain, he rubs it, and warmth swims through his fingertips, rippling down through his forearm and past his elbow and into his chest, into his apparently twisting gut and chilled toes. Even without any experience in death, he knows this sensation to be wrong; simply, incorrect. He shouldn’t feel warmth.

Despite the darkness of nothing around him looking to be an infinite space, with his physical sensation returning to him, he learns it’d only been behind his closed eyes, like he’d been asleep. With much difficulty, they flinch a thread’s width open— light from the other side of his skin filters in and sends a pulsing ache through his irises and to the back of his head.

Light? he thinks gratefully, only to wince, suddenly able to “hear” his own thoughts. And so, he tests his voice, too, a murmur escaping past dried lips; the taste of blood follows quickly along, and Suguru grimaces.

The one sensation that has yet to return, the most frustrating of them: his ability to sense Cursed energy. The light around him is mostly white, and blinding enough that Suguru finds his bloodied sleeve curtaining his vision.; it takes time, but eventually, the white fades into familiar scenery. And, if he weren’t already dead, the sight alone would stop his heart.

Death is strange.

Because whether or not the concepts of Heaven and Hell exist in a physical, material sense, it didn’t really matter. Suguru’s first instinct had been to dub that dark, nothing space as Purgatory; whatever gods or higher powers existed, they were busy making a determination on his soul and stuck him there. It didn’t take much to convince him that what scene laid before him was truly of Hell. He’d already been condemned; finally figuring out how to see again was his subconscious acceptance of it.

No, in Hell, there’s a matching living room set, the lacquered coffee table with trash strewn across it; an area rug with crumbs set deep into each space of mesh and yarn; a kitchen with counters full of dirty, moulding dishes, at least a week’s worth; empty liquor bottles; a seven-foot-tall half-decorated plastic pine tree—

Maybe this is my personal Hell, Suguru wonders, head turning slowly to take in the familiarity of the apartment before him. But why is it so familiar?

A choked noise alerts him; Suguru spins one-hundred-and-eighty degree mid-air, feet unable to touch the floor and hovering several inches above it. It’s impossible for him to be winded, but a feeling of trepidation rests heavy atop his lungs. Because this must be his personal Hell— if the grief-shrunken woman were anyone else, he might not have thought so. But it isn’t.

Suguru crouches before you, lips parted and hand outstretched to brush a finger along your cheek— instinct. That’s what it is. His instinct to comfort you begets the truth of his death, and a gasp escapes him when his fingers simply pass through your face.

Calling out your name does nothing, he learns. You suddenly stir, but not for the reason Suguru had hoped. Flexing your fingers, it looks like your arm had gone numb from where it’d been tucked and curled against your chest. He calls for you once more. Nothing.

You let out a soundless breath, and Suguru frowns, desiring nothing more than to hear your voice once more. His teeth grit in sudden determination, and he reaches for you again.

“Get up,” Suguru insists of you. Please. His hand, meant to rouse you as he’d pleaded with a shake to your shoulder, only passes through your bicep; you shiver, and tuck into yourself even further.

This hellish scene makes sense now. The dirty dishes, the garbage everywhere, and even you, sitting before him, with your makeup only partially removed. Black cradles the soft skin beneath your eyes, and even stains the inner corners of them.

They’re open, at least, Suguru thinks, relieved. If he can’t hear you, at least he can look into your eyes.

Even in death, his chest aches. With guilt, with anxiety, with that same frustration from before— he’d accepted defeat so easily, and ended up being put down. Suguru wonders if you know what Satoru did. Knowing him, he wouldn’t have mentioned it.

But Suguru knows you too well. Knew you. With everything that’s gone on, everything that she’s seen in spite of Suguru’s efforts to keep you away from certain truths of the Jujutsu world— you’ve always been a “clever girl”. Even if you don’t have much Cursed energy yourself, even if you can’t see Curses too clearly, the walk of humanity’s ignorance and that of a Jujutsu Sorcerer’s duty is one across a rotting wooden bridge.

You’d insisted. Both he and Satoru knew early on how difficult it would end up being to say no to their friend. You insisted, and so, you learned— perhaps, a little too much. To take in the amount of horror that lay behind a thin, “magical” veil, had been a lot. Once, Suguru thought it a mistake to even bother. But if not you, then who? Who would have been the one to insist on having their arms wrapped around him at nearly all waking moments?

While there’d been an attempt at giving him advice and guidance from those within the Jujutsu community, despite your knowledge of it, you’d yet to experience anything it could throw your way; all along, your Jujutsu Sorcerer friends had done well to ensure that stayed the case— no Curses would touch you, not even a single hair on your body.

And so, as an outsider with an outsider’s perspective, as Suguru began to spiral, you did your damnedest to distract him, to pull him away from the thoughts that filtered into his head. What he would whittle out at you, either absentmindedly or purposefully, quite frankly, frightened you. For humanity’s sake, and, for his.

That was not the Suguru you remember coming to know. Whatever had happened in between your first meeting, and during that escort mission from ten years back of his and Satoru’s, had been enough to send him so askew as to defect from being a simple Jujutsu Sorcerer, and to become a mass murderer. All those thoughts lingered and festered like the curdling inside an abscess until it popped in a most horrifying way.

It… didn’t improve. Ten years had been quick to pass. The contact between you and Suguru and you and Satoru and your other friends made through the college persisted. It’d been difficult not to say anything about the other to them, and you made sure not to let a single word out, no “Suguru said”’s or “Satoru told me”’s whatsoever.

Of course, they knew. They could sense each other’s Cursed energy on you each time. It was a bitter sting, and you, a sweet reminder.

It hurt. For years, it hurt. It hurt when you would, on your bi-annual, month-long visits, spend half of the time with Satoru and those at the college, and the other half with Suguru, minding your steps and your entire being, really, when you’d been under the same roof as his fellow Curse Users (who, if not for the threat of Suguru’s presence, perhaps had half a mind to take care of the “little monkey” that had shown up).

Oh, but the pain, the stress, the fear and the anguish, none of it spent over the past decade, even the past nearly thirty years, could even begin to compare to this. Never to this.

How long had she spent out here? Suguru had been quick to float through the rest of your apartment— some spots remained untouched, while the rest were scathed and scorned by neglect. Upon closer examination, some of those dishes had begun to mold. Your bedroom door was shut, and quite obviously slammed shut by the way the latch piece suddenly overlaps the wooden frame. It hasn’t been budged, not even once, the splinters still in place.

How many days has it been since he’d passed? Suguru recalls the calendar hooked on an up-curved nail next to the desk in your bedroom, and moves to grab the handle, only to sigh when his hand passes through the door entirely. Right.

It’s a strange sensation, to pass through a solid object as a ghost. A ghost? Somehow, it’s even stranger to call himself as such. But he slips in easily; a depressing thought.

Your room is different than how you typically leaves it. The duvet’s been shoved to the foot of the bed as if in a hurry, slippers flung almost six feet from the other; something’s broken near the entrance to your bathroom, where the light had been left on— oh, it’s the toothbrush cup. Something pinches in Suguru’s still heart when he sees his toothbrush lying next to yours.

Suguru suddenly understands why the door had been so aggressively shut from the outside, as if the dozens of photos of the two of you that litter the walls wouldn’t have brought him to a much faster conclusion. Even if he’d noticed how, atop that same skewed duvet, even more photos sat, these ones framed behind glass, some shattered and some having survived being thrown there. The disarray and discord shut tight behind the broken door, out of sight and barely out of mind, was to put him out of your mind. His death out of your mind.

The twenty-fifth of December has been circled almost too enthusiastically, by several circles of red and green; even a couple of glossy, gold adhesive stars had been place around the date. Christmas. As opposed to its box, that of the twenty-fourth, and the rest of the last week of the month, every other day had been crossed out, already lived through. The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons was set for the twenty-fourth, the same date Suguru had been bested by a fifteen-year-old; the same date Satoru ended his life.

Anguished, Suguru is quick to shift back into the hallway, thoughts racing while he raced back to you. You haven’t budged in your settee, no less a part of the furniture surrounding you. How long had she been sitting there? He feared to learn the answer. Assumedly, you’d only gotten up to use the washroom. Unfortunately, by the state of you, it hadn’t looked like you’d managed to make it into the shower for a couple of days, at least.

So then, it’s been at least that long, Suguru decides, swiping a hand down his face. It curls to the back of his neck to massage away the phantom tension built there.

If he had a say in this, in any of it, you’d be sitting in his lap right now. His arms would be wrapped tight around you, or he’d be smoothing a large hand along your muscles, and your favourite blanket would be draped across your body. He’d be speaking softly, you’d be trying to listen without dissociating.

He wouldn’t be deceased, is his point.

There’s few things Suguru can find himself regretting right now. But you, having to leave you, is his biggest regret.

When your cell phone rings, he startles. The ring itself is loud, but the rattling of the vibration against the coffee table is drilling. He turns to see who’s calling, bent and crouched on his haunches, and finds the screen lit up with a photo of yours’ and Satoru’s faces. He’s pinching your cheek between his thumb and forefinger, expression amused by your challenge where your own fingers had sunken into his thick white hair to pull it from its roots.

The quality of the photo isn’t so perfect— if Suguru had to guess, he’d say it might’ve been taken a good almost ten years ago. They look younger, after all. It isn’t difficult to guess that the photographer of the scene had been Shoko, what with the smoke floating past the lens when the shot was taken. And despite the scene captured, they looked happy. You look happy. Happy enough. A stark contrast to your currently sunken visage.

Either way, seeing it irks him.

You barely look to your phone long enough to register the name on the screen; your blurred, untrained gaze only allows you to see that someone is calling, and leaves it at that. The calling screen fades to your locked screen’s screensaver, and it’s a rather flattering photo of Suguru, himself, despite being one taken candidly. He remembers he’d lightly scolded you for it, and insisted that you take one of the both of them. Suguru’s sneaking suspicion now is that you’d set that photo as your home screen, instead.

It’s only a moment or two later than it begins to rings once again— Satoru, of course.

The noise you make is choked. It’s a mixture of frustration and detest, but you make it, all the way up until you reach through Suguru and grabs it. There’s a moment of hesitation, but you press the button to answer, lifts the phone to your ear, and listens, wordless.

Suguru rises onto a single knee and shifts closer to eavesdrop. Mostly, it’s Satoru speaking. This is the first time in the six days since the event that you’d answered your phone, apparently, meaning that the current date must be the thirtieth, or the thirty-first. He asks if you’d eaten, if you’d bathed, if you’d called any of your family back home (since you hadn’t contacted anyone from the school). He asks why you won’t speak, why you won’t answer his questions. There’s a gentle four-tone knock at the door that pairs with the four sharp sounds that echo from Satoru’s side of the line, and you flinch— somehow, Suguru’s finds relief in your reaction.

His voice calls opposite the front door, and the phone. “Open up.”

You stir, but not enough to satisfy Suguru.

Both he and Satoru chorus your name. He swallows, and watches your expression shift between the phone and the door with a trembling lip. More frustration? Or is she about to cry?

“Go open the door,” Suguru pleads. “Let him help you. Please.”

He reaches for you again, for the hand gripping your phone, and suddenly, you jolt with a gasp, drawing your hand into your chest, tired eyes widened—

“Are you okay?” Satoru calls.

The phone slips through your fingers, sliding off your lap when you go to catch it, only for it to clatter onto the floor.

With a frantic shout of your name, the door suddenly bursts open, making both you and the incorporeal, non-physical man next to you, jump. In the doorway, Satoru huffs, clearly anxious by the downturned lilt of his lips. He’s quick to slip out of his shoes, minding the bags ruffling in his hands when he moves toward the kitchen, pausing to take in the sight of it through the wrappings over his eyes, and whatever words he’d been about to say, dies in his throat at the look on your face.

It’s akin to lividity; your feelings have only been strangling you since hearing Satoru’s voice. Rage fuels your adrenaline. The tears streaming down your flushed cheeks do not accompany the sound of your grief, and instead, drowns it. You’d been avoiding Satoru on purpose; this, of course, neither he nor Suguru knew, and Satoru only thought you were avoiding everyone.

The gangly man crosses into the living room in only few steps. You bristle like a cat, your shoulders rising and arms wrapping around yourself as if shying and shielding away from Satoru. He pauses once more, lips parting as if to speak, but they firmly shut a moment later.

Instead, he sets the bags down — some are filled with easy-made non-perishables, and the others, pre-made bentos and a bag of melon pan — and moves toward the bathroom with a broom in hand. The sound of rushing water fills the apartment, accompanied by the clattering of porcelain into the dustbin. Suguru watches from afar as Satoru then begins his search for a towel and a facecloth, finding it in the hallway cupboard just a door down, and sets them on the counter next to the sink before moving back into the living room. In an attempt to regale you, he tears the blanket covering up to your knees away, draping it across the back of the cushion, but it only worsens your fury.

Suguru presses his chin into his palm, floating midair a few feet away to watch the scene unfold. He should know better than to do something that stupid.

Your attempt at keeping out of Satoru’s hold quickly and easily fails. Once the blanket came off, you’d been an easy target, all four limbs exposed and easy to seize, thanks to your lethargy. His movements are simple, but quick— he’s got an arm around your waist like you weigh nothing, keeping you dangling by your middle on his way back to the washroom. Depositing you on the closed toilet seat, he then crosses his arms.

Nose upturned and crinkled, he regards you from up high. “You stink.”

You stare at him, gaze lidded by fatigue. It doesn’t take you long to realize what he’s just said— nor would you have to speak the same language to understand it. The look on his face says it all, anyway. You smell.

Six days since you’ve left the house, six days since you’ve showered, six days since you’ve eaten anything remotely healthy, if anything at all. The past week’s been such a blur, you can’t even remember when you’d brushed your teeth last, though a quick swipe of your tongue across them becomes an easy tell.

The morning of the twenty-fifth was quite possibly the most terrible day of your life. Not only were you told that Suguru passed away, you had to hear it twice— first from Satoru. Then, from Nanako and Mimiko. You’d only wished the whiplash their very different reactions gave you had been enough to numb your mind, but you felt everything. It wasn’t until you’d been alone in your apartment again, phone battery dead, that you’d been able to register what they’d said.

“He’s gone.” “Master Geto is dead!”

You don’t remember charging your phone. You don’t remember using the bathroom, let alone getting up off of that couch on your own. Sensations only came rushing back midway through this last phone call with Satoru, and then hit you with full-force, as he’d done with your front door. Now, you find yourself in front of your bathroom mirror, regarding your emaciated self, the only thing likely ingested besides alcohol being the bit of water you’d forced yourself to drink each day, but you hadn’t touched any food.

Hand over your abdomen, you wait a moment to tell if it feels properly empty enough to stomach a few bites. Maybe. For now, you’ll brush your teeth until the coating disappears from them, and take care of any matts in your hair. You’ll strip out of the clothing you’d last put on since slamming your bedroom door shut, and avoid Satoru’s gaze amidst all of this until you begin tugging off your flannel pajamas, where he shuts the door behind you.

Sparing Satoru a glance as he passes, Suguru pokes his head through the bathroom door. In spite of your obvious beauty, the longing that he stares at you with is one being the simple desire to stand beside you. To be the one to help undo a particularly nasty knot of hair found at the back of your hair, to have even drawn the bath for you himself and to help you lower yourself down into the water and to sit tub-side to keep you company. Seeing you in such a state has distracted him from the frustrations of not seeing his plans to fruition; that’d stopped being important from the moment he recognized your apartment.

You don’t move once you’ve lowered yourself into the bathtub. Head tilted back, your legs extend as far as the length of the tub allows for, and you shut your eyes. The heaving breath you take through your nose is held for a few extra moments until you release it with a cough and a massage to your throat.

Suguru’s gut twists when you’d yet to turn off the water, and he sticks his head out the bathroom door to find Satoru sat on the floor with his back against it, face pressed into his palms.

“Seeing you like this…” It shocks the man to hear him suddenly chuckle. “And yet I still can’t bring myself to curse you, Suguru,” he murmurs.

When Satoru still hears the bath running after it being few minutes later, he’s glad he doesn’t find himself having to break another one of your doors, and manages to turn off the faucet a few centimetres before it would overflow.

He calls for you again, eyes trained away from you. In your ears, the sound is dull. You opens your eyes, staring at where the bottoms of your feet press up against the end of the tub. “Can you sit up?”

With a little help, you do, Satoru having sat himself down on the toilet lid to push you into a ninety-degree angle. Finding yourself uncomfortable with the position, you gather your legs into your chest and rests your chin on your knees.

Satoru doesn’t ask for permission when he begins sudsing up your hair with vanilla-scented shampoo. At the rate of things, he’d easily suspected not getting a proper response from you, anyway. You’d be in here all night if he hadn’t decided to intervene.

Your feelings are still fresh. It hasn’t been a full week yet, not that there’s a limit on how long one is supposed to grieve. The last thing he wants to do is impose when it’s quite obvious that his presence isn’t entirely welcome. Deep in your subconscious, you know he knows you know that him being here might be the only thing to keep you out of the hole you’re unwittingly digging yourself into. If not him, then maybe Shoko or Nanamin— at the very least, someone would be here.

And certainly, it would’ve been more appropriate for Shoko to do this, to be helping you to bathe, but her time isn’t her own, nor are her hands. Even now, she’s still tending to the wounded. And with Nanamin assisting with the clean up out there, it’d only made sense for Satoru to be the next person to check up on you— it made more sense, considering whose hand it was that turned the restless tides into a tsunami.

Carefully, Satoru cradles the back of your head and carries it into the water, only up to your hairline, and begins to rinse. The process gets repeated for your conditioner, but when it comes time to soap up the face cloth, his body seems to stutter. Mostly dissociated, you still sense the change in Satoru’s rhythm. Glancing slightly over your shoulder, you note the cloth in his hand.

The relief that floods him is overwhelming when you raise your arm to stick your hand out for it. Suddenly a little more self-conscious of your position, Satoru averts his eyes, swivelling himself to face the opposite direction of the bath. Probably the first time in days, if he can recall correctly, but the smile that appears on him is genuine. The relief is knowing his friend still has the will to go on.

You finish quickly. When Satoru asks if you’d want to stay in the bath a little longer, maybe make it into a bubble bath, you supply him with the smallest of shakes of your head.

The water was warm. The soap smelled nice. The sound of rushing water, pleasing. Even hearing Satoru’s voice, despite your obvious reservations, soothes and mends one of the many cracks in your heart. A large part of you had been content to grieve into your couch for a long while more, even with Satoru breaking your door down.

How much… did you know? You became aware of Suguru’s plan thanks to the twins blurting it out, and spent the entirety of the twenty-fourth spun into a panic, no updates, no word from the girls, from Suguru, nothing, until Christmas Day. The build-up, the lack of contact, knowing how dangerous Suguru’s plan would be and what it could result in, even with the little knowledge you had on the Jujutsu world, learning that his plan failed, learned that Suguru was killed, it was just too much, too much, too much, too much—

The water around you sloshes violently against the sides of the tub, spilling over the sides and soaking Satoru’s pant leg. He jerks in place, quick to grab your biceps to keep you from slipping any further.

“Don’t touch me!” you suddenly spit at him, angrily twisting and contorting yourself to get out of his grip. He barely flinches — he’d expected it eventually, anyhow — and pulls you upright onto your feet. Suguru, however, is quick to float between them, instinct carrying his will to intervene.

“You’ll fall,” both he, and Suguru with his hand outstretched, tell you. A large stone settles in his throat when you shudder, his fingertips having already passed through your flesh when he’d caught himself, and he retracts his translucent hand away from her.

This is the second time she’s reacted to me like that, Suguru notes with a frown. He backs away into the corner of the bathroom, floating cross-legged over the sink, and watches as your struggling dies down into protestant whining and trembling. Sorry. I’m sorry.

Satoru waits until you’re calm and still enough before he starts helping dry you with a fluffy green towel, ruffling the ends of your hair and patting down your body with the least amount of jostling, before wrapping it snugly around you. Once more, he sits you on the toilet lid and begins combing tending to your hair. When he’s finished, you surprise him by taking the comb from his hands, to fiddle with the thin, plastic teeth of it on the pads of your fingers, gaze seemingly locked onto the repeated gesture.

Tone hushed, gentle, he speaks your name. You sniffle.

“I… really loved doing his hair,” you whisper. You lowers the comb. “He had… the softest hair.”

Satoru chuckles, and gently takes the comb away from you to return it to the drawer.

“Remember when it was short, that one time?” he asks. You adjust the tightness of the towel wrapped over your chest, nodding.

“I told him I’d never forgive him for letting it get cut off like that,” you answer. “Even… if it wasn’t his fault… I’m glad it grew back.”

“Mhm.” He steps away from you to squeeze a line of toothpaste on your brush before handing it to you. “Here.”

You hum, a dry, single toned note that expresses your disinterest, but you take it from him anyway, and wet the head of it under the tap.

It would be easy for Suguru to deny it, to look at your situation and see you to remain as lost as you’d looked when he’d first appeared in your apartment— he hadn’t been wrong to fear the worst and assume you might not be able to pull yourself out of it, but he had been incorrect to not think that the others wouldn’t try their hardest to keep you out of it, themselves. Knowing Satoru, well, he probably decided he owes it to you. Not just because they’re friends, either.

He doesn’t lead you toward your bed once you’re finally finished, figuring that you seeing all those photos still laying there wouldn’t do you much good, and instead guides you to the larger of your two couches, sitting you down once more and propping your back against a couple of throw pillows.

“I’m going to make you food, okay?” he tells you. The promise of it clearly comes with the fact that he’d have to wash your dishes first, but he doesn’t bother to tell you the obvious. Despite his speediness, you manage to fall asleep in record time, slumped into the back of the couch cushion and the pillows and snoring softly.

Suguru leans away from you, floating upward from where he’d been kneeling at your side. He could, very easily, watch you sleep for hours, has watched you sleep for hours. But the more his conscious and subconscious intermingled with each other, the more the notion of your eventual recovery had turned fact. You would move on. Eventually. More than anyone, Suguru could understand how healing takes time; he’d experienced it for himself, seen it happen for Mimiko and Nanako, and for his allies. You would have help, have your friends with you to help you mend.

“Satoru.” The white haired man lowers a freshly washed ceramic bowl into the dish rack right of the sink. Eyes trained on a bead of water sliding down the neck of the tap, he finally sighs when it drops back into the sink, and braces himself against the counter with his forearms. “Satoru.”

“Suguru.” He flinches. “I’ll take care of her.”

Despite already floating, Suguru suddenly feels much lighter; his body already so translucent, he watches his hands start to fade with his acceptance. You would be alright. You’d survive this. You won’t be alone.

And, dead or alive, he would always be with you.

© nc-vb 2023 please don’t repost! reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

[celenawrites]

in between

Summary -

You talk with Gaz after a rough mission.

Note -

Reader's callsign is Artemis and Gaz calls reader 'Artie' affectionately.

No pronouns used so far. (unless my sleepy self missed any, for that I apologize. But I usually write for female or femme presenting readers.)

Reader is written as POC, although I haven't mentioned any racial features except maybe one mention of their skin color.

Gaz and Artemis are like more than best friends but not a couple per se? If my brain can keep up, I might work out a mini-series out of this, who knows.

Also, I HC that Gaz is a mama's boy and has a younger sister named Bianca, who he's like very close to. This headcanon is so dear to my heart (T_T)

I wish I could be more prosy, more poetic with this piece cuz that's what Gaz deserves. But it's already late at night and I need to sleep before I go out with my friends so this'll do (until I get fed up and re-write this a year from now lmaooo).

I was going to leave this untitled but AO3 needs a title in order for me to publish this so I guess...this oneshot is called 'in between' ig? bon appetite y'all

word count - 1.9k

AO3 Version

You can see he’s thinking again. 

The bar is filled with only a few patrons. Price is quietly nursing his whiskey on the one end of the bar table as he quietly talks into the phone(probably talking to Laswell) and observes his subordinates - namely Soap and Ghost engage in a captivating game of billiards. As far as you can observe, Soap is too impatient and Ghost is taking advantage of his restlessness and leading the score. Gaz sits beside you, one of his warm, deft hands nursing his own glass of bourbon and yet, his eyes show that he’s a thousand miles away from you, somewhere you cannot reach him. 

You want to be where he is. 

Your thigh touches his, gentle and unassuming and you let him warm you up. The team needed a pick-me-up after the brutal mission and what better way to loosen up than to drink the night away? 

But you can tell that even drinking heavy or watching Soap bicker with the usually dry Lieutenant about pool will not be enough for your Sergeant to forget all that had transpired this past week. You don’t blame him for it. 

The mission is all you can think about. 

It was pretty smooth-sailing - you got trustworthy intel, thanks to Laswell and so you planned an ambush to get a weapon cache, and trace an infamous cartel leader deep in Russia, hiding with his lackeys in bumfuck nowhere. And then things went south halfway through extraction, forcing you to barely get hold of the cache before you made a run for it - which led to you taking a bullet to the thigh while you covered Kyle and Price from roaming hostiles who spotted all of you because of a small error on your Gaz’s part. 

Luckily the bullet had just grazed you, and Ghost helped you patch up with the first aid kit they kept in the helicopter. Throughout it all, Garrick had his eyes downcast as he barely spoke while you rode away back to base. After landing, Price took a meeting and dismissed you just as fast, ordering you to go get your leg checked at the infirmary. Gaz followed you to the doctors - barely speaking despite your attempts at lighting up his sour mood. The moment you sit down on the cold bed and allow the nurse to take a look at your injury, you see the quiet man abandon you in the medical bay - but not before your eyes meet his, full of sorrow and remorse and a hint of something indecipherable. 

You know what guilt does to a man. 

The silence is killing you now. 

Sure, Soap is possibly the most outgoing out of your lot, and sometimes you’re even surprised at how your Lieutenant can make you choke on your own breath by making you laugh at his terrible jokes; and yes, Price and his odd way of comforting you works too. But all you want this instant is for your best friend to look at you like he always does (eyes brimming with mirth and warmth - so much so that you can get drunk off of it alone), you want to hear what he has to say about the faux rivalry between Soap and Ghost, you want him to ask Price to join you as he orders you another fruity mocktail because you’re the DD of the night (there’s a rotation set for it and it’s your turn now), you want him to drag your chair close and feel his body press to your side closer still as he talks about how his mother is, or what his sister is up to - you miss them, you really do. 

(He was nice enough to take you to them off-duty once and his mother apparently approved of you for her son, which you consider to be honor of the highest degree, especially from your best friend’s only guardian no less. His sister had been accepting too, roping you in to stay for the night and you all ended up having a self-care night - watching movies in nothing but soft robes, face masks and eating hot cheetos while Bianca did your nails and Gaz laid with his head in your lap, your free hand softly massaging his curls. And you all looked the epitome of domesticity )

“Penny for your thoughts?” you nudge him with your elbow that was previously resting on the table, and you break whatever reverie he might’ve been immersed in for the majority of the night. You’re tired and you want your Kyle back. 

You almost laugh at yourself, as you remember an old memory back from when you were new to the team and were not used to the British currency at all. You want to recall that memory to Gaz and watch him laugh, see his eyes crease into little moons that take away your breath every single time(you can never get used to the sight, never get used to him), hear the soft chuckle as he points out how silly it was for you to not know how pounds work. You’d rack your brain, settling for a half-hearted jab at him about him being British as you both laugh the night away, maybe joining your teammates for a round or two at the pool table. 

But you know now is not the time for that. 

You watch him intently, watch his brows furrow up as he closes in on himself, giving you barely a chance to penetrate his walls without setting off his defenses. You playfully shove at his shoulder, drawing his attention to you instead of whatever train of thought is running incessantly in his head. 

“It’s all cool, man”, you say and you cringe at yourself internally. You have never been good at comforting others - you rough-house, you use sharp words and sharper knives, given your field of work. You have never been blessed with someone treating you with a kindness you know you’re wholly unworthy of. So you have no idea how to deal with someone like him. 

He looks at you before his gaze flutters around your vicinity, dark pupils looking black under the dim yellow lights and his skin golden under the overhead bulbs (his skin against yours casts a nice contrast, despite the differences and the scars and burns - despite everything). You gently clasp his hand in yours, squeezing it in your palm as you look at him, unblinking and intense. He cannot take his eyes off of you even if he wanted to. 

You whisper to him, leaning closely so he can hear you over the jeering of his teammates, the buzzing of patrons and the background droning of the TV as it plays a recording of a football match from last season. 

“It’s not your fault”. 

He swallows a lump in his throat, and you watch as his eyes turn just a tad bit glassy. He’s close but he won’t cry. He never cries, not in public at least. 

He nods, and speaks, his voice throaty and scratchy and still him:

“I know, Artie. I know.”

He squeezes your hand back, the warmth emanating from his deft fingers grounding you as he continues speaking, “I know it’s not my fault. You’ve told me that. Heck, Price has told me the same, and yet…”

He drawls, and you almost lose focus because of how nice he sounds, because it has been a long day and you’re grateful that you can finally talk to your closest companion again, and so you nod in support, allowing him to talk, to cool off. Whatever he needs, you’d give him all in a heartbeat. 

“I know you’re not mad, and you don’t think it’s my fault. And yet, you almost died cuz I was too dumb to check my ‘9 and Lord knows how sorry I am for that”, his voice is thick with remorse and unshed tears as he looks at you earnestly for forgiveness, for redemption. 

But he doesn’t need those.

You shake your head, drawing circles on his wrist with your thumb as you quietly mumble at him, “ ‘s not your fault, Kyle. Moreover, that’s what friends are for. Saving each others’ asses is part of the job, and I’m too attached to yours to stop saving you now”. 

Your other hand cups his cheek gently, wiping away at his eyes and you watch enamored as he blinks away a few small, stray tears and your thumb gently swipes them away without a question. 

“So you like my ass, huh? That it, Artemis?” he jokes, and you can just softly laugh as you ruffle his head, his soft curls askew due to you playing with his hair gently.

You hum contently, turning your attention to your already empty glass, before looking back at your teammate expectantly. 

“Also, who would buy me fruity, expensive drinks when I can’t have a lick of alcohol?” you jest, slowly pulling away from him as you sit and face the bar instead of him, failing to notice how he almost chases after your touch. 

“Is that all I am to you, Artie? A means to an end? Someone who can get you freebies?” he laughs breathily, asking the bartender for a refill for you as he recovers from the withdrawals he feels at the lack of your gentle, familiar touch. 

“Well it’s either pampering me, or dealing with Ghost behind the steering wheel” you both wince slightly at that, remembering the few times you have both survived Ghost and his impeccable driving skills. 

You know that he’s far from over it, the mission is still something he’ll possibly worry about for as long as he can think - but you can see him ease up a little due to your antics. He’ll be alright, you assure yourself as you clink your glass with his, smiling at him as you slowly talk more and he shares all the stuff Bianca has been up to. He shows you the produce his Ma has just harvested from her home garden, and you marvel at how big her home-grown pumpkin is. 

As you laugh and whisper to each other, your eyes travel to the end of the table and you lock eyes with your beloved Captain (now free from his long phone call), as he raises his glass to you and drinks - a small gesture of gratitude for getting his favorite Sergeant out of his head for the night. 

You feel your ears warm up in embarrassment as you try to avoid the keen gaze of your Captain and focus on your friend right now. You think about how much he has observed - the soft, hushed words, the casual touches, the lingering looks of yours that carried love and yearning and something more for Kyle and no one else. You wonder if he’d reprimand you, give you a reminder about being a soldier and how fraternization with your comrades will not end well for you. But he says nothing - he doesn’t get up and chide you, he turns away from you both and instead focuses on Soap and Ghost as they bicker over who won the last round. You’re almost thankful to him for that, as your attention turns back to Kyle (your dearest Kyle, the only thing who keeps you going on days when your job gets too much for your brain to handle) and as he animatedly gushes about his family and talks about how you both need to go back home and try out his Ma’s famous pumpkin pie she’s making this weekend, you can only think about one thing only. 

You would die for this man, easily. 

You wonder if this is how Icarus felt when he was too close to the Sun. Not fear, but endless warmth and safety engulfing him just moments before he fell. 

[fishsinsareacknowledged]

You find a new home and a new friend.

He uses string to communicate. You would know only from the can ringing off it. Its delicate, you don't know how it hasn't fallen off from the winds but you know its been there for a long time. A single tap everyday.

.

You respond one day and it all starts.

It rings almost every hour now. Happy to find a companion, almost frantic but no. Excited clanking. You make sure you tap back when he gives you time to reply. You don't know what he's trying to tell you other than emotions.

Theres no patterns, no words. Just. Tapping.

..

..

The string bounces on poles. You're afraid of its vulnerability to the storm and weather. If there was any left. It's all wind now.

He tells you about his day sometimes. Its the first thing he would do. Timing his frequency just right to convey an emotion. Sad almost melaconic tapping for a bad day.

It snaps one day. Its time for you to visit.

.

You pull lightly on the string, using it to guide you even in the darkness of the night. Through the grass you can't never find the cut in reality like string. Its not glowing but it doesn't take in light either. Pure absence of color.

.

The scenery changes as you walk. Thousands of miles away from where you started. You take your time. You pray your companion is patient.

From grasslands you find trees. Devoid of life like everything else yet its odd. When was rain ever in this desolate world?

You miss your house but its too late to go back.

.

.

The string pulls back and you see it in the distance. A lake.

A large large lake. Theres life in the water.

You haven't seen flowers in ages.

If not ever.

You can't even see where the string goes, its gone underwater but it urges you as he pulls again and again.

.

.

.

.

.

You lose the end of the string, the can clanking loudly behind you. Its far too close for thousands of miles away and you have barely a moment to react before the whiplash tries to hip you, a slice of rust against your cheek.

You can't even see where it's gone. A lead lost.

Your only source of sanity gone.

And so you wander the lake.

You haven't tasted unpackaged water in ages. The plastic taste grew on you until you took in fresh unfiltered water. It was full of soul unlike the sanitized liquid you've been consuming.

He isn't with you anymore but its like you can still hear it.

Theres nothing there but.

Theres. Theres nothing there.

Its right there. In the water.

He was the water? No. In.

Has the water always looked stringy?