#and when i finally got them off i realized that the graphics from the bag basically got screenprinted onto the glass stovetop from the heat

[daandori]

i am so not looking forward to my birthday bc my life is kind of pathetic and it will just remind me of how little ive accomplished and how bleak my prospects look. but at least sweet potatoes will be in season :’)

[luludeluluramblings]

tbh I’m more intrigued by the idea of college-age Reader getting pregnant while unmarried still living in the manor and NO ONE has any idea who the father is (maybe she does, but she’s withholding that for now or maybe he’s not in the picture?) and it’s the biggest freak out ever. that just seems so fucking wild and potentially hilarious to me. and nobody noticing she’s pregnant until she’s farther along? or them finding out randomly?? imagine:

damian: you look pregnant. what is wrong with you.

reader: i am pregnant though

the batfam: ????????!!!!!!!!!! and then she proposes that now that she’s old enough and starting a new chapter in her life raising a baby and all she should just move out! (cue everyone disliked that meme)

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Okay, I think I'm about to become a Pregnancy!Reader writer. Which, I'm not mad about. Kind think it would be fun, but I know the trope isn't for everyone. So, if it’s not your thing, I’m sorry.

A/N: Some of this is based off of things from my own pregnancies.

A/N: Oh, no. Frick, I wanna make this a series now. Check the bottom, cause I have a plot idea for this and I want opinions on it. I spiraled, this was supposed to be a quick blurb. I got carried away. Gonna build up to the yandere shenanigans because I’m turning into a writer with a million WIPs.

A/N: Tagging @skay-ali because I like their The Forgotten Daughter series.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Very minor Yandere Themes (like barely there), minor NSFW, graphic descriptions of pregnancy and medical procedures, Vomiting.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You don't really remember that night it happened. But, it only happened once and after you swore you'd never drink again. The hangover after that night had been one of the worst of your short life.

In fact, the sticky feeling between your legs and bitter taste on your tongue had also added to your decision to swear of these college parties. Luckily, you have enough of your memory to remember that you and your partner from that night had both been willing even when wasted. Even if you couldn't remember their name. Or, their face.

It takes you a while to notice. One missed cycle wasn't anything to freak out about, and it was exam season. The stress had probably caused the nausea. It wasn't until you were heading down to breakfast one morning and smelled the burnt eggs in the kitchen that Stephanie had burnt that you realized something might be wrong.

You, of course, ignore it. It was just a fluke. Burnt eggs weren't appetizing to anyone. But, then you nearly faint walking through the perfume section after looking to restock your favorite bottle of scent.

The doctor you finally went to another week later had asked about your cycle and the last time you had been intimate with someone. That's when the reality of things started to set in. You hadn't even thought to do an at home test to check. Your doctor was kind though, saying they could just do a quick urine sample and blood test just to make sure. It might be something else.

The next few minutes felt like ages. But, when the Doctor came back to tell you the positive results you panicked. Not as in panicked as in you broke down, but you threw up a mask. You're good at doing that. You must get it from your father.

When she asks you if this is good news or bad news you can't help, but blurt that it's good. Great even. Which causes her to beam at you. Before you know it, you're being handed a complementary diaper bag with formula and tiny bottles while being given the rundown on your possible due date and future appointments. You nodded you're head along with the information, sliding the paper's into the diaper bag as she hands them to you.

But, then she turns to you with delight and tells you that the Ultra Sound tech has an opening and you're just far along enough they can do your first ultrasound. It'll only be a thirty minute wait.

After nodding along once more, you go back into the waiting room. Holding your new bag with white knuckles and falling into deep thought.

This is happening. But, how? Are you even fit to be a parent? You've hardly ever been loved. How are you going to love someone else? How are you going to do this? What will the family think? What will your few friends think? You don't even remember who their father is. This is impossible. You're not ready. You'll never be ready. That churning feeling is in your stomach again and you feel that single piece of toast you had for breakfast about to come back up.

The thirty minutes fly by with those thoughts in your head. They still swirl in your head as your go back into the ultrasound room.

It's dark, but the tech had few soft lights on in the room. Its actually kind of... cozy.

What's not cozy it the tech telling you that she's going to stick a wand up your bits so you could see the baby. Your eyes screwing shut at the cold invasive feeling.

But, when you open them, she turns the screen for you to see. It's almost amazing how fast the image appears on the screen.

And, their moving. Actually moving. You end up laughing at the sight, causing the screen to flicker and the little blob to move. When the nurse plays the heart beat you can feel yours stuttering in your chest.

Watching them bounce in there with each laugh, it’s easy for the next words to spill out of your mouth.

“Oh, I’m gonna love you.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Every step after that feels remarkably less lonely. It’s not just you anymore. You have someone who you’re going to love.

You don’t bother telling the Family. Bruce would just lecture you on being reckless while the other’s would judge you for it.

Honestly, you don’t care if they did. This is your baby.

Funnily enough, for a house full of detectives and highly intelligent vigilantes no one actually notices. Not even Cassandra. It’s a bit insulting how much they don’t pay attention. But, your symptoms soon make it so you don’t care.

The waves of exhaustion, the way everything smells strong and certain things make you want to gag. Heartburn that burns your throat. The subtle cravings that make you cry when you can’t fulfill them. Thankfully you finished your exams because you were too tired to even move from your bed most mornings due to strange nightmares.

Eventually, someone does notice. And, it’s not anyone you would expect.

Of all things you cried over on the pantry floor, it had to be salt and vinegar chips. They hadn’t been what you wanted, but it was too late to go get french fries and a smoothie at this hour in Gotham. And, you stuffed them down your throat with angry tears.

It was Stephanie of all people to find you. You gave her a sharp glare when she seemed to grow wide eyed. Normally you avoid her gaze, but you were quite pissed about having chips in your mouth and not fries. As her eyes grew wider, your nose wrinkled in further annoyance at her.

Just as you’re about to tell her off, she speaks.

“Do you— um, want something else?”

It’s pitiful how fast your snarl turns into a pleading pout.

“Yes, please. I want fries. I want Jokerized fries so badly.” You practically blubber when she gives you a pointed nod towards the car garage.

It takes you a bit to get off the floor despite the fact that your bump is hardly noticeable, but Stephanie noticed the extremely subtle curve.

“How far?” She asks hesitantly, looking from the bump to your face.

You also hesitant for a moment, looking up at her with tears on your cheeks and a serious look in your eyes. “14 Weeks.”

Her eyebrows raise and a wiry pout appears on her face. “Damn. You’re smaller than I was at that time, so not fair.”

The slightly surprised that information gives you almost makes you pause. But, if you had you would’ve probably toppled back down to the pantry floor.

“Explain on the way?” You ask, still a bit nervous. The two of you had never been close since you moved into the manor less than a handful of years back.

“Sure.” She grins, leading the way.

As you both walk, she whispers. “Does Bruce know?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Ah.” Stephanie managed to hide the winces from you.

When you two finally make into the car, you’re already feeling better about life. You’re about to have your fries, and possibly a shake too. You didn’t expect to have any company, but surprisingly it’s nice.

Stephanie drives, and get the fries to go. Munching on them as Stephanie drives you back to the manor. Her sharing her own pregnancy experience.

"Wait, so Tim dated you when you were pregnant with another dudes kid? Babe, forget being me being small, you got game."

"Damn right I do." She says smugly, stuffing her own fries in her mouth. "So, um, do you wanna talk about what happened with you?"

And, just like that your mood shifts.

"No."

"Oh- Oh! I'm sorr-" She starts up, and you can tell she's assuming the worst.

"Don't you start, Stephanie." You interrupt with a pointed glare. "I don't want to talk about it because it's none of y'all's business."

That makes her cough on her french fry. "Wait, wait, what do you mean? Don't you want help?"

"Nah, I got it." Comes your stubborn reply, glaring out the window as you dip your fry into the cheesecake milkshake.

"... You should tell Bruce." She suggest after a moment of awkward silence.

"What? So he can ignore his grandchild, too?" Your filter is none existent with your hormones all out of wack.

"He doesn't ignore you-"

"Oh, yes the fuck he does." Your firmly state. Growing a bit heated. "Y'all all figgin do."

Stephanie is about to roll her eyes, chalking your words to you just being unreasonable. But, then the thought starts to creep upon her with each passing building when she realizes this is the first time she's actually hung out with you. Ever.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs to you. The silence falling over you both as the cars continues back to the manor.

"... I'm only forgiving you because you bought my fries..."

"Really?! That's all I had to do?"

"What? I was desperate for this- Wait! Hang on. Stop the car. Stop the car-"

"What? Why?! Are you- OH! Fuck!"

You ended up regurgitating up all the fries you had just eaten. Right into your lap.

"Oooo, that's nasty." Stephanie says, cracking the windows.

"Is it bad that I still want to eat them?" You mumble to her, eyeing the remaining fries.

"Please, please, wait till we get back or I'm gonna hurl, too."

"Fine." Comes your reply. Your eyes drifting shut for a moment. "If you tell anyone I'm gonna tell Cassandra about your crush on her."

"How did you- Frick, you are more like Bruce then I realize." Her voice going from panic to begrudging realization.

"Now, that's offenseive."

"Oh, come on. You're kids gonna have some of Bruce's DNA too."

"Eww. Eww. Don't remind me."

The banter between you both coming back with ease.

When you make it back to the manor, parting ways for the night. You feel at ease. You may have made have finally made a new friend in all this and gained a pillar of support.

As you shower and finish off your fries, you can't help but think about the apartments you had been looking at. Wondering what Stephanie will thinking of your nursery ideas.

Down in the cave, Stephanie slowly walks down the steps. Realizing this might have just gotten complicated.

"You okay, Steph?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Soooooo, what if, and hear me out, wee add some baby daddy drama to this?

A/N: Please note, I write a Reader that DID NOT grow up with the Bat Family, which means we could have some really really juicy drama here. But, we could just keep the options limited to just close friends of the Bat family.

A/N: What do y'all think? Baby Daddy drama? One of the Bat Boys the Daddy? One of the other vigilantes? Should I do a Baby Daddy poll? I just feel like this is an opportunity.

A/N: Also, Stephanie was a teen mom in some comics from my research. Which I think adds to this and gives her a better chance of bonding with Reader until shit goes down.

[jobean12-blog]

Easy to Fall

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 2.3K

Summary: You and Bucky have been dating for a while but the tension is building and you both feel you’re ready for the next step.

Author’s Note: Love a shy and unsure Bucky! Especially when he finds his way and is just 🫠🤭and special thanks to Sam for his encouragement hehe 😏thank you all for reading! Much love always❤️❤️❤️ thank you lovely Daisy @firefly-graphics for the divider🥰

Warnings: soft sweetness, fluff, fun, flirting, tension, lots of kisses, fingering, some oral (f rec), p in v, smut

“Maybe you should have a drink or somethin’ before she comes over?”

At Sam’s sincere but pointless suggestion Bucky’s eyes lift from his phone and he just stares wide eyed.

“I wish that would help,” he says. “Maybe I should just cancel.”

“Buck,” Sam says, stepping around the kitchen island. “Don’t. You know you’ll kick yourself if you do that. You really like this girl. And it’s not the first time you’re hanging out. Why are you so nervous this time around?”

“That’s exactly it though. I really like this girl…”

Sam’s eyebrows meet his hairline. “And?”

“I’m gonna fuck it up. Things are good…really good and I think we’re ready…”

Bucky’s words trail off and Sam remains silent, expression still unsure.

“Aw Wilson come on,” Bucky says with exasperation.

At Sam’s continued silence Bucky turns spins around and runs a hand through his hair.

“We haven’t…but I think…”

When Bucky turns to face Sam again the realization finally hits. “Oh. OH!” Sam exclaims.

Bucky let’s out a defeated sigh.

Sam waves him off. “You won’t fuck it up. Just relax and have fun. Enjoy each other. Let things happen…organically.”

Now Bucky laughs. “Organically or…?”

“You said it. Not me,” Sam chuckles with his hands up in defense.

After a beat of silence and unspoken camaraderie Bucky smiles.

“She’ll be here in half an hour. Get out.”

“And there’s the Barnes I know!” Sam grins as he grabs his jacket. “Good luck!”

“Want something to drink doll?” Bucky calls out over his shoulder as you take off your shoes and drop your bag to the floor.

“I’ve got beer, water…juice boxes…”

You come up behind him in the kitchen, pressing yourself to his back and looking under his arm into the fridge.

“You have…juice boxes?”

He shrugs, leaning into you, discreetly inhaling a whiff of your scent, and closing his eyes.

“Buck? Juice boxes?”

He blinks, looking back down into the fridge and focusing on the cold air hitting his face.

“I took Mrs. Adams food shopping last night and she always insists on getting me snacks.”

“You have the nicest neighbors! Mrs. Adams is my favorite of the old ladies in your building!”

“We can invite her to our wedding then,” he teases.

You laugh and lean up to kiss his cheek. “One juice box please.”

“She also got me Oreos, ice cream and tried to get me to buy condoms when I told her I had a hot date with you.”

“Does she think you were going to get lucky tonight?”

“She likes me to be prepared,” he says lightly.

“And well stocked on snacks apparently,” you giggle.

He grabs the juice boxes and Oreos and points to the living room.

“Me. You. A scary movie.”

“I barely got through the last one,” you sigh defeatedly.

“But you did,” he says. “And remember, you can hide in my hoodie again.”

“Probably the best idea,” you say.

You sit down next to each other, arms and thighs touching, the feel burning through your clothes.

The crinkle of your straw wrapper crackles in the air and Bucky turns to you, watching as you cheekily puncture the top of the box and slide the straw into the side of your mouth.

“I love fruit punch.”

He keeps watching, his gaze fixated on your lips. Finally, he looks away from your mouth and back to the television.

“I like them all,” he says. “Sugar.”

He starts the movie, and you settle back against the couch cushions, grabbing for an Oreo. The beginning scene lights up the screen and the suspense builds almost immediately. Something jumps out and Bucky flinches and fumbles his Oreo.

“You okay there, Barnes?” you ask with a smirk. “Even I knew that was coming.”

“My mind was occupied. Lost my focus.”

You shake your head and look back at the screen. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably. But I’m not tellin’ ya.”

The movie continues and you inch closer to him until you’re resting under his arm and against his chest. Your face is half hidden in his hoodie and you’ve got a death grip on his wrist, holding it to keep his hand in front of your eyes.

“You could use your own hand you know,” he jokes.

“But yours is so much bigger!” you whine and tense when you hear the creepy music come to a crescendo.

Before anything jumps out in the movie Bucky sneakily moves his free hand toward you then shouts and pokes you in the side.

You scream and jump up.

“OH MY GOD! You did not just do that!!!

He smiles sweetly, eyes bright and full of mischief.

You reach for your empty juice box and hurl it at his face. Your eyes widen when he deftly catches it and throws it right back at you, hitting you squarely in the chest.

A beat of silence and stillness passes before you lunge for him, shoving him back on the couch before lifting a pillow and smacking him in the face with it.

Your unrestrained laughter hits him right in the chest, and he’s unprepared for your assault, cough-laughing through a flurry of your fingers digging down and tickling roughly.

He bucks up beneath you, growing more aware of your precarious arrangement of limbs, and advances toward you on the couch, swatting at your hands, and darting his fingers between your arms to tickle your ribs.

With his other hand he grabs a pillow from behind you and uses it to hit you right in the face. You shove at him hard, sending him right off the couch and onto the floor, where you dive on top of him, pinning him down, wrestling in earnest.

You’re laughing and yelling and one of you knocks the containers of Oreos onto the floor and it crumbles under you leg when he rolls you over to hover above, getting the upper hand.

He finds the place on your waist that, when prodded with a long finger, makes you cry out in hysterics.

His fingers dance up your sides and under your shirt, the feel of your warm skin only egging him on until his fingertips brush the lace edge of your bra.

At the same time, you both seem to realize that he’s over you, lying completely on top of you, situated between your legs with his hand up your shirt and, in unison, you both freeze.

You have two tight fistfuls of his shirt in your hands and your eyes travel the slow path from where his hand is hidden up to his face.

Your breath catches and you let your legs slide up over his hips. Your body gives beneath his and he’s suddenly intensely aware of the soft warmth between your legs and the press of your curves against him.

“Doll?” he murmurs.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth to stop from smiling.

He presses forward, not much but just enough to feel more. Your lips part and you watch a pink blush creep up his neck and onto his cheeks.

“Bucky.”

“Fuck,” he growls, bending and pressing his mouth to your neck as he starts to rock against you.

He nearly comes at the sound you make, soft and restrained.

“Kissing you again is all I could think about since our last date,” he admits as his lips trail along your neck.

“Just kissing?” you ask, nearly breathless.

He smirks and kisses you again. A kiss you feel from the place where you lips meet to the tips of your curling toes.

When he pulls away and sits up you mourn the loss of him, but then he falls back down onto the couch and takes you with him so you’re straddling his lap.

His hand slips between your legs to rub you over your leggings, going slow enough that he can check in with you, his expression soft but his eyes heated.

You tilt your head and brush your lips to his, moaning when he rubs small circles right where you need it.

“I…” he starts, his breathing heavy as he slowly slips his fingers inside your pants.

“Please Bucky.”

It’s all he needs to hear as his fingers stop teasing and dip between your legs, sliding into your panties to where you’re ready and wet.

He takes your hand and holds it over his cock, and rocks into your palm. You can see the shape of him beneath the denim of his jeans, long and pressed against his stomach.

A wave of heat flashes beneath your skin and you grab for the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head. His mouth meets yours and he drags his teeth over your bottom lip.

His fingers push deeper, and you arch into him, his satisfied hiss swallowed by your mouth. Your hands fall to his jeans, and you work open the button and pull down the zipper, reaching in and wrapping your hand around him.

“Oh god.”

He slumps against the back of the couch and watches, his darkened blue eyes dragging from where you’re touching him to where he’s touching you.

His cock is perfect, just like the rest of him.

“Pants off,” you breathe out. “Please.”

You lift up and wait while he shoves them down his thighs. Before you can sit on his lap again he grabs your hips and pins you in place in front of him, hooking his thumbs into the fabric at your waist and slowly peeling it down your legs.

“Fuck baby doll. Look at you.”

Everything in you catches fire when his fingers slide up the inside of your thigh and he sucks in a breath-you’re skin is wet and glistening-and looks at you like you’re a meal and he’s deciding what to eat first.

He makes a guttural sound, and it vibrates down to your bones when his eyes meet yours. His fingers slide over you, dipping inside and teasing. His other hand smooths along the curve of your ass and he pulls you closer, kissing your stomach and then lower, where he licks softly, his nose a soft brush against your skin.

Your hands fall to his hair, and you tug hard, eliciting a moan from the back of his throat. Your stomach begins to tighten, and you whisper his name, giving his head a light push.

“I want to come with you inside me,” you purr.

He licks his lips and reluctantly leans back against the couch, gripping his cock and calling you closer with a crook of finger then guides you over his lap again.

He leans in and tugs off your shirt, kissing along your collarbone and down to your breasts, teasing your nipple with his teeth and moaning around it.

You sink down slowly, and he sits back against the cushions to watch where he’s disappearing inside you.

“Doll.”

You move over him, slowly.

“Fuck you look incredible.”

His hands settle on your waist, gripping softly but strong enough to keep the rhythm. He kisses you like he still can’t believe he’s doing it, and you adjust the position of your knees and you both gasp as you bottom out, your ass coming to rest on his thighs.

“Oh Bucky,” you moan, pressing your face to his neck while you catch your breath.

His palms smooth along the curve of your spine and down to your waist and he presses his fingers into your hips, rocking you faster then slow again.

“I want you in my bed,” he says through a grunt. “I want to spread you out under me. I want to kiss and feel every inch of you.”

He sits up, nips at your neck before sucking gently. You kiss for what feels like forever and your movements narrow into small rocks forward and back, just feeling him inside you. You try to keep it together when he reaches down, and his thumb starts moving in practiced circles over your clit.

Your hands dig into his hair, steering his mouth back to your breasts and watching as he captures your nipple with his tongue. He bares his teeth, sliding them over the sensitive flesh and you cry out, feeling him twitch inside you.

The tightening in your belly builds and he’s watching you, watching the way you move together and the place where your bodies connect. You follow his gaze and look down, the way the muscles in his stomach clench, where the beads of sweat have collected in the dip where his dog tags lay. You circle your hips, and he groans, tightening his grip where he holds you.

“Fuck baby. Do that again.”

You do, moving over him and using the back of the couch for leverage. He throws his head back.

“I’m so…I’m…” he says between gasps of air.

His fingers return to your clit with renewed enthusiasm and with each rock of your hips and each thrust of his the cord around your spine tightens until his name is spilling from your parted lips.

He presses up into you, hard and fast and over and over until he’s coming with a long, helpless groan against your shoulder.

With such softness it steals your breath, he reaches up and cups the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his and whispering, “stay with me tonight.”

[dancingtotuyo]

Part I

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: Tommy gets himself into more trouble than he can get out of.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: US justice system (it don't work, probably bad understanding of how it operates), mention of drugs & weapons, alcohol consumption, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: when I planned this out, I didn’t realize I’d scheduled the first chapter to drop on Pedro’s birthday! So happy birthday to him!

Shout out to @janaispunkfor beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me scream about this endlessly and shaping this world. Finally, @saradika-graphics for sustaining our fic writers with an endless supply of dividers!

Words: 4396

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

You’re asleep, or at least you should be except the phone is ringing and the bed is cold next to you. That’s a bad sign. It always is. 

A small grunt echoes from your gut as bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor. You can’t find the phone before it stops, buried under clothes you haven’t folded, scribbled crayon drawings, and bleary eyes. It starts back almost immediately.

“Tommy?”

“He called me.” Joel’s voice echoes through the line. “It’s bad this time.”

“How bad?”

“He asked for a lawyer.”

You press your palm to your forehead. “Shit!”

“The sitter is on her way to yours. I’m getting Sarah up now. We’ll be there in 10.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Of course. See you soon.”  Joel hangs up. 

You roam through the laundry basket for a clean pair of jeans and an acceptable t-shirt. You run a toothbrush through your mouth to freshen your breath. You do your best to push back all the possibilities running through your brain. 

You crack open the door to Nathaniel’s room. Your two-year-old son sleeps tightly, his mop of black curls spread out on the pillow. You want to run your hand through his curls and kiss his cheek, but he’s the world’s lightest sleeper, just like his daddy. 

The sitter is there 5 minutes later, all too familiar with this routine for your liking. Joel ushers in a bleary-eyed minutes later. He tucks her into the spare room bed. Sarah doesn’t ask questions. She’s asleep before he can kiss her head.

You move like the well-oiled machine that you are. He grabs your purse, ensuring the checkbook is there while you say a few words to the sitter. Joel hands you the small black bag and a light jacket.

Doors open before you and close without you touching them. You and Joel are riding down the highway. The windows are cracked, the breeze playing through your hair as street lights play off the windows, growing bigger and brighter as your eyes fill with tears. You chew on your thumb as the thoughts finally begin to take over.  

You’ve felt Tommy slipping these past few months. You’ve tried to ignore it, excuse it. He’s had a hard time adjusting. This is hardly the first time he’s been in jail. It feels like a weekly occurrence at this point, but he’s never needed a lawyer. He’s never been held longer than overnight. 

“Did he say what they got him for?”

“No… he asked me to come alone.”

“Fucking hell.” You run a hand over your face. Tommy’s antics are aging you prematurely. 

“He’s going to be okay.”

“Says who?” You snap. “We’ve been doing this dance for months, Joel! I know he’s having a hard time adjusting, but maybe we’ve been giving him too much room.”

Joel sighs, letting silence fall over the truck cabin. His blinker clicks as you turn into the familiar station. You wonder if the night shift is actually going to fulfill their punch card offer this time. 

Joel has barely pushed the truck into park before you’re out of the vehicle, flying through the front doors. Joel is hot on your heels, not bothering to lock his beat-up pickup. 

Your ID is already on the desk, you don’t even have to say a name. The officer at the front desk doesn’t need your license. He barely looks at it. It’s all a raging formality. They escort you to a room, not a holding cell as you’re used to.

Tommy sits at a table talking to a tired-looking public defender. His head snaps up, eyes jumping from your face to Joel’s behind you. “I told you to come alone.”

“The fuck you did Thomas James Miller!” You say before Joel can defend himself.

Tommy stands to his feet, the chair skidding back. “You’re not supposed to be here for this!”

“I’m your wife! You call me!”

“Or maybe you should be home with your child!”

“Oh, I should be home with our son? And what about you?”

“I’m not having this fight with you right now.” Tommy throws his hands in the air moving his attention to Joel who leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You were supposed to come alone!”

“What’re you in for?” You ask, not giving Joel a chance to answer. Not that he was going to. He knows not to let Tommy deflect to him when you are around. 

Tommy sighs falling into the chair like a rag dog. Stress lines engrave themselves deep into his forehead.

“Tommy…” A pit drops in your stomach. “What did they get you with?”

“A gun-“

“Without a permit.” The Lawyer speaks for the first time. There’s a roll to Tommy’s eyes. 

“And?” 

Tommy can’t meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat. 

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice low and gruff. It’s automatic, parental even.

“A couple grams of coke.”

“Fucking hell, Tommy.” Joel hits his head against the wall. 

“I didn’t- I never took it. I promise.”

You take a shaking breath, trying to calm your worn nerves. “So what are we looking at here?” You ask, eyes trained on the lawyer. 

You see Tommy out of your peripheral vision using his pleading puppy dog eyes on you. You square your shoulders determined not to fall for it. They’re the reason you’re in this boat in the first place. 

“Babe-“

You hold up a hand cutting him off, eyes trained on the lawyer. “What are we looking at?”

“Probably Jail time. DA’s office has been cracking down on these kinds of cases the past few months.”

“Is he getting out tonight?”

The lawyer shakes his head. “We have to wait until tomorrow for arraignment and bail.”

“Then, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” You give them a firm nod, exiting the room in a flash.

The Texas air wraps around you as you exit the stale police station. Joel’s pick-up is cool under your fingers, anchoring you to something.

This can’t be happening. You’ve felt him slipping through your fingertips for months, but you wonder if this is it if this is the moment you lose Tommy for good. 

Firm arms wrap around your waist. It’s a warmth you’ve become way too familiar with over the last couple of years. You turn around, letting your tears soak Joel’s shirt as they have so many times before. You twist his shirt in your fists as he cradles your head against his chest. There’s a slight sway in his movements, soothing your wrenching soul. 

“We’re going to get through this.”

“He had cocaine!”

Joel sighs. “I know.”

“I can’t keep doing this. It’s going to kill me.”

“Let’s get you home. Get some sleep.” Joel squeezes you and then guides you into the passenger side seat. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“What time is-“

“Lawyer said about 11. Wants us to meet them at the courthouse at 10.”

You nod, clearing the tears. “Okay.”

The drive home is quiet. You’re used to Tommy throwing out every excuse in the book, promising he’s going to change. The silence makes you want to scream. How do you go forward? How do you explain to Nathaniel that Daddy won’t be home for a long time? Jail Time. It bounces off the walls of your brain like a gong over and over. 

You’ve done this before. Raise your son alone. Tommy was overseas when Nathaniel was born. You did the first 3 months on your own- or sort of alone. Joel and Sarah spent many nights at your and Tommy’s home those first few months helping you through the learning curve of being a new parent. If you’re completely honest, you’re still doing it alone, but now with a shell of a man to look after as well. 

Joel hands the sitter cash and she’s gone without a word. Your purse and jacket are forgotten on the chair as you collapse onto the couch, holding your head in your hands. The weight of the night threatens to finally break you. 

“Here.” The cool weight of a bottle presses against your jeans.

“Thank you.” You take it, tipping the bottle back in unison with Joel in a quiet ritual. 

“I think I’m just gonna crash on the couch tonight.”

You nod, a humorless huff leaving your chest. “Just like the good ole days, I guess.” 

Joel looks over your profile, catches the wear in your frame, the silent tears slipping from your eyes. The rattle in your chest changes from sarcastic to sorrow and then a sob slips from your lips. 

Joel sets his beer on the coffee table, arm slipping around your shoulders. He pulls your loose body into his side. For the second time that night, your face burrows into his chest. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, Darlin’. We’ll get through this.” His voice is soft and soothing. His fingers brush softly over your head down to the back of your neck. You fall asleep like that, lulled by the steady beat of his heart. 

You wake up to the morning sun, your body stiff from sleeping on the couch against Joel. He’s up, the smell of coffee wafting toward you. You hear him talking to Sarah and Nathaniel in the kitchen. 

You stand, stretching out your sore muscles in wrinkled clothing following the promise of caffeine. Sarah and Nathaniel sit at the kitchen table with syrupy smiles. 

“Mommy!” Nathaniel yells. 

You force a sleepy smile, kissing his sticky cheek. “Morning, sweet cheeks.” You dip your finger in the syrup on his plate, licking it off your fingertip making him and Sarah laugh. “Morning, Sarah Bear.”

“Morning, Auntie,” She says. “Your clothes are wrinkled.”

Joel’s hand lands on your back and a cup of coffee lands in your hands, sending warmth through your body. The hum in your body is automatic. “Thank you.”

Joel only nods, returning his attention to the pancakes sizzling on the stovetop. You sip on the hot coffee. Joel prepared it exactly how you like it, just like he always does.

 “You hate pancakes.” 

“Yeah, but the gremlins love them.”

“That they do.” You grin, sipping on the coffee again. “Ugh, it’s infuriating the way you come into my home and make better coffee than I do.”

Joel chuckles, flipping two fluffy pancakes onto a plate. He tops them with cut-up strawberries and whipped cream handing them to you with the biggest shit-eating grin. “And pancakes.”

For a minute you forget it all, the impending arraignment, your husband in jail for unregistered weapons and drug possession, the two children sitting mere feet away. It’s just you and Joel and a stack of whipped cream-covered pancakes. Joel who held your hand through labor and helped you with midnight feedings. The man who got you through Tommy’s deployment. The one who always calls the sitter and drives you to the police station when Tommy gets himself in trouble. You and your rock. 

The shattering of glass echoes through the kitchen. “Uh-oh!”

You spin around, taking in the broken glass on the floor. Orange juice leaks over the table, dripping over the edge. You and Joel spring into action, pancakes forgotten. “Both of you stay in your seats,” You say.

Joel grabs the broom before you, sweeping up the shards, his feet already protected in his boots. You turn off the stove, keeping an eye on both children to ensure you don’t add bloodied feet to your morning agenda. 

“Sorry, Daddy,” Sarah says, keeping her feet crisscrossed beneath her. She looked up at you. “Sorry about your glass, Aunt Bonnie.”

You smile at her, handing Joel a towel to soak up the spilled juice. “It’s okay, Sarah bear. I just want you to be okay.”

She nods back, curls bouncing around her face. “I’m okay.”

You sigh, staring at the pancakes on the counter. The whipped cream has melted into a lopsided mound, half of it turned back into cream that soaks through the pancakes. You take a bite, the flavors settling nicely over your tongue even if the texture of the pancakes is slightly off. For a man who claims not to like them, Joel Miller sure knows how to make a mean pancake. 

Your mind plays back to the nickname. Not many people call you Bonnie anymore. Just a few years ago, it had been a constant. Stemming from Tommy’s group of army buddies, they declared you Bonnie for always stealing Tommy away from their group cookouts and whatnot, and Tommy was Clyde due to his propensity for getting into trouble. For whatever reason, probably just to annoy you, Tommy had introduced you to Sarah as “His Bonnie.” So that’s what she calls you. 

Joel empties the remaining shards into the trash can. Several high-pitched clinks sound off until the shards settle. Your fork stirs the whipped cream and syrup together. 

“Pancakes are usually best eaten, not played with.” Joel teases, picking his coffee up to take a sip. His fingers graze your arm as he sets it back down, returning the broom back to its rightful place.

”You don’t even like pancakes.” You furrowed your brow, taking another bite. Whipped cream marks your upper lip. You take another bite. “God, one day you have to tell me your secret.”

Joel chuckles. He leans across the counter, elbows resting against the granite much like yours. He sips on his coffee, eyes watching as you stuff another bite into your mouth. “I’ve got many secrets, Darlin.”

You laugh, mouth full of fruit and cream. “You’re an open fucking book, Miller.”

”I think I could surprise you several times over.” He chuckles. Something sparks behind his eyes like he’s actually keeping something from you. You’ll figure it out. You always do. 

“These are delicious, Joel, but if I take another bite, I’m gonna be sick.”

Joel frowns. “You feeling okay? You don’t have a fever do you?” He presses his fingers to your forehead before you can roll your eyes. 

“Anxiety.”

Joel nods. “You’ve got a little-“ He motions to his mouth.

You cock your head to the side brain not picking up on the obvious signals. He sighs in mock exasperation. Reaching forward, he wipes the whipped cream from your lip with his thumb, pressing the excess to his mouth. The moment catches you off guard, something stirring in the back of your mind as you zero in on the thumb pressed to his lips. 

“You should go get ready.” He says as if nothing happened, taking your plate. “We need to leave in an hour.”

You nod, pushing back from the counter. The weight of the day at hand keeps that moment from playing over and over again on a loop.

”Daddy,” Sarah says. “Isn’t it time for school?”

”You’re going to stay here with Nathaniel and Miss Lacy today. Your aunt and I have some things we have to do.”

”Oh,” Sarah nodded. “Uncle Tommy things?”

You stop, sharing a look with Joel. You’ve tried your best to keep Tommy’s troubles from the kids, but it’s inevitable. Sarah is almost 6 after all. She’s always been incredibly perceptive and observant. 

“Daddy?” Nathaniel asks, looking around. Your heart breaks a little bit. 

Your mind wanders. When will he get to see Tommy again? 

Joel takes the lead when you arrive at the courthouse for which you’re grateful. You’re both dressed in nice clothing. High heels clack beneath you. A tie reaches around Joel’s neck. You hold Tommy’s suit in a garment bag as a guard leads you to an office-like room. Tommy sits at a table with his layer from last night and another man you don’t recognize. They seem to be deep in a serious conversation. 

All three men turn as you enter, making you feel like you’re in the wrong place. You can’t tell if Tommy is relieved to see you or not. A pit forms in your stomach, like you’re not going to like the outcome of this meeting. 

“What’s going on?” You ask. 

The door clicks shut behind you as Joel’s scent creeps around you.

”We’re talking.” Tommy says. 

“About?” You press. 

Tommy sighs, unable to meet your eyes. “A plea deal.” 

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. This is easier. It’s probably better in the long run, but you’re not ready to face the music. You prepared for court, not a plea deal. Not for Tommy to admit guilt with a stroke of a pen, not a judge in sight. 

“What’s in it?”

”Baby…” Tommy pleads like he wants to make amends right now. 

“What are you signing us up for, Tommy?”

“Two years and a half years. Probation after that.”

You inhale sharply. 

“It’s a good deal,” The man you’ve never seen says. “He’s looking at at least twice that if this goes to court, and he will be convicted if this goes to court.”

You look to Tommy’s lawyer for confirmation. He doesn’t make it obvious but gives you a solid nod. 

“You were about to sign it.” You look at your husband. It’s not a question. 

“Yeah.”

”I’d have appreciated it if you had talked to me first,” you say. 

“You’d have told me to sign it.”

You nod, barely keeping the tears at bay. “Yeah.”

The DA holds a pen out to Tommy. Tommy looks back at you for final permission. You give it, watching that expensive ass pen glides across the paper with Tommy’s chicken scratch of a signature. Your heart breaks with each stroke, crumbling a little more as he dots the I and crosses the T.  

Joel places a hand on your shoulder. The heat spreads, anchoring you to the moment, keeping you afloat as you stare down the barrel of being a single mother yet again. 

Tommy slides the paper back to the DA. He looks them over, tapping them against the table with a satisfied nod as if a family hadn’t been torn apart. 

“You have about 30 minutes before they come to get him.”

”That’s it?” You ask. “We can’t even take him ourselves?”

The DA shrugs like he’s being generous, igniting a deep hatred of him inside you. You don’t even know his name. He holds up the papers before sliding them into his briefcase. “Terms of the plea deal.”

You clutch your fists as he walks out of the room. Tommy’s lawyer slips out with him, and then Joel, leaving just you and Tommy. 

He stands and you finally realize it’s all happening again. You’ll be alone, worrying about your husband though this time for different reasons. 

“Baby, I-” He steps towards you. You don’t move offering zero indication that you register Tommy’s movements. 

He reaches for your hands, but you pull them back. “You weren’t supposed to take the Bonnie and Clyde thing seriously.” 

You fight back tears, turning so he can’t see them. “Pretty sure they both died.”

A humorless laugh leaves your body as you collapse onto a couch, holding your head in your hands. 

Tommy kneels in front of you, slowly peeling your hands from your face, taking them into his. Despite it all, you feel yourself melting into his familiar touch. It only confirms what you are beginning to fear. It doesn’t matter what Tommy does, you’ll always be here waiting for him. He is the love of your life and you would burn the world down to look into his sweet brown eyes and feel his skin against yours. 

You look at him through blurry eyes, sniffing back the congestion gathering in your sinuses. He gives you that crooked smile you love so much, and you feel better despite the weight bearing on your shoulders. The past three years have aged him ten. You suppose time has done the same to you.

Slowly, he presses his lips to your hands. “I know I fucked up. If-” He pauses, swallowing. His thumb plays with the thin gold band on your left hand. “If you’re not waiting for me when I get out I understand.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Tommy snorts. “Easily? Just last week you were yelling at me for putting you through hell.”

“Yeah, well…” You run your fingers through his black curls as you sniff back your tears. “You kinda hold my heart in your hands, Tommy Miller. I don’t think I could get it back if I tried.”

He smiles at you. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands creep up your thighs as he rises to his feet. Your back collides with the plush back of the couch as your fingers tangle in his long hair. Tommy presses his tongue into your mouth, a smile growing across your face. This is the first taste of your Tommy you’ve had in months, the one you fell in love with. 

The door opens, and before Tommy can pull away, Joel’s gruff voice echoes through the room. “Prospect of going to jail really puts you two in the mood, huh?” 

Heat surges to your cheeks. You’re not sure why. You and Tommy had been caught in much more compromising positions throughout your relationship.

“Gotta get what I can while I’m still a free man.” Tommy grins at his big brother, pressing another exaggerated kiss to your lips. Joel’s eyes move to the corner of the room. Your smile feels a little more forced after that. 

Your thirty minutes fly at lightning speed. They take Tommy before you’re ready. Any energy you gain from Tommy’s affection is drained the moment he’s led out of sight. You barely catch the look he gives Joel.

”Take care of them.”

Joel nods, gripping his brother’s shoulder. There’s a silent exchange between them. “Take care of yourself.”

 A clerk goes over everything with you and Joel. You’re given a strict list of items you can drop off for Tommy at the prison. You don’t process a word, the weight of it all falling on top of you. You came to the courthouse today expecting an arraignment and bail, not to be kissing your husband goodbye for the next year and change. It feels unfair like something was taken from you. 

Joel is the one who keeps it together. He always keeps it together. He asks the questions and makes note of the important things. He secures the horde of important documents held limply in your hands. 

When the clerk says your name for a second time, or maybe a third, you’re not sure, it snaps you out of the fog. Joel’s eyes are sympathetic as he holds out a pen. His single nod tells you he has all the information in his head. You can sign. You don’t have to think. You sign as flashes of Tommy doing the same filter through your vision. 

The pen drops to the table as you push back headed straight for the nearest exit. You feel like you’re in a dream. Joel catches up, tucking everything you forgot under his arm. He grabs your elbow, steering your aimless body in the right direction. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows the answer. 

You feel like a toddler, wandering and lost, relying on Joel’s firm grip to get anywhere. He opens doors and boots you into his pickup, patting the door once it’s closed. The car is warm from the sun. You fumble with the seat belt, but Joel’s calloused hands are there, guiding your weary bones. 

The ride is silent. You basket in the warm sun, head pressed to the window with your eyes closed. The world feels so far away, but you’re extremely tuned into the heat of the sun, the rumble of the truck on the shitty roads, the blinking indicator light, and Joel’s listless tapping on the steering wheel when the vehicle draws to a stop from time to time, toeing the line between consciousness.

This is just a dream, right? You’ll wake up soon and Tommy will be behind you, drawing random patterns around your stomach hip, or thigh. The past year of your life and the past 12 hours have just been the world’s longest nightmare. That’s all. 

The truck lurches to a stop. The engine turns off with a distinct click. Your eyes blink open slowly. Your stretch out, toes curling in your dress shoes. Joel’s tie lays haphazardly on the dash. His cuffs are unbuttoned, pushed to his elbows, and the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He still looks out of place in his dress attire, but a little more like himself. He hadn’t dressed this nicely for your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding. 

Your eyes drift out the windshield. A neon light reflects off your irises. This isn’t home. You look at Joel. “Why are we here?”

His seat belt comes undone with a click, snapping back. “We’re going to go in there and get drunk off our asses.”

”It’s the middle of the day.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you. 

”Can we just go home?”

”No.”

”Why the fuck not?”

“Because we have a sitter all day, and you deserve a night before the weight of the world falls back on your shoulders.”

”Joel.” You want to go home and crawl in bed.

”This is three times longer than his deployment.” The statement hits you square in the chest. “You need this. Give yourself today. If you don’t do it now, you never will.”

You sigh, staring down the flickering neon in front of you. He’s right. You know he is. You might be exhausted, but it’s tempting. When was the last time you let go? Maybe that one good month you had after Tommy got back? When it was all making up for lost time and shit. 

“We’ve got a sitter for the whole day,” Joel says. “My treat.”

You inhale deeply, allowing the memories of drunken nights past to fill your brain. You can feel the thrum of alcohol already. You haven’t cut loose in a long time unless you count the nights spent at home alone drowning away the world after you’d tucked your son in for the night. 

Your fingers press the red release button of your seat belt. The metal buckle hits the window. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Joel smiles, dragging you inside.  

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal

[moralesmilesanhour]

Maybe write about very protective miles?

I actually got two requests for this same prompt, so I'm gonna combine them! :D

You thought there would just be a light drizzle on the way back from the bodega when you felt two cold rain drops lightly tap your forehead. The concrete became dotted with dark spots as the rain picked up.

Alright, you'll be home in a few minutes. No big deal.

...Until it became a big deal.

In a matter of minutes, the sidewalk was completely dark with rainwater, and small puddles deepened as your sneakers splashed across them. You had asked the man behind the register to pack your lunch in a paper bag, which was now soaked to the point of nearly falling apart. You hugged the soggy material to your chest, not caring about getting your already-soaked graphic tee any more wet.

"Aye, Y/N!" A familiar voice cuts through the downpour. You realize you were about to pass by Miles' house.

"Miles!" You smile up at the 3rd-story window, squinting through the rain now pouring down your face. "I gotta get home, now, but I'll call you la-"

The boy's brown face disappears from the window frame, and you sigh as the door to the apartment bursts open.

"If my mom found out I let you walk around in the rain like that, she'd kill me, so for my own safety, you gotta come inside." Miles grinned at you, his lanky figure filling the doorway. Shivering, you weren't about to refuse.

-

The following Monday at Visions, you flung open your locker in a rush to grab your Spanish notebook. Instead you were greeted with a flash of bright yellow. It was a raincoat, haphazardly stuffed into your locker when you weren't looking.

Struggling to pull the thing out, you assume at first that it must belong to Miles. He frequently left some of his things in your locker whenever he had to suddenly take off because of "an emergency". His mom must've bought it, Miles wouldn't be caught dead in anything that looked like this.

Once you finally manage to yank the coat out, a blue sticky note flies out with it. You pick it up before it can flutter to the ground, and it reads in Miles' neat handwriting:

"For you :)"

-

"Fuck!" You yelled as you fell. Again.

"Don't say a word, Morales."

A loose shoelace had caught beneath your feet and tripped you, right after Miles had warned you that your shoelaces were untied. Just before you hit the ground, his arms wrap around you from behind and he lifts you to your feet. Laughing, you turn to him.

He wears a shit-eating grin on his face as he jogs past you.

"You would literally not survive without me!"

-

Uhhh I hope this came off as "protective" enough 😭 thank you for requesting!!

[icarusredwings]

Would you ever write a fic about little wade and how he encounters/copes with his chronic pain? How does Logan help?

Inspired by @bougiebutchbinch thank you anonymous asker for giving me an excuse to traumatize people :)

Bad kitty. 1/2

Tw/cw: Dead dove. Graphic descriptions of cancer pockets, drugging, attempted murder, forcible non consentual (non sexual, medical) touching, angst, hurt/ little comfort, cargiver drop, NOT SAFE for littles!!!

Summary: How is he supposed to apply topical medication to someone who doesn't want touched? Wade doesn't want help, but he NEEDS it. Logan knows he's a bad caregiver for this. He feels disgusting... maybe he is a bad kitty, but Wade needs his medication.

Coming home from walking Puppins, Logan had picked up some sandwiches for them. Kicking the door closed behind him, he shouted. "Wade! I got you that weird sub thing you like. They were out of banana peppers though so-"

He heard sniffling and a soft "Nooo" after watching Puppins go over to her bed inbetween the couch and the wall.

"Uhm... So.. there's that.." He kept talking as he took a few steps forward, confused as to what had made that noise. It sounded almost like a whimper. As if a scared ki- "Aww damn it.."

There he was, curled up tight between the couch and the wall, sitting on the dog's pillow with nothing but a blanket over his lap.

Sniffling, He currently was trying to push Puppins away from him as the pup licked his arm, wagging her bottom excitedly.

"Nnoooo! No p-Puppy- Ouch!" He whined, quickly pulling his hand to his chest, more tears flowing down his face.

Instinctivly, Logan dropped the bag on the table, gasping as he grabbed Puppins away from him. "Did she bite you!?" He asks, giving the dog a concerned look. She *was* a deadpool after all, so sometimes she did like to bite, but the way she looked just as confused as he did made him doubt that she had nipped him.

Shaking his head, He whimpered again, holding his arm as he tried to make himself as small as possible. It was very clear he was trying to be invisible.

"Okay... Hey. What's wrong?" He asks, putting her down as he tries to shoo her away from him.

Shaking his head, he held his eyes closed tight, more tears falling as if he was trying to keep in the noise, a tight lump in his throat, choking on it each time he tried to speak.

"Wade? What's wrong, bub?"

From what he could see, welts and blisters had formed in various spaces on his body, some holes, others popping upwards as tight, painful, and full looking pockets of various colors. The realization had snapped his heart.

Logan had told him he should take it easy for a while instead of willingly letting bad guys cut off his limbs, and he has to assume that this is the result of the extra cancerous cells building up.

If he wasn't already used to such smells and sights, he would probably think Wade was some sort of diseased zombie, his jaw even starting to form a crater of dead skin eating itself, or perhaps had fallen off? He wasn't sure. All he knew, It was bad.

"H-...hurt.."

The smallest voice chirped out, so high pitched and strained. So.. Pained.

"I know.. where?" Logan whispers, not wanting to scare him any, but part of him was freaked out enough at just how quick the welts were developing. These weren't here when he left, were they? No. He would have seen it. He was only gone 2 hours, max.

Then again, Wade was excellent at hiding. Perhaps he had just had enough and finally snapped, all the pain drowning out his senses to the point of needing to physically hide rather than mentally.

"Hurts." He whined again, flinching away from the dogs tongue as she tried to lick him again. She was just trying to help, though.

"No, Pup." Logan muttered, moving her once again. In all fairness, though, Wade *was* in *her* bed.

"Where does it hurt?" He asks again. Sometimes, it was like this. You had to repeat yourself multiple times until he finally understood and awnsered properly.

"Hurts!" Wade tells him again, whining as if frustrated, but the pitch in his throat said just how much it truly did hurt. And that- apparently, was a lot.

"Okay, okay- erm.. But.. where? Here?" He points to his arm as he moves away, clearly not wanting touched at the moment, but nodded.

"Hurts."

"M'kay.. here?" To his other arm.

"Hurts.."

"Alright.. there?" His leg.

Wade nods, gaining tears in his eyes the more worried Logan looks. "Hurts..."

"Uhm.. what about there?" He pointed to his head.

"Hurts....." he whispers.

"Aw man... that's a lot of hurt, bub.. uhm.. Here let me-" only being able to touch his forhead for a split second, He jolted away. "Owch!" He told him, as if telling him that it hurt.

"Fuck, kid, you're burning up."

Whining, he began to sob, his hand having accidently popped one of the bigger ones. It burned to be exposed to the air like this, burned to be touched, hurt to just exist. "..ouch..!"

The thick, hot tears that came from him had burst something because the side of his eye became bloody and slightly yellow filling the side. “Ah Shit- Wade shh… shhh, it's alright.”

Trying to rub his eyes, he cried more, whimpering loudly as he began to panic. "H-hurts!!"

"No no no! Don't-"

About to pull his hands away from him, he had touched another on his wrist, making him let out a high-pitched screech, pulling away.

"N-no!! O-ouch!! Hurts!" He scolded him, keeping himself away from Logan, not understanding why he was hurting him.

"I know.. Go ahead.. tell me." He says, Nodding softly as he stared, allowing himself to get cursed out by the hurt and scared child. Something he's worked so hard on with Wade. For him to raise his voice and tell off people who scare him even when small.

"It's ouch!! No hurt!! .... B-bad kitty!" It was obvious he was hesitant with that last word and for good reason, Logan's heart sinking as he frowned. He didn't think being called that would hurt so badly, but.. it did for some reason. One he didn't understand.

"No- Wade stop. Calm down you're going to hur-" pointing vaguely at his eye, Wade bit him, snapping at him the way Puppins did when you tried to apply cream to her underarm rashes.

"M-mean kitty! Bad!! No hurt!" He continued, getting out his frustrations only to break down again, crying as some stuff began to leak out of the corner of his eye as he pointed at Logan, giving him a proper telling off.

"Hey! Ouch! You aren't supposed to-"

"Hurts!!" He yelled at him. A final decree of anger. It was understandable why he was so hostile. He hadn't been able to process why his skin hurt so bad and all he knew is that it hurt more when someone touched him or in puppins sake, licked him.

"Okay, okay!! God! Sit there then! By yourself!" Logan growled, getting up as he walked off to the kitchen, letting out a big sigh. The bite hadn't been enough to draw blood, but he had a feeling that Wade would stab him or bite his finger off soon enough if he didn't leave him be.

Unwrapping the subs, he thought about what he could do to help him. What he usually did to help. As he went down the list, He crossed out all of the adult themed options and any that had anything to do with touching him. It only left pills and sleep.

If he could get him to go to understand, Logan could take care of his wounds and dress them. It wouldn't help long, but perhaps it would be enough for him to stop crying from the pain. He knew it hurt. He knew it would hurt more bathing him, putting ice on them, rubbing gel on them, and dressing his entire body to the point he would look like a mummy.

Or... he could... glancing down at knife in his hand, his eyes flickered back up to him. If his entire body was hurting this badly.. he could press the restart button.. logically, it was the fastest and easiest way to end his pain. He could make it quick to. Wade's done it before... took a quick visit to death.. cut off his own limbs so they could grow back fresh like damaged hair getting shaved.

He would just need a claw to the front lobe. That should do the tri-

He shook his head, Tossing the knife away as he buried his face into his hands. For fucks sake! He couldn't do that! Why would he even think of that!? Wade couldn't consent. He couldn't- he wouldn't be able to-

Groaning, he bit his tongue with his canines, trying to ground himself as he took a deep breath.

Okay, think. Think Howlett. You can do this. Think. He's not suseptible to poisons, but if he could get him asleep just for a few minutes.. maybe he could give him a big dose? Oh god, like this was any better. Who in their right mind thinks about drugging a kid in pain!? What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just-

"H-hurts.."

Jumping a bit, he must not have picked up on the fact that Wade crawled out of his hiding spot, whimpering with such scared, pained eyes. "Kitty... ouch-es..."

Wade made another whining noise and then a scream.

Letting out another sigh, he gave him a sympathetic look. "I know, Bud.. Im trying to think.. i.. I don't want to hurt you. I really don't." Picking up the knife again, he focused on cutting up his sub so at least he could try to eat. Distract him for just a few moments.

Maybe he could think of something else. He could convince Wade to hold still. To let him hurt him just a little bit in order to help. Maybe there was a kids show that portrayed help as hurting sometimes in a medical sense? Then he could understand better. Right? Wade learned much easier by animated demonstrations, like that episode of the blue dog when its orange mommy dog went away and the daddy blue dog had to put them to bed, but the kid blue dog was sad. That helped him a lot when Vanessa had to lea-

Quickly looking up, He saw Puppins once again trying to lick his sores, sniffing and whining with her tail wagging. She was trying her best to show Wade that she was trying to help, to be friendly but was shoved away. Quite hard too, making her yelp.

Gasping, Logan came to pick up the dog. "Wade!! Careful! She's little remember!?"

Though the second he raised his voice, Wade broke down yet again, holding where she licked him as it was now seeping a mixture of blood and pus down his leg.

His look softened, turning to quickly make sure her leg was okay. "No more.. leave your papa alone. He's hurting.." He tells the puppy who whined, giving him the biggest 'im sorry' eyes you could imagine from such a tiny dog.

Putting her in the bedroom, he shut the door as he got the massive box of first aid from the closet. It's more of a toolbox, really, complete with a handle.

Coming over, Logan knelt down to look over him, opening the box as he got some wipes, cream and gauze wrap.

He hated being in this situation. But this was the trials of love. And if it meant helping him be pain-free, Logan wouldn't change a thing.

The moment he saw this though, Wade screeched again, kicking the stuff away as he crawled back to the blanket. 'Hiding' under neath of it, Logan frowned. Yeah no.. He definitely wasn't going to let him help..

There was only one thing to do.

Standing, He swallowed as he took a few slow steps towards him, throwing open his claws as he stared down at the shaking, shivering hello kitty blanket. The one that was half soaked with tears, the other about to be with blood.

"Wade? I know you don't know what's about to happen... You don't have to forgive me, but this...t-This is for your own good... You'll feel better... I promise."

Shoving down the twist of his stomach and the yelling in his head telling him to stop, the ones screaming from the roof tops that this was wrong. This wasn't who he was anymore. He's spent months scrubbing his hands clean of children's blood. And here he was, seconds from staining them again.. history repeats itself.. even he knew he couldn't change that. No matter how hard he tried. This is who he was. A killer.

"Im sorry.."

A bad kitty.

[rens-writes]

Just Ask || Ino Takuma

the drabble version

divider by saradika-graphics

"He asked me just the other day, how to ask someone out." You raise your eyebrows as you flip through the papers he's just given you. "Is that right?" You ask, barely looking over at him. The way this man loves to gossip. "I- oh..." He stops speaking suddenly. "Gojo?" You turn to look at him and he's just standing there. "What's wrong?" He looks at you and clears his throat. "Okay so. He was asking about you... Before that." He says. He reaches up to rub the back of his head. "I think he's trying to ask you on a date. Finally." He mumbles the last part. Your eyes widen a little. Oh. Oh. You slam shut the folder in your hands, tightening your fists around it. "Finally? What do you mean finally?" You ask. "I mean, he's been crushing on you for years." He responds. Your heart starts to beat a little faster and you feel heat creep up your neck. No way. You inhale and hug the folder against your chest. "Seriously?" Gojo shrugs. "Yeah. Anyways. I've gotta go. Please give those to Nanami for me." He smiles and then walks off. What the heck..? "He likes me?" You mumble to yourself. You hug the folder tighter against your chest and then pull out your phone. You start to text me right away, but then you realize. It came from Gojo. Sometimes he doesn't listen all the way. You tuck your phone back into your pocket and hurry away to find Nanami.

"Nanami!" You call out to him as soon as you spot him. You smooth out the folder from how tightly you've been holding onto it. He stops and turns to look at you. He greets you with a small smile. "Sorry, hope you're not busy. These are from Gojo." You hold out the folder to him. He takes it from you and flips through it. "Why is he making you give these to me?" He asks. "Oh. Uh, he said he had to go do something. So I offered. You know." You offer him a smile. God you're nervous. Hope he doesn't have something important to do. Nanami just sighs. "Well, thank you." He says, reaching out to pay your head. "Yeah! It's no problem." You fold your hands behind your back and just kind of stand there. "Is there something else?" He asks. You fidget with your fingers for a second. "Actually there is... I um, I have a question." He raises his eyebrows, waiting for your question. "So Gojo, I- um..." You clear your throat and apologize softly. You inhale and then try again. "Does Takuma like me?" You blurt it out without meaning to. It early catches Nanami off guard. But hey, it caught you off guard too. He looks at you, a hint of amusement on his face. You wait for him to answer, holding your breath. "Yes. He has for years." Your heart starts racing again. "Seriously?" You ask, finally letting out the breath you were holding. Yes. He's very fond of you. He lights up when you come up in conversations. Or when he knows you're going to be around." Every word he says makes your heart race faster. Your stomach is practically crawling with butterflies. He really likes you? That much? "Thank you for telling me." You say. Nanami smiles at you and then checks his watch. "I've got to go. Thank you for these." He waves the folder of papers and then pats your head before walking away. You watch him walk away and as soon as he's out of sight you fumble for your phone. You fight back the noise of excitement that threatens to erupt from your throat. You hurry outside and pull up Ino's contact to text him.

You finally let out your excited noise as you stare at your phone. You can't wait.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

You lug your bag full of supplies back to report to your boss. You're tired. You're sweaty. You just spent the last 2 hours following people around to make sure they don't bleed out or lose their limbs. It never gets any easier, seeing them all that way. You drop your bag on the ground and stretch. A nap would be great right now. "Y/N!!" You hear your name from across the courtyard and look over. Oh, it's Ino. He waves at you and you wave back. He runs over to you. When he gets to you he gently grabs you by your shoulders. "Are you alright? I know this was a little crazy." You smile and reach up to grab his elbows. "I'm okay. Just tired." He nods. "We all appreciate you. All of you. You guys are the reason why most of us are still here." He says. You smile softly and look him over. "What about you? Are you okay?" You ask him. He nods. "Yeah! I did really well I think." Your smile widens a little. "I'm sure you did." The two of stand there in silence for a few moments, just staring at each other. He inhales and then moves his hands down to hold yours. "I think I have something I need to ask you." He says, laughing nervously. You laugh as well, the way he holds your hands making a heat creep up your neck. "I've been waiting." He nods and takes another breath.

"Okay... Um." He squeezes your hands gently, which makes your stomach flutter. "Would you like to go in a date with me, y/n?" He looks up at you, into your eyes. And that paired with his question makes your stomach erupt into butterflies. Your cheeks turn a dark shade of pink. "Of course I would!" He lets out a sigh of relief, like he was afraid you were going to say no for some reason. He wraps his arms around you in a hug and it makes you freeze for a second. You hug him back though. He squeezes you gently and it makes you laugh. He's hugged you before obviously, he's like one of your best friends. But this one is different, it holds more to it than just a friendly hug. You squeeze him back, instinctively nestling your head into the crook of his neck. He moves one of his hands to put it on the back of your head, and his other arm tightens around you. The two of you just stand there like for a moment before anyone says anything. "I'm glad you finally asked me. I've had a crush on you for years too." He chokes on the air around you which makes you laugh softly. "Are you serious??" He asks, letting go of you and moving back. "I'm so serious." You respond. "Why didn't I notice?" You laugh. "To be fair, I dont think I really made it obvious. I know you certainly didn't." He laughs and holds your hand again squeezing them. "Text me and we can plan! I have to go give my reports!" You nod and squeeze his hands back before he lets go. "Alright. I'll text you after I give mine." He nods and turns to hurry off into the building. You smile softly as you watch him hurry off to give his report. He turns and waves back at you as he runs off. What a man. And now he's yours.

[xheykyjx]

okay, but...

picture this: you're hanging out with your crush. you're friends, getting closer and closer by the day, spending a lot more time together. you're at a point in the friendship where you generally feel very comfortable around them, but you haven't necessarily been vulnerable.

you're in their car, driving somewhere--the park, a coffee shop, a bookstore; it doesn't matter--and it's just the two of you. you're in the passenger seat, of course, because it would be a little odd for your crush to drive while you just sat in the back. plus, as all your friends are well aware, you are incredibly susceptible to carsickness, or motion sickness of any kind.

it's been a good day, if a little... off. you tried for breakfast earlier, something small--a banana with some peanut butter, maybe--but it left you feeling strangely full and vaguely queasy. when lunch rolled around, you'd decided to eat something even though you weren't very hungry, just a small salad with some chicken tenders. but that didn't settle well, either. you'd returned to your dorm feeling somewhat dejected and much more nauseous than earlier, and had spent an hour or so laying with a heating pad in bed, doomscrolling on social media. and now you're here, in the car with your crush. and with each minute that passes by, you feel worse and worse.

~graphic depictions of nausea/vomiting under the cut!~

"are you okay?" your crush asks, startling you from your thoughts. you realize you have a hand on your belly, resting firmly against the upper part where you still feel so full and gross. you have half a mind to be embarrassed of it, but your tummy is so tight and bloated, and it's starting to hurt, so you don't bother moving your hand. your stomach has been burbling steadily for the past few minutes, the movement of the car and start-and-stop of traffic only making your nausea worse. god, you really hope you don't throw up.

"no, yeah, i'm good!" you say, trying to sound as convincing as possible. but your crush turns their head, looks you straight in the face for a second before looking you up and down. you don't miss the way their gaze lingers a little on your hand, still protectively resting on your middle.

"are you sure?" they press. they keep glancing back and forth from you to the traffic ahead as things finally start moving again. "we don't have to go, if you don't want to." and then you're both lurching forward in your seats as they slam on the breaks to keep from rear-ending the car that just cut you off.

"shit, sorry," your crush is saying, but you barely register it. the basic laws of physics have officially fucked you over, and the force of your body against the seatbelt has sent the heaviness in your upper belly up to your chest. you swallow convulsively, breaking out in a cold sweat before flashing burning-hot. your legs are shaking, and a phantom finger is pressing relentlessly against the underside of your chin. the saliva pooling in your mouth has a faint bitterness to it.

"are you--?" your crush doesn't even finish the question. "fuck, hold on, um--" you'd almost forgotten where you are. quickly, they twist in their seat, rooting around in the back footwell for something. "i think i've got a bag, just hold on--" a sharp hiccup surprises you, followed closely by a tiny burp. your throat feels tight, swollen, somehow, and your belly jumps with a sudden gag.

there's a rustling sound, incredibly loud in the confines of the car, and then a plastic grocery bag is being thrust at you. "here, here, here," your crush rushes, holding the bag in front of your face. "i'm sorry, i'd pull over, but--" you gag again. your arms have started shaking, too, and you feel frozen. there's no way this is happening. there's no fucking way you're about to puke in your crush's car, in front of them. in front of them. tears prickle unwittingly at your eyes, humiliating you further. you must be coming off as such a fucking baby.

"just--here--" your hands are being guided to hold the handles of the bag. your palms are slick with sweat, and the bag trembles in your grasp. you suck in a panicked breath that comes out as a whimper. your stomach is rolling violently, so bad that your vision is almost swimming. you can't tell if the car is moving again or not as you keep taking in hiccuping breaths, choking down the hot nausea on the back of your tongue.

"'m sorry," you manage, voice thick around the strain of your impending sickness. "i didn't--'m so sorry." and then your back curls with a deep retch that comes from the pit of your stomach, and you can't breathe around the thickness rising in your throat, making you gag again. "oh, g--"

and then you're spitting a mouthful of foamy sick into the bag, throat spasming around another heave. your crush is swearing from the driver's seat, but you can't make out the words over the next retch. a heavy torrent of vomit splatters into the bag, almost dragging it out of your weak fingers. it's thick and chunky and burning hot, and you can still feel some of it stuck up against the backs of your teeth, under your tongue. your disgust mingles with the now all-encompassing nausea and you retch so hard, your muscles cramp. there's more coming, you know there is, you can feel it, but it won't budge, stuck below your sternum as a hard lump you can feel with your hand. you don't think you've digested anything you've eaten in the last 24 hours. fuck, it hurts.

"okay, it's okay..." suddenly, there's a hand on your back. you startle, choking on the copious amount of spit in your mouth, leaving you coughing and choking over the grocery bag. there's some awkward maneuvering, and then your seatbelt has been undone, your crush quickly situating you so that it's out of your way. you only feel marginally better without it. you want to hold your tummy, rub it up and down in some pitiful attempt to comfort yourself. but the flimsy grocery bag is already sagging something awful in your hands, and you're afraid that if you let go of one side it'll spill everywhere.

"is... are--are you done?" your crush asks haltingly. their hand on your back is hesitant but immensely comforting, and you find yourself leaning back into it. your nose is running and your belly is really hurting, and you don't think you're done throwing up for the day. but for the moment, you don't feel anything else threatening to come up, so you sniffle and bring the handles of the bag together to tie it shut.

"yeah," you mumble, voice hoarse. you don't even know what to say. you feel terrible, both physically and mentally. you can't believe that just fucking happened. how did you let that fucking happen?

your crush starts rubbing your back, just a little, these tiny circles between your shoulder blades, and you deflate. "you just wanna go back home?" they ask, and you nod, staring at the floor, holding the soiled grocery bag awkwardly in front of you. worst saturday ever.

[perotovar]

into the beat of the night (ch 8) "deeper and deeper"

moodboard by me

pairing: frankie morales/oc!river price (they/them) rating: E (18+) content: pegging, unprotected (fake) p in a, fingering, use of plugs, lots of lube, male masturbation, one (1) handjob, (brief) oral (m receiving), D/s dynamics, dom!river, sub!frankie, petnames (baby, good boy, honey, etc), aftercare, if i missed anything else lmk! word count: 5.7k dividers by @saradika-graphics beta: @scenaaario (ily ♥)

main masterlist | series masterlist

for updates, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifs ♥

It’s 9pm and the sound of Phil Collins’ voice is just loud enough for Frankie to hear in the mostly-empty grocery store. It sort of drove him nuts because he liked this song, but it wasn’t loud enough for him to truly appreciate it.

He ignored it in favor of looking over the list of things River asked him to get.

– cat litter

– jonsey’s food

– long grain rice

– tea

pick up a snack for yourself, too, handsome!  ♥

He smiled at River’s handwriting and thought back to the first time he saw it. He still has that note that reads “Text me?”  hidden away somewhere. 

Things have been… really good lately. Despite the Event at the mall, and what transpired afterwards, Frankie and River have been really comfortable. River’s even taken to working out more to get their mind off of things. Frankie’s been reaping the benefits, and he’s having a hell of a time keeping his hands off their newly defined physique. Not that River is complaining, of course.

The only problem is that Frankie’s been craving something… specific. And River isn’t exactly… equipped for what he wants.

Standing in the middle of the aisle of cat food, with Genesis playing faintly somewhere behind him, Frankie stared at the different cans all promising to have different health benefits for your furry friend. He doesn’t know how long he’s been zoned out, thinking about a dick in his ass, until someone, probably the only other customer in the store, sped by him with their cart and startled him out of his thoughts.

Frankie cleared his throat, cheeks flushed, and looked back at River’s list. He double checked the correct brand of food and tossed a few cans into his shopping basket. He tried to shake himself off as he walked further down the aisle to get some litter, as well.

When he made it to the self-checkout, he rang up his items as quickly as he could. The bored teenager keeping watch of the registers barely realized he was there until the rhythmic beeping started. While the ancient self-checkout system crawled to the payment screen, his eyes drifted to the magazines next to him. His eyes landed on a celebrity he can’t remember the name of right now and felt a flush creep up his neck.

The man was gorgeous, an actor he thinks, with chiseled features and a thick beard. He sighed and shut his eyes briefly. The register finally beeped and he snatched his receipt from the printer, grabbing his bags and quickly left the store.

The entire drive back to River’s apartment he tried to calm his dick down.

He’s very happy in his relationship. Very secure. He loves River, and doesn’t want anyone else in his life.

But god dammit, he wants someone inside him.

Jonsey chirped below him as he boiled some noodles on River’s stovetop. He looked down and smiled, the fluffy cat rubbing his body against Frankie’s pajama-covered leg. “Hey,” he cooed quietly, crouching down to scritch at Jonsey’s face. Jonsey purred happily and got comfy on the kitchen floor behind him.

Frankie snorted and turned back to his noodles boiling in the pot. River was hanging out with a few friends at The Night Owl tonight. Frankie wanted them to go have fun with their friends because they deserved it. They’d been going through a lot and deserved to get their mind off things.

His phone lit up on the counter next to him, the sight of River sticking their pierced tongue out at him making him smile. He set his chopsticks down and rinsed his hands before picking up his phone

made it! anya hasn’t shut up about benny once, pls help 😩

Frankie laughed and started typing back.

Change the subject ?

i wish. ray has been flirting with everyone he talks to. says he’s looking for “the one” lol

Ray was another close friend of River’s. He was tall, had dark skin, and short cropped hair. Frankie saw three dots, and then a selfie of the three of them smiling with their drinks appeared.

Frankie’s face softened at how happy River looked with their friends. He exhaled a heavy breath, feeling a little bad for his earlier thoughts. Ever since She Who Shall Not Be Named showed up, every time they’ve gotten intimate, Frankie’s been putting all his focus on River and their needs.

He’s more than happy to do so, that’s not the problem.

He’s just got an itch that needs scratching.

He set his phone down so he could stop his noodles from burning and drained out the water. Once he was sitting back on the couch, his bowl of ramen in his lap, and Jonsey napping on the couch next to him, he started typing back to River.

He’ll find them, I’m sure. Now, go have fun, ok ?

yes sir :p love you

Frankie smiled like a fucking dork at his phone and quickly typed up a response.

Love you too, mi rio 😍

Ever since River “accidentally” let that slip, they’ve been saying it more and Frankie got butterflies every time. He’d never gotten that way with Jackson. At least, not to this level, anyway.

It didn't take long for Frankie to finish up his dinner and clean up his dishes, so he grabbed his laptop from his bag. Jonsey was passed out on the couch, curled up in a weird position, and it made Frankie snort at the sight.

With Jonsey’s food set for the night, Frankie made his way into River’s bedroom and got comfy. Stripped down to his boxer briefs, he started typing in the name for his favorite porn site for this particular craving he’d been having: Love Bites. It was the only site that had his favorite actor, this gruff guy that always played construction workers or plumbers. It was a cliche, but it worked for him.

Seeing that a new video was posted for him, Frankie got excited, already feeling his cock start to twitch in his underwear. And it was a long one, too. “Perfect,” he whispered, lying down on his back to get comfy.

With his laptop laying on the mattress next to him, he pressed play and groaned when he saw the gruff guy and the hot mustached one making out heavily on a couch, shirts in a heap on the floor. He yanked his underwear down and gripped his cock in a big hand, pumping slowly. It didn’t take long once he saw Mustache pull out the gruff guy’s cock and stroke him steadily. Frankie’s cock twitched in his palm, he matched his pace with the video.

His free hand traveled up his torso until his fingertips started tweaking a nipple, making him moan into the quiet room. The scent of River’s cologne; cloves, bergamot, and sandalwood, covered every inch of their bedsheets, and it went right to Frankie’s head. He sped up his hand a little, then stopped himself, squeezing the base of his cock. He wanted this to last as long as possible. 

One of the two men in the video moaned out loud, catching Frankie’s attention. He shivered as he watched the gruff guy grunt and groan into the other’s ass and slap the side of one of his thighs. He let go of his cock and let it throb between his legs, imagining himself in the mustached guy’s place, while he wet two of his fingers as liberally as possible.

He turned onto his side and circled his own puckered rim with his wet fingers and moaned weakly, gripping the base of his cock again. He watched the video closely and started fucking himself with his fingers at the same pace of the gruff guy’s hips as he fucked into the other man roughly.

“Oh, hello,” River smirked, crossing their arms over their chest as they stood in the doorway to the bedroom.

Frankie startled and moaned, looking at River with flushed cheeks.

“Explains why you didn’t get my text. Thought you were asleep, but this is much, much more interesting,” they purred, stalking over to Frankie in his vulnerable state. They ran painted fingernails over his flushed and sweaty skin with mock concern. Frankie looked up at them with glossy eyes, the filthy, obscene sounds of two men fucking almost too loud in the tense air. “Do you need help, my love?” River grinned wolfishly, running the fingers of their free hand through his messy curls.

Frankie gulped and nodded, body still contorted in an uncomfortable position. “P-please,” he breathed.

River hummed contentedly and crawled into the bed behind him. “Stay there,” they said softly and curled their fingers around his throbbing cock, rubbing the head with their thumb. “Very good.” The praise dripped out of them easily and it made Frankie blush even harder. River started stroking him in time with the rhythm of the video in front of them and punctuated each stroke with a kiss to his bare shoulder, or behind his ear, or on the side of his neck.

Frankie removed his fingers from his ass and gripped onto the sheets tightly. River always knew the perfect way to touch him and it never failed to make every thought leave his brain. He felt cock drunk, even if he hadn’t actually been fucked yet.

“Mmm, is that what you want, baby?” River asked, kissing him on the shoulder again. The current camera angle in the video was a closeup of the younger man’s ass spread over the gruff guy’s thick cock, heavy balls slapping against his own. “Want a big, thick cock to fuck you? Hm? How deep do you want it, baby? So deep you forget your own name?”

A strangled, broken moan fell from Frankie’s lips, as his cock twitched hard in River’s hand. He tucked his face against the inside of his bicep, suddenly bashful.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” River cooed, speeding up the pace of their hand. It was completely covered in pre-cum, easing the way for them. River teased him, twisting on the upstroke, covering the head with his foreskin and slowing down. Frankie groaned in frustration, his hips bucking impatiently. River released his cock briefly to slap his ass twice in quick succession, almost like a bee sting. The cool metal of River’s rings against his overheated skin startled Frankie. “Atta boy,” River grinned, curling their fingers back around his cock. With their free hand, they ran their fingers up the column of his neck and across his lips. When River pushed their fingers into his mouth, he whined around them, cock twitching in response.

“Shh…” River cooed, deftly circling the pads of their fingers over Frankie’s lubed hole. Frankie moaned and nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. “You look so good for me, baby. You want me to put my fingers into this tight little asshole? Yeah?” River goaded. Another whine escaped Frankie, and they slowly pushed two fingers into his tight heat.

“F-fuck!” 

River hummed and kissed along his shoulder and arm, fucking into him steadily. Frankie tipped his head back and rested it on River’s shoulder, moaning out loud. His breath hitched each time River’s fingertips brushed against his prostate. “That’s it,” River praised, stroking in time with each pump of their fingers.

Frankie’s balls started to draw up and heat flared at the base of his spine. “I’m– I’m gonna,” he panted, eyes half-lidded and mouth open obscenely. 

River rubbed their thumb over the slit of his cock, glancing at the video and watched as the two men were both nearing their end. “You wanna come with them? Go ahead baby, show them how good you are and come for me, huh?”

Frankie huffed out a whine and nodded, rolling his hips in time with River’s hands before he bucked with no rhythm and came hard in thick spurts over River’s fingers and their sheets. He groaned, the aftershocks making his body tremble against River’s. They milked everything out of him and hummed appreciatively at the thick, creamy spend on their fingers. They licked them clean and sighed happily at the taste, removing the two fingers from inside Frankie and rubbed his hip lovingly.

Frankie’s body was spent. He turned and looked behind himself, panting below them as he watched the filthy scene in front of him. River, fully dressed and with a full face of makeup, licking their come-covered fingers clean. His sensitive and overstimulated cock twitched weakly at the sight. 

“Stop, I can’t go again so soon,” he breathed, voice thick and wrecked. River smirked and leaned down to kiss him deeply, transferring the taste of him into his own mouth. Frankie moaned, cupping their face with one hand.

“Feeling better?” They asked against his lips, pushing the sweaty curls out of his eyes.

Frankie nodded, taking one last deep breath, and smiled shyly up at them. The video had long since ended and had reset to its thumbnail. 

It all hit Frankie at once, and his face burned at the realization of what he was just caught watching. He reached over and slammed his laptop shut, hiding his face in his hands and groaning.

“What’s wrong, honey?” River frowned, rubbing Frankie’s back comfortingly. “I’m the last person that’s going to judge you for the porn you watch. I was actually going to compliment it, because I love that site,” they chuckled, trying to make him feel better.

Frankie turned back to them and peaked out from behind his hands. “You… You’re not weirded out?”

River looked at him like he insulted their mother. “What? Why would I?” 

Frankie sighed and took his hands away from his face, turning to face them more comfortably. “Well, it’s… I was watching two men.”

River blinked, still lost.

“You’re not… worried?”

Just like that, it clicked for River. “Oh, honey,” they frowned, leaning over to kiss him deeply, holding the side of his face. “Of course not.”

Frankie didn’t look convinced, but nodded anyway.

“I mean it. I’m not, like, offended or anything,” River said softly. “Is this something you’d want to experiment with, maybe?”

Frankie looked back up at their face. “What are you saying?” He furrowed his brows in confusion. “I’m not sure I’d be into a threesome, or-or sharing–”

River giggled, face twisted into amusement. “I wasn’t suggesting a threesome,” they snorted. “Although, that’s good to know. No, baby,” they paused. “I mean, I have a strap, and well. I’ve got a few toys you can choose from,” River smiled.

Frankie blinked, realization washing over his features. Of course River had a strap. Why didn’t he think of that?

“Oh,” he mumbled, looking down.

River bit their lip and sat up. They kicked their platforms off their feet and sat cross-legged on the bed. “Frankie, look at me. Please? C’mere.”

He looked up, cheeks flushed, and nodded. He got comfy and sat up against the headboard, covering himself with the sheets. 

“Is there a reason you’re… embarrassed about this? You know you can tell me anything.”

Frankie sighed and nodded. “I know that. I just,” he gulped anxiously. “I felt bad,” he paused again, trying to find the words. “It felt like I was… I don’t know, betraying your trust? Like, if I thought about men or someone else in that way, then it would–”

“Like you didn’t want to be with me anymore?” They offered quietly, a little bit of nerves in their tone.

“Right. B-but I don’t! I love you, Río, very much,” he said pleadingly, his eyes big and round. “I love you so much it worries me sometimes.”

River smiled and looked down. “I know. I love you, too,” they said softly.

Frankie sighed in relief, and grabbed one of their hands in his own. “Good. I like making you feel good and I think maybe I…”

“Pushed your own desires to the side,” River finished. “You know you don’t have to do that with me. I love that you’ve been– well, making me feel good, but you feeling good makes me feel good, babe. I’d love to do this for you.”

“I know,” Frankie nodded. “It’s just. After, well, Her,” he grumbled bitterly. 

“Yeah,” River nodded back, ending that train of thought right there. “Here,” they started, getting up from the bed and walking over to their closet. “I want to do this for you, babe.”

Frankie smiled shyly and watched as they got undressed. He paid close attention to the little details revealed as they went; a ring placed delicately on the dresser, the black bralette with its web of criss-crossed straps dropped to the floor.

“Maybe we could do this tomorrow? After you’ve had a chance to rest? I’m pretty tired myself,” they chuckled sheepishly. They reached into a drawer of their dresser and came back with a small metal object.

They crawled into the bed with him and rested the plug on his lap. They kissed up and down his neck teasingly, whispering into his skin, “I want you to wear this for a couple of hours tomorrow, okay? Then you’ll have no choice but to think about what I’m going to do to you afterwards.”

Frankie shivered and moaned quietly, gripping the plug tightly in his fist. “Y-yes,” he nodded, eyes fluttering shut. His oversensitive cock twitched beneath the sheets before River turned his face to kiss him deeply. They hummed into it, before pulling away and pressing a small peck to his cheek. “I’m gonna go take my makeup off, and then we’re gonna go to sleep, okay?” River smirked, rubbing his flushed cheek with their thumb.

Frankie nodded obediently, face open and honest. He watched them leave the room and laid down on the pillow beneath him. 

He wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.

Frankie followed River’s instructions to the letter, the first couple of hours of the day spent with the plug tightly inside him. River had a meeting with a coworker in the morning, so they gave him express orders to not touch himself until they got back to the apartment.

He was good and listened, but it was agony. All of his focus was on the object in his ass and River was right, because all he could think about was what they would do to him when they got home.

Frankie was completely zoned out on the couch in River’s living room by the time they walked in the door. He startled out of his thoughts and turned to look at them and groaned at what he saw.

They looked incredible. They wore a sheer top underneath a cropped blazer, a short layered skirt with a sheer panel over top, and thick chunky platform shoes. River set their bag down and looked at the bulge at the front of Frankie’s jeans. They grinned and made their way over to him, holding out a hand.

“Come with me, baby boy.”

Frankie followed like an eager puppy.

River pushed him onto the mattress and climbed into his lap. They attached their mouth to his neck and grinded their hips against his own. River’s weight on his lap pressed the plug against his prostate in such a way that made his entire body shiver. He squeezed his grip on their hips, silently asking them to slow down so he wouldn’t come right away. His cock was hard and leaking already, just the thought of what River had planned for him made his head spin.

“Have you been good?” River breathed into his mouth, kissing him deeply. Frankie nodded dumbly, focused completely on their lips. River hummed happily and pushed him down onto his back, sitting on his stomach comfortably.

Slowly, River kissed down his neck, chest, and stomach until they were face to face with the front of his jeans. They sat on the floor between his spread legs, eyeing his cock beneath the tight denim, and teasingly undid them, pulling the material down his thighs. They grinned as it sprang back and quietly slapped against his lower tummy.

Frankie blushed, resting his head onto the pillow underneath him. He hadn’t used a plug in a long time. It was foreign, but it felt familiar, too. He was so hard, the throbbing of his cock distracted him from focusing on anything.

“Look at this,” River grinned, kissing up his inner thighs before taking the head of his cock into their mouth. They moaned at the taste and bobbed their head slowly, eyes shutting in bliss at the weight of him on their tongue.

“F-fuck,” Frankie whined, curling his fingers into the sheets tightly. He lifted his knees up, spreading his legs wider to show them the plug he was wearing. It had a clear gem at the base, making his hole look like a little present.

River lifted their mouth off of him, an obscene little suck seeming to echo in the quiet room. “Mmm,” they purred appreciatively. They stood, eyes locked between his lifted, spread thighs and confidently walked to the closet. 

Frankie’s heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears as it traveled down to his cock. He waited patiently, a thin layer of perspiration dotting his hairline. When River came back into his periphery, they were completely naked save for the leather harness around their hips, a thick, average length cock attached at the front. He stared, eyes roving over the defined Adonis belt of their waist before traveling up their torso and landing on their face. 

River dug into the bedside table and grabbed a small bottle of lube before making their way back to the end of the bed between his legs. “Baby, look at me, please,” they smiled, gently rubbing his knee.

Blinking, Frankie released his legs and looked up at them while they coated their cock with a generous amount of lube. He didn’t look down, because they didn’t say he could yet, but just the image of River’s arm moving in such an obscene way, on themself, had him shivering. 

“Do you remember the rules, honey?”

Frankie nodded, gulping to himself. “G-green means go, yellow means slow down, and red means stop.”

“Good boy,” River grinned, two lube-covered fingers teasing the stretched rim around the plug he was wearing. Frankie gasped at the temperature difference, his cock twitching in anticipation. He wondered if he should shave a little before they did this, but River assured him that they liked him hairy. They would be gentle with him, and he knew that. “I’m going to remove it now, okay?”

Frankie nodded, watching as the fake cock swung between their legs. They looked so comfortable like this. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought that they were actually born with one.

River tugged on the base of the plug gently, drizzling a little extra lube to ease the way. Frankie’s eyes rolled back at the feeling and arched his back off the mattress. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, thighs trembling on either side of them.

“Shh,” River cooed, rubbing a smooth thigh as they removed the plug. They watched as a clear trickle of lube oozed out of his stretched hole, making them shiver in response. “Good boy.”

Frankie squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on his breathing. He’d come untouched exactly once before in his life and he was about twenty years younger with his first real girlfriend. Not that he thought River would be upset with him, but he wanted this to last. He’d been waiting too long for this to happen again.

Two of River’s fingers rubbed teasingly at his stretched rim before slowly entering him. He gasped out loud, eyes opening wide. “Too fast?” River asked, stopping midway.

“N-no, don’t stop, just–” he breathed, chuckling shyly. His cheeks flushed a deep red color as he made eye contact with them. “I don’t wanna come yet.”

River smiled wolfishly and set a slow, steady rhythm with their fingers. “And you think I’d be done with you after you came just once?” 

Frankie squeezed his eyes shut, clinging desperately to his last shred of composure. Their fingers felt so good, and he couldn’t wait any longer. “R-Riv, please,” he begged.

“Oh, alright,” River chuckled, crawling onto the bed between his legs. “We’ll start slow. And if you come, I’m certainly not going to complain.”

Frankie moaned, heart pounding steadily in his ears. “You’re going to kill me, you know.”

River kissed him lazily, feeling him relax. They curled their fingers around their fake cock and teased the head at his entrance, the lube squelching a little. Frankie shivered at the sound before he nodded against their lips, giving them his consent to continue.

The first push in made all the breath in Frankie’s lungs leave at once, forcing him to gasp against River’s mouth. It had been a long time since he was on the receiving end of this sort of thing and while River wouldn’t really feel it, he couldn’t help clenching down hard.

River cupped his face as they got up on their knees properly, slowly easing all the way in until their thighs were flush against the backs of his. Frankie breathed hard, back arched off the bed. 

“Y-yellow,” he panted, cock twitching and streaking pre-come down the side of his stomach.

They nodded and let him adjust.

“Hang on, I think--” Frankie groaned, shifting a little more. River smiled and rubbed his sides soothingly. 

“Will you fuck me from behind?” Frankie looked up at River, his eyes practically sparkling with need. His lips parted, chest heaving with the effort of already being on the edge, River would do anything he asked. 

They pulled out of him slowly, and Frankie rolled over, situating himself on hands and knees. River hummed appreciatively at the sight of Frankie’s cute little ass perked and ready for them. Just in case, they used a little more lube on the way in this time, holding Frankie’s hips steady.

“Color?” 

“Green,” Frankie breathed in relief, leaning over to rest on his elbows with his ass in the air. “Love you,” he mumbled into the sheets.

“And I you,” River smiled, pulling out slowly before pushing back in with enough force to jerk him forward a little. Frankie grunted, brows furrowed in concentration and lips parted obscenely.

They started off slow, but hard, for a bit and before either of them realized it, River had set a steady pace, properly fucking into him. “Such a good boy,” River panted with exertion, leaning over his sweaty back. “Asking so nicely to be fucked like this,” they punctuated their words with a particularly harsh thrust. Frankie moaned, face pressed into the bed, his fingers gripping the sheets like a lifeline.

“Say you’re a good boy, baby,” River ordered, kissing his shoulder blade.

“I’m–” Frankie whimpered, forcing his throbbing cock to calm down. 

“You can do it,” River encouraged, rubbing one of his hips comfortingly while the other hand curled around his cock. They started stroking him in time with their thrusts, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and Frankie’s weak moans and whines filling the room. The air smelled like River’s cherry-flavored lube and sex and it went right to Frankie’s head.

“I’m– a good boy,” Frankie breathed, cheeks burning as he bit his lip. 

“Yes you are, baby,” River grinned, letting go of his cock to plant one foot onto the mattress and fuck into him deeper.

Frankie’s head hung low between his shoulders as his body jerked forward with each of River’s thrusts. The sensations were all-consuming, every nerve ending crackled with barely contained energy. His moans were ragged, and River’s fingers dug into his sweat-slick skin.  .

Suddenly, River hit somewhere inside him that made him see stars, making him throw his head back. “Fuck! Fuck,” he trembled. “Riv, I’m gonna–”

“Let go, baby,” River purred, gripping onto each side of his narrow waist as they drove into him. They watched the toy fucking into Frankie’s tight hole, the rim stretching obscenely. 

“W-wanna look at you,” Frankie breathed, turning his head back to try and see them.

River slowed down and pulled out gently. The air left Frankie’s lungs at the feeling, making his trembling body fall to the side. His cock was painfully hard, all red and leaking. “C’mere,” River soothed, turning him onto his back. He reached out for them, and River moved between his thighs, sliding back into him.

Frankie moaned happily, wrapping his legs around their trim waist. River kissed him deeply, picking back up where they left off, hitting his prostate on every other thrust. His short nails dug into River’s back, scratching in pleasure. Frankie was a mess, panting hotly into River’s mouth, eyes closed in bliss. 

“I’m gonna come,” Frankie whispered, eyes glazed over as he watched their focused face. He looked between their bodies, the steady rhythm of River’s hips hypnotizing him.

“Come for me,” River panted against Frankie’s cheek. It didn’t take much convincing after that, Frankie’s body jerking and trembling with his release. River matched the waves of his orgasm with slow thrusts, prolonging it just a little more for him.

The sounds leaving Frankie’s body sounded foreign to his own ears, but he felt so much lighter and every thought or doubt in his mind was gone. It was the same way he felt when he flew.

“Did so good, baby,” River praised, resting him gently onto his back as they pulled out. Frankie felt empty and clenched around nothing, his hole stretched and sensitive. He was sticky and hot and completely content.

Frankie hummed like a happy, purring cat, and grinned up at them as they smiled down at him. “You’re amazing,” he said drunkenly.

River snorted and leaned down to kiss him and nip at his chin a couple times. 

“Now you,” he said tiredly, but full of determination.

“No, you need a nap first,” River chuckled, crawling off the bed to unhook the harness. There were faint indents where the straps had been, and he watched them saunter into the bathroom.

When they came back, it was with a damp washcloth to clean him up. His body was too heavy and tired and sated for him to protest. His eyelids got heavier the longer he laid there and before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

Frankie woke to the sound of water running. His heavy eyelids drooped a few times before they opened to an empty bedroom. He frowned, blinking as he looked around for River.

He faintly heard the sounds of Tori Amos’ voice coming from the bathroom and smiled. His tired body moved slowly, but then he was leaning against the doorframe, watching as River cleaned the toy they’d used on him earlier.

“Hey, cutie,” River grinned. They were still naked, with their legs crossed over the closed toilet seat as they washed the dildo, long hair like a curtain on either side of their face. They motioned to their phone so Frankie could pause the music, which he did.

“Hey,” he smiled shyly. “How long was I out?”

“Only a few minutes. Do you need anything?”

Frankie shook his head. He was fine. “A bath might be nice, though.”

River laughed lightly and nodded in agreement. “I’ll fill the tub.”

“Do you wanna join me?”

River smiled as they turned the knob. “Of course.”

They both settled in the tub, after Frankie insisted that River sit between his legs so he could hold them. River grabbed one of his large hands and played with his fingers, comparing the size difference. Frankie’s hands were strong, with years of military training and calluses to prove it. River’s were thinner, with only a couple of calluses from their drawing tools.

“How are you feeling?” They asked softly.

Frankie hummed as he thought about it. “Sore,” he chuckled. “But good. Really good. Thank you.”

River smiled. “Anytime. And I mean it,” they rested their head on his chest, turning slightly so they could look at him. “Seriously. You can always tell me if you’re feeling like switching things up.”

Frankie laughed and kissed their cheek. “I’ll remember.”

“Good.”

Silence settled over them comfortably, the only sounds in the room from one of Frankie’s legs lifting out of the water to rest on the edge of the tub. He started kissing down the side of their neck tenderly, then latching onto an earlobe to nibble gently.

“You’re insatiable,” River giggled, feeling ticklish.

“Never got to repay the favor,” he grumbled low in his chest, one hand coming up to tweak one of their nipples while the other moved lower down their stomach.

“Frankie, you don’t–”

“Shh,” Frankie protested softly, his hand moving down between their legs to tease their clit. River’s legs fell open easily, a soft moan leaving their lips. His middle finger moved in gentle circles around the nub and they melted into his arms.

River’s eyes shut as they let him do what he wanted, their arousal still very much present from before. It didn’t take much for Frankie’s two middle fingers to make their way inside them, fucking steadily. The water splashed around the movement of his hand, making River shudder.

Frankie sucked a dark mark in an open spot around a tattoo on River’s shoulder as his thumb rubbed at their clit.

“Shit,” River gasped, blunt nails digging into Frankie’s thigh and the edge of the tub simultaneously. That was the only warning Frankie got before their body went taut as they came around his fingers, hips rolling with the waves of the water.

Frankie hummed appreciatively and removed his fingers as they came down. “Gorgeous,” he whispered, turning their face so he could kiss them properly. River exhaled into the kiss, melting.

“Sneaky,” they breathed against his lips, and Frankie laughed.

“I have my moments.”

When they pulled apart, River planted one more kiss on his cheek before cuddling close. The water was getting cold, but they didn’t want to move just yet.

Frankie massaged their hips where the harness had laid, making River smile.

“Y’know,” River started. “Might let you try that sometime.”

“Try what, Río?” He hummed, fingers soothing River’s tender flesh.

“Fucking my ass. It’s been a long time since someone did that.”

Frankie froze, hands gripped onto their hip bones. His exhausted cock gave a valiant twitch against their back.

River laughed lightly and shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. We’ll see.”

[iamnotthere-idonotdie]

dream of me

part one

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synopsis: reader is an employee at wayne enterprises and gets a promotion from bruce, but the line between your professional relationship is blurred when he invites you to dinner.

content: bruce wayne x reader, no use of y/n, some cursing, some sex but not too graphic, mention of parents’ death

a/n: i had some other plans for this story but got a bad case of writers block so i decided to leave it here instead of dragging it out for the sole purpose of adding another plot point, i don’t have any plans for more parts to this but we’ll see, i honestly think i was more envisioning keaton’s bruce wayne for this story (at least i envisioned his house to look like keaton’s) because battinson’s would be pretty uncharacteristic for this, maybe this is an au where bruce wayne isn’t batman and just works at the company but i don’t know, point is just interpret bruce however you’d like, as always sorry about the typos, also sorry if it’s inaccurate that bruce doesn’t cook (i wasn’t sure if it was canon that he does or not so sorry if i was wrong in my guess, i should’ve just looked it up but honestly i was just ready to finally get this out of my drafts)

edit: i got around to making a part two

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grey clouds encompass the sky. your window is frosted by the freeze outside and slow snowflakes fall down like confetti. you walk up to the window and put your hand on it, letting the chilled glass send a shiver down your spine. it’s the first snowfall of winter. the first of likely many. though your penthouse offers a lavish view of the icy landscape of beautiful serenity, you know on the streets below the ice has already turned to slush and the snow has darkened from the dirty concrete. nothing beautiful lasts long in gotham city.

you pull your robe tighter around your shoulders and let out a sigh. you suppose you’d better get dressed for work. you walk across the bedroom to your closet and begin selecting your outfit. a stylish ensemble of pants, a button down top, and a sweater. you grab your boots out of the closet and set them down on the hardwood floor, the thud waking up your partner in bed. well, not exactly partner. but he kept you company last night, and warm this morning.

he rubs his eyes and sits up in bed.

“you’re leaving?” he asks, his words slurring as he tries to wake up.

“i have to go to work. we have a budget meeting today. i can’t be late.” you reply as you put your boots over your thick socks.

“what time is the meeting at?”

“ten.” you reply, flatly.

“well then what’s the rush? you still have plenty of time to get there.”

“not in this ice, i don’t.”

“well then at least let me kiss you goodbye.”

you reluctantly walk back over to the bed and kiss his cheek. you feel a sting in your chest and realize he didn’t see this as the one night stand you did.

“bye. i have to go.”

“see you later?” he asks as he gets out from under the covers, his clothes still off.

“maybe.” you say coldly. you don’t have time for this.

“okay, fine. bye.” he replies just as icy. good. it’s easier that way.

you put your coat on and grab your bag as you walk out the door, locking it behind you. he’ll unlock it again when he leaves but mrs. hanson down the hall has a spare. you’ll text her to lock the door for you later.

just as you predicted, the roads are a nightmare. you’re weaving in between other cars, willing the other drivers in them to go faster. you can’t be late for this meeting.

you finally get to the tower and pull into the garage, opting for a space right by the elevators. maybe if you get this promotion they’ll give you an assigned spot.

you get to your desk at 9:46. with a few minutes to spare, you go to the break room and make a coffee. someone keeps using your mug, so you have to use the communal one with the cartoon dog on it. not as professional as you’d like. and you can’t use a disposable because wayne enterprises is committed to being waste-free. at least waste-free when it comes to the break room. other areas in the company could benefit from that policy. but that’s what you’re going to propose in your meeting. you know this corporation is not going to run out of money anytime soon, but there are still places to improve on efficiency. you drink your coffee, black, and make your way back to your desk. you glance at the conference room every few seconds to watch your boss set up for the meeting. you analyze his every move, trying to gauge his mood at the moment. sometimes these proposals of yours don’t go over very well if he seems to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. you need him in a good mood. this meeting can potentially determine whether or not you can continue climbing the corporate ladder into that manager position you’ve been pining for for two years.

you gather your folder and notepad, opting to leave the coffee sitting at your desk, and you walk into the conference room.

“good morning mr. glass. enjoying the snow this morning?” you greet him in your most chipper tone in an attempt to sway what you think is a bad mood.

“well i would if the roads weren’t so goddamn icy. these people can’t drive in the snow.”

so maybe starting the conversation with that was a poor choice.

“yes, it can be very frustrating to drive in it.” you try to be as agreeable as possible.

more of your colleagues start to filter into the room as you take your seat at the end of the table. the conversation is low between everyone as they wait for the meeting to begin.

after 15 minutes, you start getting more anxious. your stare threatens to burn a hole through your folder with the proposal in it. why is this taking so long?

you now understand why there’s been a delay, as bruce wayne enters the room. fuck. bruce wayne is going to have to listen to your proposal now? it was nerve-wracking enough to have to pitch this to your boss, but the owner of the company? your boss’s boss? your hands start to shake and you try to wipe the sweat off of them onto your pants.

“i apologize everyone. i didn’t mean to keep you all waiting.” mr. wayne says as he takes his seat on the opposite end of the table.

mr. glass stands up from his seat at the head of the table. “well as long as you’re here, let’s get started on our quarterly report and budget for next month.”

the rest of the meeting is clouded by your anxiety. all you can think about is how much you don’t want to fuck this up. especially not in front of bruce wayne.

“well it looks like there’s plenty of room for improvement. how do you suggest we close this gap?” mr. glass asks the room, but it’s clear he is directing the question at mr. wayne.

“does anyone have any suggestions?” mr. wayne looks around the table.

without thinking you raise your hand and speak up.

“i have a budgeting proposal that i would like to share. if that’s alright.”

“that’s more than alright. let’s hear it.” mr. wayne gestures for you to take the stand, so to speak.

you stand and shakily take your papers out of the folder.

“as we all know, our expenses have been increasing as of late. and while these expenses have allowed us to improve on some essential aspects and departments, i believe there is a more efficient way we could be doing it.” you pause and look around the room. “firstly…”

the pitch goes better than you could have imagined. you were able to make your proposals clearly, answer questions thoroughly, and present confidently. you sit down after finishing and can’t help but smile, proud of yourself.

“well, that was quite a lot. thank you, but i think some of those implementations are a bit far-fetched.” mr. glass says and you can’t help but hear the condescending tone. your smile drops and you feel your face get hot in embarrassment. so much for that promotion.

“i actually really like what you had to say. i especially liked the suggestion to put more money into outreach.” mr. wayne says to you, smiling. “did you have any specific suggestions on where to do that?”

“thank you mr. wayne. i think it would be extremely beneficial and useful to prioritize teaching youth about technology; promoting stem learning and encouraging them to pursue higher education and research into it. we can even offer scholarships and grants to help students who won’t be able to afford the college tuition. and possibly gifting students new computers to further encourage learning.”

you get so passionate about this topic. you yourself were one of those kids. those kids who didn’t grow up in a mansion, but in a dingy apartment with a single father. those kids who couldn’t even afford to think about college, let alone actually pursue it. it was through a wayne scholarship program that gave you the opportunity to go to university. and now, if you have any say in the matter, you’d be proud to help give that opportunity to someone else who needs it.

“i think that’s great. giving these kids a way to focus their skills in a field they love. great work.” mr. wayne looks impressed, and you can’t help but smile even bigger.

“i appreciate that, mr. wayne.”

mr. glass clears his throat and stands again.

“well it looks like we have a solution here.” your boss says, clearly annoyed. “meeting adjourned, everyone. thank you.”

you stand up and gather your things together. you notice out of the corner of your eye that mr. wayne is making his way toward you.

“that was an excellent proposal. i think there’s a lot of potential there.”

“thank you mr. wayne.”

“bruce, please. i’ve actually been thinking about starting a new outreach division specifically working with the youth of gotham. when that happens, i’d like for you to head that department.”

you stare at him in shock for a moment then finally speak up.

“really? you want me?”

“you clearly have a passion for this. we need that.”

“wow. thank you. i’d be very interested in that.”

heading a division? in a program you care deeply about? this is much better than you had hoped for.

“great. i’ll be in touch and we’ll get started soon.”

“perfect. thank you mr. wa..”

“please, just call me bruce.”

you feel yourself blush a bit.

“bruce, thank you. thank you so much for this opportunity.”

“it’s my pleasure. i’m happy to give the position to someone who really cares about it.”

“i do, very much.”

bruce just smiles as he starts out the room.

“it was nice meeting you. and i’m looking forward to working with you on this.” he says.

“it was nice meeting you too. thank you, again.”

bruce smiles as he exits the room and you watch him through the glass as he makes his way down the hall.

you can’t believe it. this is the perfect opportunity for you. you spend the rest of the day too distracted by glee to focus on your spreadsheets. this is life changing. you can’t help but think of bruce differently too. he’d been up to your floor for meetings many times before, but this was the first time you were sitting in too. you’d always pictured him, frankly, not very positively. you knew this company was a great one and you were proud to work here, but now you’re feeling even better about being a part of wayne enterprises’ legacy.

at 5:36, you start gathering your things to go home. after organizing your desk and grabbing your bag, you start heading out of the office and to the elevators to the garage. you’re the last one to leave on your floor—even mr. glass left early—so you wait by the elevators alone. you hear the familiar ding and the doors open to reveal bruce wayne inside. he’s flipping through some pages in a manila folder when he looks up at you and smiles.

“hello,” he says pleasantly. “last one out?”

“yes, it’s just me.”

“what floor?”

“one, please.”

he presses the button, the button stating GF already glowing.

“thank you.”

the rest of the elevator ride is silent. bruce seems enveloped in this folder and you aren’t much of a talker anyways. the doors open and you start to exit the elevator, when bruce says,

“i’d like to start this project as soon as possible, monday.”

you stop and turn to face him. he’s smiling lightly and you smile back.

“that would be perfect. i’m very excited to start working on it.”

“i am as well. and i’m looking forward to working with you more closely too.”

“thank you bruce. i look forward to that as well.” and with that, the elevator doors close between you.

you smile again, thinking more about this job. but you realize you’re not just excited about the position, but the close proximity you’ll be working with bruce now. and how he said he’s looking forward to it.

you quickly dispel the thoughts from your mind. you’re frustrated at yourself for thinking of something so unprofessional. he was bruce wayne, for gods sake. your boss. any other notions needed to be eliminated, especially before starting this new position. you can’t afford something like that distracting you from doing your job and doing it well.

the weekend is spent with you primarily working on the project. you want everything ready to go and well-organized on monday. you want every detail planned out, to the tee. sunday night, you have all your folders, planners, binders, and other papers, all organized, sitting at the table by the door so you don’t forget them. you finally allow yourself to relax a minute before going to bed, so you draw a bath. you sit by the tub and watch it fill with the warm water, letting your mind wander. the rush of the water streaming out of the faucet provides the perfect white noise for you to get lost in a daydream. you think of this job, the company… bruce. when your mind starts to think of him, you let it stay on the thought. the thought of him, how nice he was to you during the meeting and afterwards. the elevator ride and his sweet goodbye. you think of his smile and you find yourself smiling too.

the sound of the water overflowing the tub jolts you out of your dream state.

“shit!”

you shut the faucet off and pull the plug on the tub drain to let the water go back down. you grab a few towels and try to mop the water up off the floor, leaving them in a wet pile by the door. you’re not feeling very relaxed anymore and don’t quite feel like a bath, but you’re not about to let this water go to waste. so, you slip your bathrobe off and slide into the water, grateful it’s still warm. you let out a sigh and close your eyes, trying to find serenity. again, your mind goes back to bruce. you can’t believe you’re allowing yourself to develop a crush on him. are you in elementary school? this is your boss, you can’t let these thoughts jeopardize this amazing career development.

you sit there for a while, until the water starts to cool down and your fingers start to prune. you get out of the tub and drain it, then grab your wet towels and bring them to the laundry room to wash. you take your robe off, the cold air stinging your naked body, and throw it in the washing machine too. you make a stop at the thermostat to turn it up as you make your way to your bedroom. you slip into pajamas and gingerly walk to the window and look out over the cityscape, the foggy night sky making it look spooky as ever. you allow yourself one last thought of bruce before you get into bed and fall asleep.

you wake up extra early monday morning and head straight to work. the ice has luckily been cleared a bit by gotham’s snow plows, but that doesn’t stop the traffic from forming. it’s okay, you gave yourself plenty of time to get there.

you get up to your floor almost an hour early and make a cup of coffee in the break room. at least one positive of coming in this early, no one’s using your mug.

you sit down at your desk and start running through your folder for the project, drinking your coffee until the mug is almost dry.

“good morning.”

you’re startled by a low voice behind you. it’s bruce.

“good morning bruce. you’re in early.”

“i could say the same to you.”

“i’m just ready to get started.”

“well great. we’ll get things started once everyone else gets in.” he points to your near-empty mug. “more coffee?”

“oh, sure. thank you.”

“how do you take it?”

“just black, please.”

bruce picks up your cup and takes it back to the conference room, his own mug in his other hand. he comes back with two steaming cups and sets yours back on your desk.

“thank you.” you say, picking it up and taking a sip.

“of course. so, how was your weekend?”

“it was good. mostly just working on this.” you pat your folder, gesturing to the project.

“i hope you were able to get some rest in too.”

“i was, yes. and you? how was your weekend?”

“oh, fairly uneventful. i spent most of it working as well.”

“well, i hope you were able to get some rest in too.” you say with a smile.

bruce smiles back

“i was, yes.”

the two of you continue talking at your desk as the first few members of your team start to trickle in.

when the rest of your team arrives, you and bruce all meet in the conference room to discuss strategies and begin the plans for this venture. it’s a productive day, with you sharing your thoughts on how to increase efficiency and bruce bouncing off your ideas. you realize you two work well together, your shared values and ideals harmonizing with each other to create a thought out and amazing plan. you start packing up feeling even more confident with this new position and you already cannot wait to keep going with it.

at the end of the day, bruce finds you again at the elevator, and this time the ride isn’t filled with awkward silence but with engaged conversation between colleagues.

“i enjoyed hearing about your plans to bring this project into gotham’s schools. your point about giving each classroom the proper curriculum via new technology was especially helpful.” bruce smiles at you and you can’t help but feel proud of yourself.

“thank you bruce. i think the whole team was able to work very well together and we made some great progress today.”

“i think so too.”

the elevator dings and the doors open to the garage.

“well, thank you again. i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“see you tomorrow.” he says with a smile.

you walk towards your car with your back facing the elevator when you hear the doors close. and then footsteps coming up behind you.

bruce taps your shoulder.

“would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

you’re shocked at his question and, truthfully, your first instinct is to decline. he must sense your apprehension because he starts to backpedal on his question.

“if you have plans, or just don’t want to, i understand.”

“no… i would be happy to have dinner with you.”

“great. we can go down to my car if you’d like.”

“sure.” you say with a smile. as you follow behind him back to the elevator to go to the ground floor, you feel yourself blushing.

the two of you make it to the lobby and you realize how rarely you actually see this part of the offices, with your daily routine utilizing the parking garage every day since you started working here. bruce’s car is brought around front and he opens the passenger door for you to get in.

you make small talk as you drive to his home. you talk about work, how exciting the project is. you talk about the weather, how it’s nice that the ice is clearing. it’s a pleasant drive with bruce at the wheel. when you get to his home, bruce comes around and opens the car door for you again and you head up the steps to his front door. you enter into his insanely large home and are in awe of how just one person can inhabit so much space.

“good evening, master bruce. dinner is almost ready.” an older gentleman greets you two as you enter.

“this is alfred,” bruce introduces him. “he takes care of a some things around here.”

“i take care of everything around here. pleasure to meet you.” alfred offers a hand to shake.

“the pleasure is all mine, alfred.” you say with a chuckle.

“we can wait in the living room. i’ll start a fire.” bruce says.

alfred makes his way to the kitchen as you follow bruce to what you assume is one of multiple living rooms in the house. he puts some logs in and starts a fire in the almost-comically large fireplace then sits down next to you on the sofa.

“dinner smells delicious.” you say, filling the air with light conversation to accompany the crackle of the fire.

“alfred is an amazing cook. i’ve tried to learn from him but i suppose it just wasn’t in the cards for me.”

“i never really learned either. my mother was a great cook too. i wish she had been able to teach me… she passed when i was very young. that’s actually one of the few things i remember about her, her cooking.”

you don’t know why you suddenly started talking about your mother. it’s not exactly light fireside conversation.

“i’m sorry…” bruce says quietly.

“it’s okay. it was a long time ago, and my father and i were able to grow a lot closer over the years.”

“are you and your father still close?”

“he.. actually is gone too. he died of cancer a few years ago. losing my mother was hard, of course. but losing my dad… he was all i knew for so long. all we had was each other.” you start to feel yourself welling up, and you realize you’ve never talked about this with anyone else before.

bruce sits there quietly, and you try to fight the tears but when one falls, the others follow suit.

“i’m sorry…” you start as you try to wipe them away.

“don’t be.” bruce says quietly as he gently wipes a tear off your cheek. he lets his hand stay there, his thumb resting gently on your cheekbone.

you lock your eyes with his and just as you start to get your tears under control, bruce leans in and lightly kisses you. and though you know he’s your boss and you know it’s unprofessional… you don’t stop him. instead, you look at him, and then lean in yourself and kiss him back, stronger. the light of the fire casts dancing shadows across the two of you as you fall into each other on the ornate sofa. dinner has left your mind, work has left your mind, everything has left your mind. everything but him.

you continue kissing, passion growing more and more as the fire grows too. he’s unbuttoning your shirt and you’re taking off his jacket. shoes are kicked off and before it continues, he’s scooping you up with his arms under your knees and around your shoulders, carrying you up the stairs to what you assume is his bedroom. he opens the door and not-so gently puts you on the bed. he finishes undressing himself and then starts taking your clothes off too. he slides your pants down and off your legs and lifts your shirt off, leaving your arms laying above your head. you feel vulnerable, yet when he gets on top, you somehow also feel safe, it just all feels so right. this intensity, this passion, this craving you have for each other is more than you bargained for but also, somehow, everything you ever wanted.

you finish, bruce quick to follow. you only now start to think about how loud you must have been. you both lay there, catching your breath, sweating, and realize how fast the time has gone by. you’ve definitely missed dinner.

bruce finds you an oversized t-shirt and a pair of his boxers for you to wear. he finds a shirt for himself and slips a pair of sweatpants on. you and him make it back downstairs to find that alfred has stored your dinner in the fridge and left instructions on how to properly heat it up. you and bruce laugh at each other for not knowing how to work the stove as you stumble through alfred’s pointers, but you both finally manage to reheat the meal and go back to the living room to eat. with the fire burning its last embers, you and bruce eat your dinner under the low orange light by the fireplace. you talk about nothing yet about everything as you enjoy the delicious late-night dinner. bruce takes your plate to the kitchen and washes the dishes as you bask in the final warmth of the fire.

“i may not be able to cook,” bruce starts as he makes his way back to you. “but i at least know how to clean up after myself. alfred left another note saying to leave the dishes to him, but i figured i’d save him a few extra minutes.”

“how very kind of you.” you say, teasingly.

“well, i am extremely generous.” he says with a sarcastic tone.

you laugh and when he sits back down next to you, you pull him in and kiss him. he cradles your jaw in his palm and kisses you back, his thumb gently rubbing your temple. he pulls away and kisses your forehead. exhaustion gets the better of you and you yawn.

“you tired?” he says smiling.

“no, of course not. i’m as awake as ever, i could run a marathon.” if your sarcastic tone didn’t make it clear you were indeed tired, the second yawn surely did.

he chuckles and stands, taking your hand in his as he leads you back upstairs.

“i have a guest room if you want it, right there down the hall.” he says, pointing ahead.

you look down the hall then back up at him.

“or…”

he chuckles lightly and grabs your hand again, taking you back into his room. you get under the covers with him and he lays down on his back as you curl up next to him, resting your arm across his stomach and your head on his chest. his steady heartbeat and his gentle stroking of your arm lulls you quickly to sleep. as you lay there, seduced into a deep slumber by the warmth and comfort, you dream only of bruce.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………………….

[picturejasper20]

So, i made a recent post about some issues i have with Mabel Pines' character writing in the main Gravity Falls series like how her characters flaws don't get addressed properly and they can be potrayed as something acceptable.

A mutual of mine, @amazingrich101 , told me to check out the graphic novel Gravity Falls Lost Legends since one of the stories (Don't dimension it) acts as a follow up for the Weirdmageddon and it starts Mabel as main character.

And I'm very surprised i haven't seen more people bringing up this story when it comes to Mabel's character because it addresses quite a lot of things the main series brushed off about her character and problems people have with her characterization. Because of this, i would like to do a semi-analysis about this story myself and talk about the things that explores about Mabel's character and the development she gets.

So ¨Don't Dimension It¨ starts with a semi recap of what happened post Weirdmageddon: There are dimension-rifts as consequence of Bill taking over Gravity Falls, the protagonists are going around trying to fix these rifts. In a moment Mabel pulls up Waddles from her bag, partially ignoring how Stanford said these rifts are dangerous and Dipper tells this to Mabel:

Dipper saying this of all other characters is important, since Mabel has the habit of taking advantage of Dipper quite a lot in the series and he more often than not finds himself in situations he has to go with Mabel wants to do regardless of how he feels about it.

So we have the story bringing up from near the start that Mabel can be very self-centered in occasions and ignore the potential danger in serious situations, like Dipper points out. That's a good start.

Mabel accidentally falls into one of these dimensions rifts and ends ups in a dimension that is full of different versions of Mabels that got lost and ended up in that place. One of the Mabels tells protagonist Mabel that Brain Mabel has been trying to build a spaceship to escape but she got bored and got herself distracted with stickers.

Prot Mabel tries asking for help but the rest of the Mabels don't take the situation seriously, ignore her or do their own thing, not caring about taking priority in escaping.

I think these are more extreme versions of prot Mabel but one thing that prot Mabel realizes is how irritating it is to be ignored by well... versions of herself. She wants to espace this dimension, the issue is that other Mabels are too ¨busy¨ doing their own thing that they don't care about helping.

Mabel eventually finds one Mabel that actually is helpful, lets call her ¨Mabel 2¨ for the moment. Mabel tells Mabel 2 how irritating the rest of the Mabels are and the two work together to send a signal for Stanford and Stan to pick them up from the dimension.

When the ship shows up to pick them up, Mabel 2 betrays Mabel and traps her inside a bathroom. She reveals herself to be ¨Anti-Mabel¨, the most evil Mabel in the multiverse.

....I think this writing choice for to have just ¨Mabel but bad¨ without further exploration is pretty shallow but, meh, i want to focus on Mabel's character, not the antagonist.

So prot Mabel manages to escape from the bathroom she was trapped in while Anti-Mabel takes her place in the ship. Mabel asks for help to the other Mabels again, only to be ignored... and that makes her reach her own limit.

She finds herself repeating almost the same things that Dipper told her at the start of the story and she finally realizes how self-centered she can be to others and not see when something is a bigger priority. She tells to herself that ¨i need to work on myself¨, meaning she admits she has some growing to do as person.

She tries asking for help again, which leads her to admit how she messed up by being selfish in ¨Dipper and Mabel vs The Future¨. She talks about how she negleted those around her for being so absorbed in what she wanted to do that she didn't pay enough attention how this could bother people around her. She promises that she is going to try to be a better person from now on and work on to be more caring of other people.

This is very crucial for Mabel's development because, while she learned that changing is part of growing up in Weirdmageddon, her habit of making things about herself, coming off as too self-absorbed and making people do the things she wants without considering much what others want wasn't properly addressed. And this can become a toxic trait of hers, like ignoring things that are a bigger priority and taking advantage of her friends and family.

Mabel isn't a demon because she can be very selfish at times, she is a just 13 year old teenager. However, it still an important lesson she needs to learn to mature as a person over time. This is why in this story having her confronting these problems that she has was good for her character to have.

She manages to escape along with the rest of the Mabels helping her, they stop anti-Mabel and defeat her. Mabel goes back to Gravity Falls with Stanford and Stan while the rest of the Mabels use the ship to find their way back their own homes.

When Dipper asks to Mabel how was her trip in the multiverse, she has this to say.

She apologizes to Dipper for being selfish during this summer and that must have been a lot for Dipper to deal with. Dipper makes a joke about it, implying that he accepts Mabel's apology and forgives her for her behaviour.

It isn't super big but is still really good having Mabel apologize to Dipper for how she would treat him in certain episodes. I have talked about how their dynamic could come off as toxic in certain occasions because Dipper had to do what Mabel wanted and his feelings weren't always taking into consideration. So Mabel apologizing feels proper for the situation.

I have some issues with this story (Anti-Mabel just... being a not interesting antagonist, for some reason having a meta commentary about how Stanford and Stan aren't the best caretakers which is fine but i don't think it suits Gravity Falls imo). However i do appreciate the development that Mabel gets in it, bringing up her character flaws and her realizing that she messed up in some ways, telling to herself that she needs to work on that.

It definitely leaves Mabel in a way better place than the main series did, by her recognizing she has to change her selfish tendencies and acknowledging her mistakes, a lot healthier than just waiting for others to comform to do what she always wants. Her relationship with Dipper is a better place too, apologizing for the way she would sometimes treat him during the summer. It doesn't fix *every* problem with Mabel's character writing in the series but does solve some main issues and it does leave a better conclusion to Mabel's character arc overall.

[jisuto]

On the topic of game reception, what are your thoughts on the current state of pokemon?

OK THIS ASK WAS SENT BEFORE THE HUGE LEAK LOL but I have a lot to say:

I watched VHS tapes, played the games, and owned merch since a young age so the series is very special to me. But I don't like the current direction at all and it's not because of the designs or nostalgia. The quality and game performance plummeted so how can I enjoy playing when there's mad lag or low frame rate that hinders my progress and worsen the experience??

It took too many years for them to realize they need to put quality over quantity after the SWSH mess, seeing that they can get away with pretty much ANYTHING and still make huge profit. You see people say that Pokemon should've never went 3D and stay 2D but tbh, it's a series that improves it's graphics as technology advances so it's not a surprise for them to finally go 3D and personally I think that's fine but just keep it looking good and fun (though I would love a 2D/3D hybrid). XY introduced a lot of new features but still lacked in some aspects that still haven't really been solved or added.

Reusing assets is common in the industry but only to a certain extent. They claimed that SWSH was taking a while to make because they were making brand new models which turned out to be a lie and they look like bootleg figures with the new lighting. The 3DS models were ripped from Pokepark, including some animations, but a lot of them still barely have any character. They have their own in-house team (Creatures Inc) so they made the decision NOT to have pokemon properly animated or look alive.... Also they made spin-offs like Ranger, Colosseum, Pokepark, and Pokken which look AMAZING

FRLG took only one year while HGSS was being developed at the same time as Platinum and took 3 years to finish that turned into one of the best games and remakes ever made. As the franchise expands, the team also needs to add more manpower but Game Freak can definitely afford to get more resources to help them?? They can't continue having a ragtag team of like 20 people to make a game back then and do the same now then expect good results... Hire more people who know how create with current gen consoles IT'S COMMON SENSE PLS also I can't believe they had a different company create BDSP knowing how beloved and groundbreaking DPPT was?? No redesigns like the previous remakes and thought it was a good idea to keep it looking a carbon copy to the DS style...

Also it's shocking to see how fan reception can change how the devs direct the next gen ESPECIALLY when it's not even real constructive criticism?? When Unova came out, I remember seeing all the online outcry about "OH THEY HAVE AN ICE CREAM CONE POKEMON AND A TRASH BAG, THEY'RE RUNNING OUT OF IDEAS EW" then actually hear it being repeated at school.... I WAS TRYING TO SURVIVE SINCE DAY 1 IN THE TRENCHES DEFENDING THIS GAME IT WAS ALWAYS GOOD AND DIDN'T NEED 10 YEARS TO AGE WELL. It's crazy how these are the same people who want another Kanto when Trubbish is Grimer (garbage waste) and Vanillite is Voltorb (based on literal items) then you could not catch any other pokemon from different regions in the main game. And the leak confirmed that the disgruntled hate from the west made the devs not release new pokemon in B2W2 and move them over to XY instead AND NOT GIVE A SINGLE GEN 5 MEGA EVOLUTION. So we were robbed because of genwunners who were fixated on the wrong things and ignored all the great content Unova brought us. It's strange how players keep complaining they want a different and fresh game, but want it to continue being super formulaic and binary like wtf do you want make up your mind

None of the switch titles really got me invested and I always end up replaying the older games but hopefully PLZA will break the curse and finally give us a nice game. Also why don't we have more spin-offs on the switch if there's so many of them floating around like the DS had a bunch??? STOP BEING COWARDS I WANT A POKEMON NINTENDOGS GAME OR THAT FIRE EMBLEM CROSSOVER WE WERE SUPPOSED TO GET. I JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN AGAIN ;w;

[1000roughdrafts]

hey! if you take requests, i’m just wondering if you’d consider a sister winchester one? maybe her at 18? i love your writing so much, and i’d really love something like a hurt reader/dying reader?? something super angsty ahaha

Oh, for sure! Angst is my favorite! (as I'm sure you can tell by the word count lol) sorry it’s taken me like 3 years to get to this 😞

A/N: this was meant to post 2/28/24 because I wanted to ease into coming back with an every other week posting schedule BUT I’m just too excited and antsy for that lol also it’s set in Season 1, Episode 1

Thank you by the way!

Title: Please Wake Up

Warnings: swearing, graphic description of injury and illness, blood angst, hurt/dying reader, depiction of medical procedures, takes place in season 1 episode 1 :)

Word Count: 5.8k

Being third born after two boys, Y/N always felt like she had big shoes to fill. Despite her best efforts to impress the man, she never really formed a bond with John. Her next role model was Dean, who became more of a father to her than John ever was or could be.

Until her eleventh birthday, Dean did her hair into pigtails every day, partly because he hadn't learned to do any other hairstyle but mostly because he thought it was the cutest on her. He'd pack her and Sam's lunch with snacks he'd bought from vending machines and even pretend to take her on hunts because he knew she wanted to be exactly like him.

When she wasn't learning about monsters and guns with Dean, she spent time with Sam. He'd help her with her homework or play board and card games. They have as much in common as Y/N and Dean. Neither Sam nor Y/N got along with John, and neither remember their mothers. 

Y/N's mother was a woman John met in Nebraska three years after the boy's mom died. The affair only lasted a night, but to his surprise, he heard from her again six months later with the news that they had a baby girl on the way. John was shocked and heartbroken. He couldn't bear the thought of bringing another child into the life of hunting.

John kept his distance, adamant that Y/N would be better off without him, and when another three months of silence went by, he figured that Y/N's mother came around to see it his way. Unfortunately, her pregnancy was complicated, as was the birth, and it turned out that having Y/N is what killed her. 

When John got the call, he had half a mind to let the state take custody of little Y/N. Indeed, they would provide her with a better life than he could. John decided to meet her at least, and when he laid eyes on her perfect little face, he couldn't bring himself to abandon her. 

Y/N was barely sixteen when Sam left for college. While she was proud of him for putting himself first, it broke her heart for him to go the way he did. She missed him more and more every day, often keeping Dean up at night with her sniffling and crying. After a while, he would get into bed next to her when the tears started and sing Hey Jude while playing with her hair to help her fall asleep. That went on for another six months before she finally started to fall asleep without crying. 

For her seventeenth birthday, Dean came across a necklace he'd wanted to get for her since Sam left. From his wallet, he took out the only picture he had of the sibling trio, representing the single moment of their life where John treated them like regular kids, and using his pocket knife, he carved around their heads and bodies to match the exact size of the locket, smiling proudly at himself when it fit perfectly. 

Now at eighteen, she stands next to the Impala while Dean lugs their bags out, drops them into the trunk, and slams it shut. He heads for the driver's door but stops when he realizes Y/N hasn't opened hers yet. Eyebrows raised, he twirls a finger in the air as if to say, 'Let's get a move on.'

"Are you ever gonna teach me how to drive, Dean?" she asks. "I mean, you've got to, you know?" 

"No, I don't. Get in," Dean says. She does so with a huff. Dean checks the mirrors before backing out of their parking spot. Turning to Y/N, he says, "Besides, as long as I'm around, you don't need to," but softens his face into a smile when he looks at her. "Cause there's no way in Hell I'll ever let you drive my car." 

Y/N lets out a soft chuckle. "It doesn't have to be this car, Dean!" She rolls the window down, letting the cool breeze hit her face. "What happens if we get separated and I'm being chased by… I don't know, something that has super speed, and my only way back to you is to steal a car and -" 

"Stop. First of all, you should know that I'd never put you in that kind of danger," Dean says, disgusted by the mere thought. He lets out a long sigh. "I'll teach you," he says, looking at her gleaming smile. He tries his damnedest to see her for the adult she's becoming, but he only sees the happy baby in pull-ups he used to feed marshmallows and jello to on a motel room floor. "Just… not yet, okay?" 

She scoffs, "Most people learn to drive when they're only fifteen. I mean, you took me to freaking Vegas with a fake ID for my birthday, for fuck's sake!" 

"I said not yet, Y/N!" he says, shooting her the 'dad look' he's been perfecting since she was four. 

"Fine," she grumbles. She clasps her hands, "So I was looking through news articles, and there seem to be vamps in the next town. Should we be on that?" 

Dean clears his throat and needlessly adjusts the rear-view mirror. "Actually, kiddo, we're on something else right now." He keeps his head straight but glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. Whispering, he says, "We're gonna go get Sammy." 

Y/N's eyes widen as her head whips to look at him. "What?" 

He keeps his eyes on the road, "yeah, uh, with Dad missing... we could use the help," he says, gripping the steering wheel tighter. 

"But Sam's at college!" Y/N scoffs, "he wanted out!" 

"He abandoned us!" he shouts, shaking his head at himself when he notices her shoulders tense. Her eyes peer into her lap, where her hands lie folded. “Look Y/N/N, I just… I can't shake this awful feeling that something is wrong." He waits for a response from her, but she only nods with thin lips. She tunes him out and focuses on the wind hitting the window. "I gotta make sure they're okay," he says softly. 

Over the years, Y/N has learned to trust Dean's intuition, but right now, it just feels like he's being selfish. She opts to stay quiet, even if it makes a long drive longer.

Y/N jolts awake at the sound of the trunk slamming shut. She takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She doesn't see Dean next to her, so she scans her surroundings through squinted eyes, hoping for a clue about her whereabouts. She finds a gas station receipt in her lap and flips it over to see the scribbles of Dean's handwriting telling her to 'stay put or else.' She rolls her eyes, crumpling it into a ball to throw it into the backseat.

She hears the voices of two familiar men, one of whom she hasn't heard in two years. Her heart races, and she fumbles with the seat belt, trying to unhook it with shaky hands. She jumps out of the car and turns in time to see Dean leaning on the back of the Impala.

"It's a law school interview," Sam says, "and it's my whole future on a plate," he glares.

"Law school?" Dean asks with a smirk. Y/N walks over to stand next to Dean. He shoots a quick, acknowledging glance her way. Sam's eyes shift between Dean and Y/N, softening when they land on Y/N, "so we got a deal or not?" he asks flatly.

Dean says nothing but lightly nods his head. Y/N runs towards Sam, nearly knocking him over with a hug.

"Y/N/N," he smiles. Pulling her even closer to him, he wraps his arms tightly around her back and kisses the top of her head. "I missed you," he whispers.

"I missed you, too," she says, her eyes welling up with tears. Sam looks at Dean just in time to see him press his lips together with an 'I told you so' in his eyes. Sam shakes his head, squinting at Dean just before he lets go of Y/N.

"Kay, I gotta put a bag together," he sighs, "I'll be right back."

He turns to head for the door, and Y/N doesn't take her eyes off him until he disappears into the building. She blinks her eyes and turns to face Dean. He pushes himself off the back of the car and silently heads for the driver seat.

Sam and Y/N sit in the car at a gas station while Dean heads for snacks. Sam opens his door but quickly looks over his shoulder to check on Y/N. This is when he notices the box of tapes sitting next to her. Intrigued, he shifts in the chair and asks her to hand them to him. Y/N is hesitant because it's hard to say how Dean would react, and she's always hated being in the middle of their fights but does so anyway. Sam rests his tongue between his lips as he takes the box from Y/N. Stretching his legs out of the car, he rests the box in his lap to filter through them.

"Hey," Dean says from behind the Impala, his mouth wrapped around a candy bar, "either of you want breakfast?" he asks, holding a soda and a bag of chips.

Y/N waits for Sam to answer first. "No, thanks," he says, glancing Dean's way momentarily.

"I do," Y/N smiles.

"So how'd you pay for that stuff? Three of you still running credit card scams?" Sam says, going back to looking through the cassettes.

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro ball career," Dean says, putting the gas nozzle back into the pump.

Y/N chimes in, "Besides, all we do is apply," she shrugs, "it's not our fault they send us the cards."

"Yeah? And what names did you write on the applications this time?" he asks, swinging his legs back inside the car and closing the door behind him.

"Uh, Burt Aframian," Y/N answers. Dean gets into the seat, handing Y/N the drink and chips. "Thank you," she chirps.

"And his son Hector," Dean adds, "scored two cards out of the deal."

"Sounds about right. I swear, man. You've gotta update your cassette tape collection."

Dean frowns, nearly offended. "Why?"

"Well, for one, they're cassette tapes, and two," Sam holds one up, "Black Sabbath? Motorhead?" he says, dropping them to grab another, "Metallica?" he laughs, "It's the greatest hits of mullet rock," he says as Dean rips the Metallica tape from his hand with a glare.

"Well, house rules, Sammy." Dean pops the tape into the player with a tight smile, "driver picks the music, shotgun shuts their cake-hole," he says, dropping the empty case into the box. "Isn't that right, Y/N?" he smirks into the rear-view mirror and smiles when he sees her roll her eyes.

"You know, Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old," Sam scolds, "it's Sam, okay?"

Turning the volume up, Dean cocks his head to the side, "sorry. I can't hear you. The music's too loud," he says with a slight chuckle.

Crashing a crime scene where police are still investigating is just another Saturday with Dean for Y/N, but seeing Sam's eyes widen at the box of Dean's fake IDs calls attention to how out of the norm this life is. Dean makes wise-ass comments to the cops, as usual, and Sam stomps on Dean's foot. Dean responds by smacking Sam's head as they bicker on the way back to the car, but Y/N can't help but grin from ear to ear.

Even when her brothers are arguing, Y/N couldn't possibly be happier. Today is her first hunt with both of her brothers and the first time in far too long since the three of them had been together for any reason.

They make their way to find Amy, who they learn is the girlfriend of the victim from listening to the cops on the bridge. They stop her while she's putting up missing posters, and after lying about being distant relatives of her boyfriend, they ask if she'd be willing to answer some questions to find him.

… "It's kind of this local legend," Amy's friend says after a few minutes of chatting. Massaging her thumb with her other hand, she continues, "This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago." Dean glances over at Sam and Y/N, who listen intently, "Well, supposedly, she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever."

At a local library, Dean searches the archive page for any murders on Centennial Highway with no results. Sam shoves Dean's chair, and when it rolls back, he scoots his chair to the computer to take over, earning him a slap from Dean. After replacing 'murder' with 'suicide,' a news article pops up.

"This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river," Sam reads.

"Does it say why she did it?" Y/N asks, scooting her chair closer to Sam to try and read the screen.

"Yeah," Sam says.

"What?" Dean says with raised eyebrows.

"An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Apparently, her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing." Sam lets out a breath, "both die," he says in a whisper.

The air grows thick around them, and Y/N frowns. "That's terrible," she says, shaking her head.

"'Our babies were gone,'" Sam reads, "'and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch."

"Hmm," Dean points to the picture on the screen, "that bridge look familiar to you?"

They hit the bridge at nightfall. Crickets sing to water drumming against the rocks as it rushes under their feet. The clouds hang low in the sky, giving the air around them a haze.

"So," Dean says, peering over the bridge at the water, "this is where Constance took the swan dive," he says, leaning against the rail next to Y/N. 

"So you think Dad would have been here?" Sam asks in disbelief, looking over at Dean. 

"Well, he's chasing the same story, and we're chasing him," Dean shrugs, turning to walk down the bridge. 

Sam turns to follow. "Okay, so now what?" he says, forcing a breath through his nose. Y/N walks right next to him, still scared to let him out of her sight. 

"Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while," Dean grumbles. 

Sam stops walking, "Dean," he says, raising his hands before dropping them. "I told you. I've gotta be back by Monday." 

"Monday," Dean says, pivoting to make grueling eye contact with Sam, but only turns his body enough that he's still facing the bridge's railing. "Right," he says, shaking a finger, "the interview." The bridge creaks under him as he turns the rest of the way. 

"Yeah," Sam nods. 

"Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you?" Dean says, shifting his weight between his feet. "You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?" Dean asks, the animosity growing with each word. 

Sam shrugs, "maybe. Why not?" 

Dean's voice roughens, "Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know the things you've done?" 

Sam takes a few threatening steps toward Dean, "No, and she's not ever going to know," he scowls. 

"Well, that's healthy," Dean sneers. "You can pretend all you want, Sammy, but sooner or later, you're going to have to face up to who you really are," he says, turning around to continue walking. 

Sam huffs, "Who's that?" 

"You're one of us," Dean shrugs, a hand gesturing towards Y/N. 

"Hey! Leave me out of this," Y/N grumbles from ahead. 

"No," Sam says, speed walking towards Dean, "I'm not like you," he says, turning around as he stops in front of Dean. "This is not going to be my life."

Dean keeps his jaw tight. "Well, you have a responsibility to..." 

Y/N feels the tension rising and tries to plead with them to stop arguing, but they ignore her. "Guys!" she shouts again. 

"To Dad? And his crusade?" Sam scoffs. "If it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like! And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her," he shakes his head, "Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back." 

Dean grips Sam's shirt and swings him around and against the bridge's railing with a clunk at Sam's weight against it. 

Y/N flips around and runs to their side, "Dean, what are you doing? Are you crazy?" She panics. But Dean continues to ignore her as he glares at Sam. 

After a long, breathless pause, Y/N shouts again, "Dean!" 

The misty air is still between them, and even the wind seems too frightened to move. It's as if the world is put on pause.

Dean's eyebrows raise, and he keeps a firm grip on Sam's shirt. Under his breath, he says, "Don't talk about her like that." 

He throws Sam's jacket from his hands and takes a few stabilizing steps backward in one movement. Y/N runs to check on Sam, who shakes her off with an "I'm fine" that sounds muffled compared to the pounding of her heart. A few tears escape her when she looks over at Dean walking away from them, but she doesn't realize she's crying until the taste of salt hits her lips. 

Her eyes return to Sam, shaking her head in disgust that Dean would treat him like that. She knew it had been rough for Dean since Sam left for college, but hell, it's been hard on her, too, and she's not throwing anyone against the side of a bridge!

Dean halts, “Sam. Y/N!” he calls. Y/N turns with a full-body glare, but her eyes widen when she sees a woman in a long, white dress standing on the bridge's railing. The woman looks over at them, and Y/N can see the resemblance to the picture of Constance. The woman's hair and dress sway in the wind, and she keeps her eyes on them as she allows herself to drop from the ledge. 

With a grunt, Sam rushes to the railing to look over it for her, Dean and Y/N not far behind him. 

"Where'd she go?" Dean barks. 

Breathless, Sam pushes out an "I don't know." 

The roar of the Impala's engine turning on startles them, their bodies whipping around just in time to see the headlights flick on. 

"What the-," Dean says. 

"Who's driving your car?" Y/N asks. 

Without taking his eyes off of the car, Dean pulls his keys from his pocket and jingles them, stealing Sam and Y/N's attention to them in unison. The engine revs, drawing back their wide eyes to the Impala. The tires squeal as the car begins to speed towards them. 

"Y/N, go! Go!" Dean says with a hand on each of his siblings, spinning them around to run in the opposite direction. Dean presses his hand firmly on Y/N's back as they run, keeping himself between her and the car. They run as fast as they can until Dean can feel the Impala's breath on his ankles, and he guides them towards the bridge's railing. 

Y/N's heart feels like a brick in her chest, weighing her down at the thought of jumping over. "I can't," she says in a breath, and all in a split second, she feels like her feet are cemented into the bridge's planks as Sam jumps over. "No!" she screams as Dean grips onto her arm, pulling them both over the bridge. 

Sam hangs from the ledge of the bridge, shouting for Y/N as her screams are washed out with a big splash. "Y/N!" he calls again from the back of his throat, climbing up the bridge to get on his knees. He looks over the bridge, scanning for Y/N and Dean, calling out when he sees his brother, "Dean! You alright?" 

"I'm super," Dean grumbles with an outstretched thumbs up. Lying on his back, half submerged in the muddy water. 

"I can't see Y/N! Where's Y/N?" Sam panics, and when the words hit Dean's ears, he springs to his feet in a second. He whirls around in a circle as he searches for her. 

"Y/N!" Dean shouts, wiping mud from his face. He paces around, "Y/N, where are you?" he yells, half-expecting her to pop out from behind a bush to scare him. 

The world spins around him for a moment, utterly void of sound aside from a ringing in his ears as Dean tries to comprehend what is happening. He closes his eyes tight, shaking his head to clear away the fog that covers him. They open onto the water, catching the moon's glimmer reflecting off something. He runs towards it, hopping from rock to rock until he finds Y/N's broken locket stuck in algae. Dean picks it up with shaky hands, recalling how her face lit up when he first gave it to her. She'd be devastated to see its state now. Fear spills down him in an icy chill.

His head swivels around in search of her. Tears, that he refuses to let fall, poke at his eyes when he sees her lying face down in the water, a bloody rock next to her.

“Y/N!” He shouts, rushing to her. He kneels to pull her out of the water by her shoulder, turning her over so that her back rests against his knee. "Y/N!" he yells again, and when she doesn't respond, he grabs her by the waist and hoists her over his shoulder. He grunts, shifting his weight before jogging for the shore. "Sam! I got her!" 

"Dean! Is she okay?" He calls out as he sprints down the side of the hill to catch up to them. The brothers reach the shore simultaneously, and Dean drops to his knees to gently set Y/N on the ground in front of him, Sam following suit. 

"Come on, be okay, be okay, be okay, be okay," Dean pleads softly, placing two fingers on her neck. His heart is beating so hard that he can't tell if it's her pulse he's feeling or his own. "Sam, I can't feel anything," he says. Dropping an ear to her mouth, he adds, "And I don't think she's breathing." 

"Call 911," Sam demands, ripping his jacket off to tie around Y/N's bleeding head wound. He quickly inspects the rest of her body for any bleeding before placing a hand on her chest. Looking up at Dean, who stands frozen, Sam puts his free hand on Dean's shoulder, "now, Dean!" he shouts, shoving him. 

Sam tilts Y/N's head back, checking again for a pulse, a breath, a twitch, a shudder, anything that meant he wouldn't have to perform CPR on his baby sister. He places his hands on her chest, one over the other, pausing in case her heart miraculously started again, but all he feels under his palms is the stillness of Y/N's wet and cold chest. 

Sam begins chest compressions, and the tears he'd been holding back rush out uncontrollably when he feels her ribs break under his palms. It makes him want to pull away, but he forces himself to continue. Dean watches in wide-eyed horror as he gives the 911 operator their location when asked, keeping his free hand pressed against his forehead. 

"Anything?" he shakily shouts at Sam after what feels like hours. Sam ignores him, counting out loud until he hits thirty again. He stops compressions to blow a shuddering breath into Y/N's mouth, watching her chest rise and fall before delivering another. "Hello! Is anybody on the way? My sister is dying here!" Dean shouts into the phone, but all that meets his ears is static. 

"Dean," Sam says with a heavy breath, beginning compressions again. "You gotta take over," he says between breaths. 

Without question, Dean drops his phone to the ground as he falls to his knees next to her, "come on, Y/N," he pleads, ignoring the burning in his knees as he places his hands together on top of Sam's. Sam leaves his hands under Dean's for just one compression before pulling away. 

"Okay, that's ten. You've got twenty more before breaths," Sam says before they count out loud together with every push into Y/N's chest. 

Dean is growing tired by his third round of compressions, but the sirens in the distance electrify him, giving him the energy he needs to continue. 

His face scrunches up as he musters the emotional and physical strength to keep going. Sam hurries to his feet, "don't stop, Dean, you're doing great!" he says with a palm at him. 

"Don't stop," Dean repeats mindlessly, "don't stop." 

Sprinting towards the paramedics, Sam waves his arms, shouting, "Down here! We're down here!" before he knows it, a group of professionals sprint down the hill, the gurney in tow. One takes a story from Sam as one tries to pull Dean away so the other two can take over caring for Y/N. 

"No, I can't stop!" he cries, which grabs Sam's attention, "don't stop," he nearly whispers, hands pumping into Y/N's chest. 

Sam rushes over and lowers himself to Dean's level. "Dean, let go. It's okay, they'll take it from here," he says, grabbing onto Dean's hands to pull him off of Y/N. They watch the paramedics in shock as they cut the shirt, bra, and pants off of Y/N, inspecting her skin. The first responders put what look like stickers with wires attached to them onto her chest and pull out the AED, telling everyone to stand clear before delivering a shock with a beep. Then, there was a pause and the silence that follows is deafening. Nothing. They check for a pulse and call clear again, shocking her. Then, nothing. Again. 

In the hospital's hallway, Dean tries to tune out the surround sound of constant beeping. His elbows rest on his scraped and bloody knees with his head held in his hands. He rocks back and forth, battling with himself. He sheds tears both out of fear for his sister's well-being and of guilt that he did the very thing he promised her he wouldn't: put her in danger.

The clacking of Sam's shoes pulls Dean from his homemade mental Hell. Dean lifts his head, quickly wiping his eyes before grabbing the cafeteria coffee. Sam's familiar smell of motel soap and deodorant washes away the torturous smell of hand sanitizer.

"Thanks," Dean mutters, taking a sip of the coffee before placing it next to him on the cold tile floor. 

Sam's eyes are red and puffy. Dean struggles to comprehend how Sam doesn't even try to hide the tears coming down. He often admires his brothers ability to wear his heart on his sleeve, though he'd never admit it. He wonders who he's being 'strong' for in this moment because it's certainly not himself.

Clearing his throat, Sam pulls his pants up slightly at the thighs before sitting on the bench next to Dean. He glances up at the ceiling momentarily, waiting for the announcement to end before asking, "Any news yet?"

Dean shakes his head. "No," he says in a raspy voice, forcing his eyes to look up and down the hall. "Excuse me," he says, standing to interrupt a nurse before she can enter a different room. "Would you mind helping us find whoever we need to talk to for an update on room 221?" he asks, gesturing to the door he hasn't been able to even look at since arriving.

Her eyes flutter to Sam, then the door, and back to Dean before she somberly nods. "Of course," she says, setting her pen back onto the clipboard as she turns to head in the direction she came.

Dean wants to return to his seat, but his body feels like an anchor. He sucks in a sharp breath. His shoulders tighten into his neck and with weak arms his hands fall to his hips. He hangs his head, clenching his teeth and pulling his face to suppress the tears. Sam jumps up to Stand with Dean, placing a hand tightly on his shoulder.

"She'll be alright," Sam says, not fully believing himself, "she's a Winchester; she has to be." 

Dean quickly straightens himself out because damn it, he's the one that's supposed to be taking care of his younger siblings - not the other way around.

"Sam and Dean Winchester?" a deep voice echoes the hall and they whirl around to greet the doctor. Dean quickly slaps the tears from his face. "I'm Dr. Ferguson," he says, holding his arm up to shake hands with Sam, then Dean. "Let's go somewhere more private to talk."

"We're good here," Dean spits. 

"Very well," the doctor sighs, looking down the hall behind him. He shuffles them closer to the wall and out of the traffic flow. "Well, while we were able to restart her heart, I'm afraid your sister has sustained a substantial injury to the head," he says, "the trauma caused the tissue around her brain to swell quite rapidly, and well, we have her on a ventilator, but," he lets out a breath, "we haven't seen as much progress as we were hoping for. She's technically in a coma right now, but we hope to see her come out of it in the coming weeks." 

"Weeks?" Dean bellows.

"Yes, I'm afraid that's standard recovery time for an injury of this magnitude. Although, we'd be having an entirely different conversation if not for your quick thinking in the field," he says with a tight-lipped smile, eyes jumping from Dean's to Sam's, "it's a long road to recovery, but this is a good start." 

"And what happens if she doesn't wake up?" Sam asks. 

"We will do everything in our power to ensure that doesn't happen," the doctor nods. 

"Thanks, doc," Sam croaks. "Can - can we see her?" he stutters. 

"Of course," he says, pushing the door open with his fingertips, "go on in," he says.  

Sam immediately notices Dean's hesitancy when they exchange a glance, so he nods before taking a few steps into the room. He covers his mouth to stifle a sob when he sees his little sister with a tube down her throat and one in her nose. When he's close enough, he reaches for her hand and sits in the chair beside her, startled by the sound of the door shutting. Dean slowly enters the room, but keeps his distance.

Dean feels like the air is void of oxygen and tells himself to pull it together enough to stand by her bed. "Hey kiddo," Dean says to Y/N with a shaky breath. "God, please be okay," he says, forcing a smile as he grips onto her hand.

The two sit with Y/N for days, only leaving for bathroom trips and snack runs, but when one goes, the other stays, and when one is napping, the other is awake. Dean has grown slightly more self-composed but is still anxious as they stay by her side, even when the nurses come to deliver medications, chart vitals, or empty her catheter.

"Hey, Dean," Sam says, clearing his throat. 

"Yeah," he replies, keeping his eyes on Y/N. 

Sam looks down into his hands, "about my interview-" 

"Wait, what?" Dean says, cutting him off, "you're still gonna leave after all this?" he shouts through a clenched jaw. The chair scoots back in a screech as he quickly brings himself to his feet, "you don't wanna be here when she wakes up?" he asks, aggressively gesturing at Y/N. 

"Dean, we don't even know if she'll wake up," Sam quivers. 

"Man, you are a piece of work," Dean shouts, shaking his head. 

"If you would've let me finish," Sam growls with narrow eyes, "I was going to say that I called earlier… to reschedule it," he sighs, looking back at Y/N, "they were very understanding of the situation." 

"Oh," Dean says, turning on his heels to face away from Sam. He swipes a hand down his face, shaking his head when his eyes open to the white walls of the hospital's room. "Look, man, I'm sorry," he says, palms open and facing Sam. "This just has me on edge." 

Taking a few steps towards him, Sam holds back the urge to get nasty with Dean, telling him he's not the only one feeling 'on edge' about their sister's condition. Instead, he raises his palms and softens his face, "Me too. Believe me." 

By Thursday, Y/N had graduated from a ventilator to an oxygen mask. Though still needing the feeding tube, she's shown glimpses here and there of the Y/N they know and love, but overall, she struggles to remain conscious. The doctors are calling it a 'Minimally Conscious State' and "completely normal with this type of recovery."

On Saturday, Sam heads out for food from a local restaurant at Dean's request - something about them having good pies - but Sam has a sneaking suspicion that Dean needs some time alone with Y/N, and Sam could use the fresh air anyway.

Sitting in the chair beside her bed, Dean holds one of Y/N's hands in both of his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry I failed you, Y/N," he cries. "I should have been protecting you," he whispers, letting the tears fall freely now, "but instead of doing that, I got you into this mess."

Looking up at Y/N's face, he swears he sees a tear slip down her cheek. Despite being convinced he's imagining it, he reflexively draws his hand to wipe her tear away, gasping when it comes back wet. His heart races as he gently stands to get beside her in the bed. "Shh," he coos, wrapping his arm around her.

His eyes fall shut, and he's transported back in time to the almost seven-month period where she would only fall asleep if Dean were right there in bed next to her. Through tears and voice cracks, he sings Hey Jude in a whisper, occasionally reaching over to wipe her tears away.

"I love you so much," he whispers. "I don't know how to live without you," he says, his tears turning into sobs. "Please wake up," he cries, arm wrapped tightly around her, "I promise I'll teach you how to drive if you just please wake up."

~~~~ If you liked my story, please remember to heart, comment or reblog. Or if you'd like, you can add yourself to a tag list here if you wish :) Thank you for reading!! :)

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[caspersickfanfics]

Sharing a Receptacle

For @monthofsick day 1

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting (graphic), fever

Anon asked:

I see you've got a lot of Cyno and Tighnari lined up already, so I sincerely apologise for adding to that, haha! If this is something you'd like to write, I'd love to see the prompt "sharing a receptacle" for Cyno and Tighnari! Maybe it starts off with one of them being sick and the other coming to care for them, only soon enough they also catch whatever has been making the other sick. (I love fics with multiple sick characters at once!)

Tighnari wakes to his stomach cramping for what feels like the hundredth time in a handful of days. He’s coughing before his eyes are even open but fortunately, he’s taken to sleeping with his arms latched onto a trashcan. He curls around it, hacking. He needs to sit. With the storm that has taken residence in his abdomen refusing to ease, it’s impossible to tell when his stomach contents will make a reappearance. Tighnari feels hands on his back guiding him upright and his body relaxes minutely. He knows who that is.

“Nari,” Cyno says simply, unnecessarily but sweetly confirming his identity. If Tighnari were any bit more aware of his surroundings, he might notice a weight to his partner’s voice that isn’t normally there, pulling it into a slow drawl. But he doesn’t, because his coughs have turned into retches. His stomach clenches and his back arches, entirely out of his control. 

He mentally chastises himself for trying to fight what’s about to happen. Tighnari has seen this process enough times to know that it’s easier to simply accept it - he’s lived through it countless times within the past week. And yet, when bile inevitably rises in his throat, his breath still stutters with a series of shallow, panicked gasps. One last instinctive act of resistance before sick spills over his lips, splattering to the bottom of the trashcan.

It used to be lined with a plastic bag, and Tighnari realizes with dismay that this is no longer true. Cyno must have forgotten to put a new one in after the previous bout of puking. Now, Tighnari stares vacantly downwards, trying not to think about how much scrubbing it will take to clean this. He feels more ill all the same, and the sight of vomit congealing against the plastic… He pitches forward again and blearily watches as the contained mess rapidly grows.

“Guh,” Tighnari shudders, his head hanging low in the trashcan. His body is wracked with queasy shivers and chills. Tears of exertion drip from his lashes. He realizes that Cyno, who is normally quiet, has gone completely silent, and wonders if he’s walked away. Tighnari is hit with a pang of hurt, and then confusion, because that doesn’t seem likely, but his foggy mind can’t seem to come up with a different explanation.

For better or worse, he can’t ponder it further. His stomach spasms and Tighnari finds himself spewing another stream of vomit into the trashcan.

Finally, the nausea alleviates moderately. Though the thought of food still makes him woozy, he believes he can move without hurling. Tighnari’s head feels heavy, but he lifts it anyway. His whole body relaxes upon finding that Cyno is still sitting on the bed beside him. Relief, for a moment, and then he freezes.

Cyno looks almost worse than Tighnari feels. He’s wearing a miserable expression, and his hands repeatedly grip his thighs - squeeze and release, squeeze and release - needing something solid to cling to. There’s no point in asking if he’s alright. 

“Oh, Cyno,” Tighnari murmurs. He’s exhausted, but attentive ears still catch a hitching breath. Several gurgling burps follow, rolling steadily out of the other man, and white hair drapes forward to curtain his face as Cyno curls in on himself. Tighnari’s hand finds the matra’s shoulder, drawing him close with a sigh. “Come here.”

Cyno settles against Tighnari’s side heavily, as if unable to hold himself up.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, voice slurring under the weight of nausea. His back ripples with consecutive aborted heaves and Tighnari winces and shakes his head.

“None of that. Just let it happen.”

Cyno is panting now, mouth gasping for air beneath a shaking hand. Tighnari gently pushes it out of the way. Cyno’s eyes flicker to him briefly and then squeeze shut. A pained moan escapes him. A shudder runs through the matra and it sparks something tender and protective under Tighnari's skin. He runs fingers through sweaty hair.

“Relax,” Tighnari instructs, voice firm despite his own growing queasiness. Cyno’s body immediately softens, easing towards the offered and already used trash bin. The next time his back arches, a stream of pale yellow puke spills over his lips. Tighnari catches just a glimpse, but it’s enough to bring his own nausea back in full force. He tries to ignore it. Cyno is still being ill and Tighnari wants to be there for him. While Cyno chokes on a waterfall of thick, chunky vomit, Tighnari ignores the way his skin sparks with hot and cold flashes. Shaky hands rub circles into Cyno’s heaving back and, not for the first time, Tighnari curses his sensitive ears.

They have been helpful to him in many ways throughout the years; lifesaving, even. He wouldn’t trade them, but there are moments when Tighnari wishes he could put his heightened sense of hearing on pause. He doesn’t need to hear with crystal clarity the muffled splatter of liquid against plastic. And then, louder, a wet belch and splashing noises. He tries to take a calming breath, but it only fills his nostrils with a sour, rotting scent of sickness.

“Cyno - urp - are you almost done?” Tighnari’s strength has all but left him. The only response he receives is a whimper. Then Cyno is heaving again, soupy orange stomach contents spraying from his lips.

Tighnari is not normally squeamish. Still, even he has a breaking point on a sick day.

A gut-wrenching belch rumbles through him. Tighnari tries not to jostle the man next to him, but he has little control over his body as he lurches forward to once again be violently sick. Thanks to careful positioning, most of it makes it into the bin. Having to share such a small space has taken its toll, though, because some of the sticky substance splatters onto Cyno’s hands around the trash bin. Tighnari can't even manage an apology. His head pounds and he is wracked with dry heaves, unable to contain his nausea even now that he’s empty while Cyno continues to cough up streams of bile. When at last Cyno is able to get his stomach under control, Tighnari finally pulls back, bringing his arm up to his face to cover his nose from the vile scent filling the room.

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice all but torn to shreds. Cyno looks like a wet dog, hair drenched in sweat, eyes round and watery. He nods, but speaks waveringly.

“I– I think I should move to the bathroom.” His arms are trembling around the now nearly-full and quite heavy trash bin. Tighnari eyes it with distaste and resolves to worry about it later with a firm nod. 

He is painfully aware that he’s been sick for three days now with no real sign of improvement. If, as the case seems to be, Cyno has caught his illness, they should indeed go ahead and make themselves as comfortable as possible on the cold stone floors of the cramped hotel bathroom (regardless of how absolutely repulsive the thought of moving is at the moment).

–––

Send asks here!

[the-secret-keeper]

This just sort of came to me. Enjoy, I guess.

gn!reader x Barbatos

obey me x twisted wonderland

It sucks but it's here. Enjoy!

TW:

Talk of malnutrition, extortion, major leg injury (though not described graphically), angry demon boyfriend

(Reader is referred to as mc)

"You're going to be late, and if you're late you can't buy me more tuna!" Grimm whined.

I laughed lightly, before glancing back down at my phone. I gently smiled at the picture, before shaking my head and putting it away. Quickly getting up and stuffing everything I needed into my bag, I raced down the stairs.

"Finally." Grimm rolled his eyes in frustration.

"Good luck at your meeting!" The ghosts called from their various positions in the house.

"And don't forget-"

"The tuna, I know."

I nodded at my own words, beginning to take a step forward when I was overcome with a strange sensation. A sensation I had not felt since I came to this place. It was so sudden and extreme that I stepped on the wrong board, causing my left leg to go through it.

The scream that almost erupted from me got caught in my throat, but that didn't stop the stinging tears forming in my eyes. The reason for them, I wasn't sure. The pain from my injury, or hope from this new feeling.

I didn't register what was happening around me, unable to process everything going on. But I gathered what happened before I was lifted out of my trap.

Grimm panicked, knowing the ghosts couldn't help, and he couldn't do much. So, he went off to find someone else. It didn't take long, I don't think, as it isn't unusual for the first years to hang around my dorm even when I'm not there.

It was Jack and Sebek who hoisted me out of the hole. Ace and Deuce were arguing over the best thing to do.

"-here." I mumbled, finally deciding they were tears of happiness, just as they began to leak down my cheeks.

"What?" Jack asked. I stood up, ignoring the fact that I shouldn't be moving my leg, and without the adrenaline I wouldn't be able to.

"What do you think you're-" I didn't let Sebek finish his loud, scolding rant.

"He's here!"

Running out the door and through the mirror, I didn't even realize I had forgotten my bag. Filled with all the documents Crowley had so graciously asked me to do. It didn't matter though.

Because he was here.

And that meant that I would be ok no matter what. He would make sure of that.

There was blood trailing behind me as I sprint-limped through the halls. I was out of breath, and no doubt making my already severe injury worse. I didn't even wait to let them take the splinters and possible nails out.

Although, I must commend the other students. They could tell I was on a mission, and stayed out of my way. Whether that be because they didn't want blood on their uniform, or they were scared of what I would do, I'm not sure. I don't care.

The door flung open before I could register that it was me who had opened it. My eyes frantically scanned the room, wanting, hoping, that he would be here.

My eyes landed on him.

"Barbs," I softly spoke, leaning on the door for support, "you're here!"

"My love." He rose from his seat, also in shock.

"I," I stepped forward, using my good leg. "I was so scared!" I finally let the dam break as I collapsed, knowing he'd catch me before I hit the ground. "I was so scared, Barbs! I didn't know where I was or how to get back." I sobbed into his chest.

"Hush, my love, it will all be alright now." I clutched onto his shirt for dear life, as he ran his gloved fingers through my hair.

More than anything, I remember my cries echoing, as if it was just the two of us. I couldn't expect anything less. Barbatos is the only one I have ever trusted to allow my facade to break in front of. Though we have an audience now, it changes nothing.

I have never felt more safe than when in his arms.

"MC, please remove yourself from our guest and compose yourself."

"I hate you!" I screamed, causing Crowley to shut up, and everyone to look at me in shock. Well, more shock than before. "I can't take it anymore! Living in that building, dealing with Overblots, doing your job for you! I haven't eaten in three days because you cut my food budget for being unable to complete an impossible task!"

Though not directed at me, I could feel the death stare of my lover. His hold on me tightened, though it remained reassuring, and he never stopped toying with my hair. He was angry. But his main focus was me.

"Come, come now MC. I've been tru-truly generous. Letting you stay on campus. For, for free!"

"Are you saying their accusations are false?" I heard Diavolo ask. "That they're lying?"

"Well, n-no."

"Then you're agreeing that what you've been doing is inhumane?" Lucifer prodded.

"That's not at all what I meant!"

"I agree with our guests." Riddle spoke up. "Dire Crowley, this has gone on for far too long. Abusing your position to extort a student. Into doing your work no less when they have nowhere else to go."

"I agree. Though I had no idea it was to this extent, MC has done nothing but amazing feats for your school. The only reason this place isn't overrun by Overblots and is still functioning is because of them." Azul piped in.

"Show me their living quarters." I heard Mammon demand quietly.

And then I knew that shit was about to go down. My boyfriend is protective, and should he see fit, he would act without permission but it's rare. Mammon? Mammon doesn't want or need permission from anyone. The only way to stop Mammon at this point in time from tearing Crowley limb from limb is to have Diavolo or Lucifer intervene. But I doubt that would happen.

"I beg your pardon?" Crowley stammered.

"Perhaps you misheard me, Bird Brain. Show me where they've been living since they've come here."

"What will that prove?" He tried to distract. "Surely you'd rather have the announcement of your arrival commence first. Let's tell the students!"

"I'll show you." I had calmed, moving slightly back from Barbatos's chest. "I'll show you everything." I promised, a bitter and malicious glint in my eye that caused everyone from NRC to flinch. "But I must be carried. I have been, injured."

"Oh, allow me to take care of,"

"Dire Crowley." I said sternly, glaring at him. He froze, practically shaking in his old man shoes. "If you touch me I will command Satan and Belphegor to go berserk on you. No. Command isn't the right word. I will allow them."

"You, don't,"

"Have the gall? Or is authority the word you were looking for." Barbatos helped me to my feet. "I think you misunderstand your current position, Crowley. I have no reason to fear you anymore. Because anything you will try to do to me from this moment forward? Will only result in your death."

[reesespeanutbutterfuck]

(im)perfectionist

vinny hong x jo!reader

jay jo's imperfectionist sister meets the flawful vinny hong.

part 4

part 3 | part 5

pairing: vinny hong x jo!fem!reader

part warnings: fem!reader, gifted!reader, cursing, mentions of blood & violence, graphic description of wounds, jo!reader (jay is reader's 1 year older brother, but they're in the same class), physical descriptions (resemblance to jay, jay's mother, heavily implied asian features) intelligent!reader, second person's pov (you, you're, your), reader is NOT yumi. wb main story SPOILERS

—

You didn't get the chance to react once you felt the cold blade of the knife penetrating your flesh from behind. The grip of your hand on the glass shard loosened from shock, causing it to drop from your hand down to the ground, making a high-pitched clank!

He pulled the knife out from where he stabbed on your back and gestured to the man lying on the floor to move. Damn it! This was their plan from the start! That's why the first man carried no weapons!

You backed-up and fell backwards, butt-first. You shut your eyes in pain. The man whose face was bleeding hastily scrambled on his feet to collect his stance and harshly pulled your bag, they flipped the bag upside-down and your things fell scattered on the concrete ground. You didn't see clearly, but you were sure they took your important belongings like your wallet and phone. When they're done taking everything valuable, they quickly scrammed and left you alone. 

"Hah, I'll get you back, fucking bastards! Get your asses back here!” You gritted your teeth in pain. The first time in a while that you got into a fight again, but at the cost of getting stabbed.

Did they get away with that, from so much anger, your guard was off! You limped your way to sit against the concrete wall of the alley. You tried to search for your phone but you remembered that those monsters took it. I'll kill them.

Your eyes widened in horror when you felt your own blood from your behind. Shit. This wasn't a part of what you expected to happen tonight. You remembered your medical stitching staples, they couldn't possibly have taken those. They're inside your bag, but you didn't know where it went when your things scattered, and you can't see from the dark.

Your scrambling was interrupted when someone stopped directly in front of you. You thought it was one of those fuckers that doubled-back to either kill you or retrieve the rest of your belongings. But to your surprise, the stranger standing across from you didn't do anything. You can only look down to his feet. You only caught a glimpse of mud-stained, red old skool shoes. No, this isn't what either the mobs were wearing. 

“Who're you?” You squinted up at him.

“I knew it. Pesky girl. I finally found you.”

That voice…

“Do I know you?” your eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion, ignoring the name he just called you.

His feet stepped back. “You. What are you doing here?”

“Who are you?” You repeated your question. You were starting to feel the sharp pain on your back and a small movement makes it worse.

“You're the girl who stitched me up months ago. Heard your voice cursing someone while walking by, I thought it sounded familiar.”

Oh… Oh.

"Ah…” You grinned and looked down in amusement. “So you remembered. What an awful scenario for a reunion.”

You relaxed your limbs to slump against the wall more. You heard taps of a finger clicking on something only to realize he's trying to open his phone light when you finally got a glimpse of illumination when he finally turned it on. And even if he's against the light, you can see him. There's that familiar fluffy, fiery red hair.

It is him.

You twisted the corner of your lip upwards as it curved into a mischievous smirk. “Looks like deja vu, Vinny Hong? Only with switched roles this time?”

“You have some serious nuts in your head to joke even while bleeding to death. Want me to stitch you up, too?” He sarcastically countered, like it was a normal occurence for him to look at fresh blood, too.

You kicked your feet against the concrete ground and with a slightly hopeful tone, you asked, "Can you do it?"

"Do what?"

“Stitch me up.”

He blinked behind his phone light. “Are you being serious right now?”

You twisted your lips and laughed, “Serious as in I'm-losing-blood-as-time-passes-and-I'm-going-to-die serious.”

“You sure you're that girl from that night? You were more tamed and quiet the first time I saw you.” His eyes drifted on the blood on your hands.

“Well that's because tamed, in fact, is not me.”

It's been months since that incident. And this is the first time you saw him after never expecting to cross paths with him again. With the unintentional help he was providing by turning his phone light on, you got a chance to have a clearer sight to rip the seam of your uniform undershirt's end. Vinny didn't say a word nor move a muscle for a moment. You can feel his eyes following what you're doing. He squinted his eyes very slightly as he seemed more suspicious of you. He wonders how can it be possible that you're this calm and still able to think practically despite being stabbed? 

You started struggling to push yourself forward and sit properly as you tried to reach behind you to cover the stab wound with the cloth. The part of the shirt slipped off your hand as you let out a sharp hiss. This is not going to work. You need help from another person.

Vinny only firmly held his phone up. He's not capable of doing medical procedures, but at least he was making an effort to help you even in the simplest way. You cursed under your breath and inhaled a nostril-stinging amount of oxygen.

“Help me.” You kicked the ripped cloth to the side. You can't use it anymore, it's contaminated.

“Well unlike you, I don't know how to stitch a wound up.”

“Can you at least try?”

"Are you crazy? I'm not you!”

“Just a couple staples will suffice.”

“No.”

“Think of me as paper–”

“No!”

“Agh! Fuck. Nevermind, I'll do it myself. Just please get my medical staples!”

"You can't reach behind you. You're going to kill yourself faster if you do whatever hell you're planning to do. You can't die yet, I still have questions to ask,” he looked around before his gaze drifted to your face once again. “I'll call an ambulance.”

“No… No!” You reached for his arm. “No hospital. I told you, I can do it myself.” Your grip on his arm tightened slightly from the pain of the wound and at the same time, a non-verbal way of begging him to listen. The way you grabbed his hand with your shaking ones was unintentionally parallel to the way he gripped yours before he passed out the first time you met.

He spared you a glance, without any trace of compassion. “That's what I told you too when I was in your place, but you didn't listen.”

“The circumstances are different!”

“How so?”

You avoided his question as you pulled his hand close and you touched your own face and neck with his large hand.

"The fuck are you doing?!"

His fingers coiled as he tried to avoid touching your skin and retrieved his hand before you can even bring it down to your chest—the upper chest, not breasts.

"Direct physical contact and fingerprints. You can't escape me now."

And then he took a moment before he realized what you implied. Now his irritation is growing stronger. “You!” He backed away with a frown. If you die here right now, he'll be set up.

"I'm always one step ahead of everyone. Bring me my duffel bag!”

“No.”

“Please... I really can't go to the hospital.”

“Why not?”

You almost ripped your hair off with vexation. Can he stop with the questions?! People are so fucking annoying!

“Because of my mom! She'll kill me!"

He scoffed. "So you're saying Miss Model Student is scared of her mother finding out about her tendencies of beating people up in deserted alleys?” he snickered, “I wonder why."

“That's none of your business, and you don't know what really happened!”

Vinny knows there must be a reason why. You reached forward and pulled on his fiery red hair lightly. And your brain didn't miss registering how unexpectedly soft his hair was. Your banter was going on fast that it was as if the both of you were just spewing nonsense. You were desperate and he wasn't willing to do anything other than to bring you to a hospital.

“You don't understand… My mother, her co-workers will see me, and they'll tell her I...”

Vinny gaped his mouth pensively. So your mother works in a hospital.

“Well, shouldn't she find out? You're her daughter. She must be worried for you.”

“You clearly don't know how my mother takes things for, especially from me.”

He detected how your mother was clearly an issue, a sore spot to you, like how some things are for him, and he wasn't meaning on rubbing salt on your wound, so he just gave up tried to say something else to divert the topic.

“There's no other option for you but to go to the hospital. Either that or nothing.”

You had a staredown for a few seconds. Before you sighed and gave up. Maybe you'll just think of something to hide the traces of what happened tonight.

“Fine. But you'll accompany me.”

“What? No!”

“Yes, you will.”

Frustration was visible on his face as he thought, Good heavens, just why am I always surrounded by stubborn people? 

___

You woke up lying on one of the common beds in the E.R. You didn't bother getting a hospital room, so the only thing covering you from the busy environment outside right now were the forest green curtains surrounding the hospital bed.

“You awake?”

Your head panned to your left side. Vinny was standing with crossed arms in the far left corner. Vinny? He's still here? Why didn't he leave?

You felt like shit. He was looking exceptionally blurry tonight. Until you realized you weren't wearing your glasses anymore. You squinted and looked at Vinny again until your eyes adjusted and finally saw him clearly. And only now did you realize that his eyes are two different colors—Heterochromia!

You stumbled up but your knees shook causing you to almost fall down—if you didn't catch yourself in time. You saw how his arm rose and twitched forward a little to catch you, possibly on instinct but still he didn't make enough effort to really catch you, though. It's fine, you can hold yourself up alone. 

“You... You stayed?”

“You told me to, after all.” He side-eyed you to make sure you weren't going to stumble again. “Watch it.”

Vinny only agreed to accompany you to pay you back for saving his life the first time you met. Not about you dealing with the expenses, but you taking it up yourself to stitch someone hands-on. You saw him crossing his arms again in your peripheral vision.

You side-eyed him. “How's your scar? Was it bad?”

“Cut the crap. I didn't ask you to help me in the first place, so I'm not going to thank you.”

Dear. The audacity and arrogance of this man.

Finally, your head turned to him and darted him a sarcastic smile. "Nice to see you still holding up, then. That means I did the sanitation properly. And don't worry, I don't want to hear your expression of gratitude. I don't need to, and I never expected to."

Your conversation was interrupted when the curtain opened. It was an attending doctor to check up on you now that you're conscious. The wound wasn't that deep and because you were taken to the hospital immediately luckily you didn't lose a high volume of blood, but the doctor still recommended you to stay in the hospital for a while. But you know you can't.

When the attending doctor was done checking up on you for the second time—the first one not being a problem because you were conscious when you arrived and you only fell asleep because of the side effects of the anesthesia, Vinny approached you.

“Can I go home now that you're awake?” He sat at the chair near your hospital bed. Upon scanning you and looking at your current state, it's like nothing happened. You didn't even look shook, not one bit.

"A little while more until my mom's co-workers leave, and you can go home. I also need someone to talk to right now.” Curse this hospital for being the nearest one.

He clicked his tongue and begrudgingly leaned back on his seat. Your stomach grumbled a little. You only ate bunggeopangs this whole evening. You haven't had any proper meal.

Upon hearing, a little while later, Vinny fished in his pocket. When he looked up he find your eyes were elsewhere.

“[Y...Y/N].” He was quite hesitant to call you by your name for the first time. He wasn't even sure if he got it right. Your head turned to him and he showed you what he's holding in his hand. It was your Matcha-flavored kit-kats.

Your face lightened up in anticipation. "For me? You shouldn't have!” 

He handed you your duffel bag too. “They found those in your pocket in the operating room.”

"Right, I totally forgot about that. Pass it here.”

He tossed the matcha kit-kats to you. You offered him some but he refused. While you were busy eating for comfort, he kept staring at the side of your face.

“If you have something to ask, go on.” You told him without looking in his direction.

“Where did you learn to stitch wounds? Are you a serial killer or something?”

You contained your laugh. Serial killer.

“That was a temporary stitch. It's not exactly meant to hold up there for long.”

"I'm not that level of an idiot. I looked at it. And I know a clean stitch when I see one. I know that's not your first time. What are you hiding?”

You appreciated the subtle implication in the comment he made on the quality of your stitches—which you took as a positive feedback.

“I told you the first time. Volunteer work in hospitals.”

He raised his eyebrows in doubt. You rolled your eyes, hiding your smirk as you tried to be serious. This dubious grouch is surely getting on your nerves. “What? Do you think I stick needles on people for fun?”

His lips agape. He really can't believe the bizarre thing coming out of your unfiltered mouth. Maybe the anesthesia was making your mouth more unfiltered.

“You have an odd sense of humor.”

"You're just unfunny.”

"How did you know my name? I don't remember telling you.” because you left before he woke up the first time you met.

“Oh, right. Truth is, I heard from you again because of Minu.”

“Minu… You know him?” Vinny's eyes darkened, waiting for you to elaborate about your connection with Minu. Bingo.

“He's my schoolmate. Where did you go off to? They said you weren't home earlier. They tried to call you from outside your house.”

Vinny remembered ignoring Sung's texts of "Where are you right now? Someone's here to see you." that were only marked delivered. He finally pieced everything together. Sung's text, Minu coming to his house. It means Minu's the one who came to his house with Sung to see him earlier.

“Why did they come to see me?” 

You swallowed the kit-kat you were chewing before answering, “From what Minu told me, Sung came to our school personally to ask help for your personal conflict.”

“So you learned about my screwed up life?” Sung Kwon, that little shit. he thought.

“Think what you want to think. But I'm not here to comment about your life.” You answered. He sat in silence after that.

“Join the biking crew.” You directly looked into his hetero-colored eyes.

His mouth slightly agape. He knew exactly what you were talking about, and it's not as if he's going to pretend not to.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

He looked annoyed. He rolled his eyes. The way his reactions were just what you're expecting out of him is entertaining. “I'm leaving.”

“Don't. I still need your help.”

“I doubt you do. With the way you're annoying me, I think you have just enough energy to hold yourself up.”

“Just listen, they're lacking a member. Minu's biking crew needs you.” And you need the biking crew, you wanted to add.

“Why don't you join?”

You sighed. This again?

"I have a lot of responsibilities weighing on my shoulders right now. The pressure's not getting any lighter.”

His expression changed a little. Like he was holding himself back from saying something.

“What?” Your brows furrowed.

“Nothing. I just thought the Model Student dub was a joke.” He only called you that to poke fun at you, but he didn't know you were actually suffering from it. Had he known, he wouldn't have had.

“Oh, you're being empathetic now? You're really good at swinging between moods.”

He rolled his eyes, look who's talking. “Sure. Should I learn to stitch people too so I can be more similar to you?”

"You seem to have a lingering attachment to my stitches. Do you want me to open up that stab wound of yours and stitch it up again?”

He grimaced in distaste. “Attachment? Barf.” 

Just as he was bantering with you, as much as he doesn't want to admit, your enigmatic personality is quite amusing and foreign to himself-claimed dullness. It's crazy how you can manage to make him respond even if he doesn't want to anymore.

“I'll pay you back for the hospital settlement you paid last time.”

“Don't bother. It wasn't my money anyway.” It was, but you couldn't possibly care about money.

“Doesn't matter. I'll still pay you back in some way.”

“You just did tonight. When you brought me here. That's enough payment.” you opened another packet of a matcha kit-kat. 

Your eyes caught the dried bloodstains on your shirt. You then reached inside of your duffel bag. Your clothes were still inside, the clothes you packed sure came in handy. Now all you have to do is change your clothes.

“Hey, can you please turn around?” You turned to Vinny whose attention was somewhere else. 

"No." He had enough of your teasing and you might be plotting another one of your schemes. He won't fall for your tricks again.

“Fine, if you say so.” You started to lift the ends of your ripped, blood-stained uniform top, revealing your bare skin.

"The hell!" Vinny quickly looked away and turned around when he realized what you're about to do. You wouldn't actually flash your chest to him you did it to annoy him.

“I have to change. My roommate will freak out if she sees the blood on my clothes. Don't look until I say it's cool, and make sure no one opens the curtain.”

You told him he can turn around when you did finish changing. He faced you but he was still awkwardly avoiding you with his eyes. You shook your head at his awkwardness. Is this really the man who beat Dom's ass up?

“I'm fully clothed now. Don't let your mind fly anywhere else. I was only messing with you.” you scrunch your face.

He couldn't hide his annoyed expression, “Well, you really should stop.”

“Okay.”

You both fell silent. It came to his mind how he was supposed to be fuming about his unfortunate life, but somehow, he forgot how fucked up his life was for a second, and the only thing he cared about right now is to reciprocate your ridiculing. Really, how can you do that?

"...You're annoying." Vinny crumpled the side of his lips snarkily as he opened his mouth again after a while.

"No, you're annoying." 

"The anesthesia must be seeping in your brain right now. I didn't know it makes people insane as a side effect.” 

You nodded sarcastically. “Yeah, yeah. Because of your attitude, it makes me regret not twisting that knife that night when I had the chance.”

“You know what? I really should be going home now.”

“Wait.” You stood up slowly and pushed the curtain a little to take a peek outside. Your parents' co-workers are gone. Finally. “They're gone. You can go. Thanks for your company, Vinny Hong.”

“Sure.” He checked if he forgot anything before he opened the curtain. 

“Oh, and before you go,” He glanced back at you, waiting for what you'll follow.

You tossed him a keychain—A cat wearing a tomato hat meme.

“About joining the crew, you should give it a thought. And that...” you pointed at the tomato cat that resembles him, “...that's the only trinket of mine I could give you as a token of gratitude. I made that myself, it's hard resin.” He averted his eyes and looked down for a seconds as if he was contemplating. After a few seconds, he closed his palm, enclosing the keychain inside his hand as he looked back up to you.

“Goodbye.”

You were left standing there as you watched as he stepped out of the hospital. Without your realization, your expression turned back to being blank. It was as if it only sunk in now that you're alone again—something you didn't feel when he was there.

***

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