#but unsure where to start tbh

[buggysimp]

Want....to work...on....my....south park au.....but too busy....being a....housewife......*crumbles away into dust*

[greenlaut]

old ocs 👍 (late night ramblings in the tags)

[thegraphitepencils]

The weekly catch-up phone calls with my soulmate who broke up with me “for my own good” yet still expects me to be his best friend are becoming more a source of anxiety than comfort lately folks

-Riley

[goldiipond]

have i posted this don autism moment here yet. hes stimming <3

[clownboy-yeehonk]

.

[lilreidgirl]

So what?

Summary: You and Spencer seem to keep on ending up in the same position, you sitting on his lap. But it doesnt mean anything. Right?

Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, lap sitting (like a lot), crying implied, smut/sex, getting hard, f-word 3x, doesn’t make much sense tbh, English is not my first language

WC: ~1k

A/N: sorry if this is confusing, I tried my best

If someone asked you what your favourite place on earth is, you’d probably say one of the usual answers like “my bed” or some special place with meaning in its history with you. But what was truly your favourite place to be, was Spencer Reid’s lap.

You were just friends, of course, no meaning behind it.

A BAU game night, organized by the one and only fantastic Penelope Garcia, was where you first ever found yourself in a position you never knew you would come to crave to be in so often. It was an evening filled with laughter, camaraderie, and endless games, all set in the cozy and inviting living room of Rossi’s expansive mansion. The atmosphere was light-hearted and warm while the sound of friendly banter echoed off the walls. The room was packed with a lively mix of BAU team members, the couch and seats occupied by various members of the team and the family and friends they had brought with them.

You arrived last, being greeted by yells and cheers and “hi!’s as soon as you entered the energy-filled room. Your eyes wandered around the room and the different permeated spaces to sit. Unsure of what to do, you settled on just resting in a kneeled down-position on the floor. Your body moved to the side of the coffee table, next to the couch where multiple of your colleagues sat. You started to lower yourself to the floor before a voice stopped you.

“You can just sit on my lap, you know…,” the familiar sweet, musical voice of Spencer Reid spoke, the hesitance and shyness, that he clearly felt, presenting on his face and in his tone. “It’s closer to the table and- um, probably more comfortable, no?” he asked rhetorically. “I really wouldn’t mind. We can play as a team.”

His words were whispered by his god awfully beautiful lips, just loud enough for you to hear clearly but not for the crowd around you to be able to catch what he was saying.

“Oh. Really?” You asked, the fact that it wasn’t the most usual offer from a friend and co-worker making you slightly doubtful if you should accept the suggestion he had made you.

“Yeah.” The space between his eyebrows scrunched together in a sincere way and you just really, really couldn’t turn his helpful gesture down. That would be rude of a friend, no?

You made the journey of a few measly steps that lay between the two of you in a matter of seconds and soon you mindfully and slowly sat down on his lap.

So what?

So what, you felt as if your heart had just beaten out of your throbbing chest and onto the table where the ongoing board game laid?

It didn’t mean anything.

So what, Spencer’s arms wrapped around your waist in a concerningly short fraction of a second, catching you completely off guard, the speed with which he moved almost unnerving, as if he had been anticipating the exact moment to pull you in for as long as he had been able to anticipate anything at all?

It didn’t mean anything.

So what, a month later you sat perched up on his lap, eating the takeout you both ordered, laughing about something you said, your eyes momentarily flicking up to see all the empty chairs surrounding Spencer’s dining table where you could have possibly sat but you somehow ended up on his lap yet again?

It didn’t mean anything.

So what, as you adjusted yourself on his legs, wanting a better view  of pitch perfect playing on the TV (courtesy of you forcing him to watch it) and you felt his body attentively tense and his big, calloused hands grip your hips so tight, you thought he might have been physically touching your hipbone?

It didn’t mean anything.

And it also had no meaning when, you felt a tiny nip on your ear a few moments later, something you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t had already been hyperaware because of the hard presence of something you had only pictured in your dreams, pressing against your ass.

So what?

And seriously so what, when you showed up at his apartment, your face damp and reddened from the hard day you had endured and without missing a beat, he immediately took your hand, his grip steady and warm, guiding you down gently into his lap as if he already knew exactly what you needed, and then, without a word, he settled back on the couch, pulling you into his chest with a tenderness that somehow made everything feel right again?

It didn’t mean anything.

And so what, you couldn't help but wonder how something so simple could feel so comforting, how his presence alone could soothe all the chaos swirling inside of you, and did it really matter that no words were needed, that his embrace spoke everything you were too tired to say, that just being held like this in the quiet of his living room felt like all the broken pieces of you were slowly starting to fall into place, as if nothing else in the world could possibly matter as much as this moment?

It didn’t mean anything.

So what, movie night every few weeks consistently included you resting your body on his thighs and your head on his shoulder while your warm blanket lay on both of your touching bodies as the TV flickered its light onto the both of you and the secure feeling of the moment made you want to melt into him and the memory of the time forever?

It didn’t mean anything.

So what, you woke up the mornings after movie nights with your body enveloped by his, your feet entangled together, neither of you knowing which of you had the freezing feet and which the warm ones, because the contact between you was enough to get the feeling of burning coursing through your entire bodies?

It didn’t mean anything...

So what, you slung your legs over his thighs, slumping against his body, finally relaxing a bit after an exhausting day that was probably also the best day of your life and he whispered, “You look absolutely gorgeous,” to you?

It didn’t mean anything.

And so fucking what, he then went on to remove your fairy tale-like wedding dress and fuck you into oblivion, as it should be the first time fucking you as your husband and you as his newly-wed wife?

Okay… maybe it did mean something.

[loverboybitch]

me and chlobee at boilerroom (acab)<3.//.

[killerpancakeburger]

Scary Dog Privilege w/ Ghost

PART 2

With the captain's away, you're left to deal with his intimidating lieutenant's temper.

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, suggestive at the end, GuardDog!Ghost x Handler!Reader, smug!Ghost. Reader is careful of Ghost's boundaries. 1.3k words

Ghost's "outburst" (no idea how to call it tbh) is based on how @valiants drew them here and there. I just love this depiction so much, it's too relatable.

Part 1. Part 3.

Heaving a sigh, you glower at the shiny plaque adorning the mahogany desk you’re sitting at.

Cpt. John Price.

The aforenamed is away for a week, something about a higher-ups seminar. Left you in charge and, when you started to heft some heavy cardboards full of paperwork, he suggested you take his office too. It wasn’t conventional by any means, but what John Price wants, John Price gets.

You imagined that being the big boss would be fun.

You didn't expect his men to be… such a hassle.

Soap could not go one day without getting involved in a fight.

Gaz was sweet as pie to your face, only to use your own gratefulness against you later when he wanted something.

And Ghost. Oh, Ghost. From the very start, he had been playing with you like a cat plays with his food. Acting like your right-hand man. Always by your side, dutiful shadow. His relentless stare was like a torch against the nape of your neck, like the tangible weight of gloved hands on your shoulders. Following instructions but always with a snarky reply, and a smirk on his lips that you could guess behind the mask simply by the look in his eyes. Not mentioning the times you were alone together and he'd stop covering the bottom of his face. Made it easier to drink — tea but also bourbon —, to smoke, to tempt you with his scarred lips—

You shake your head in an attempt to refocus.

Your concentration doesn't last a mere minute that it's already shattered by the slam of a door.

A familiar slam and a familiar door, if that is even possible.

One of your men is acting out again.

You slip through the group massed in front of the room you need to access, ignoring their warnings and brushing off their attempts to make you turn back.

Knocking three times in rapid succession so he knows it's you, you glide in wordlessly, taking care to lock the door behind you so there won't be any interruption. You lean your back against it, taking a moment to assess the situation.

Your eyes linger on the knife lodged into the table before fixing upon the sizable being sitten nearby. Bending at the waist under an invisible force, his elbows rest on his knees while his fingers clutch the part of his mask that covers the back of his head. One word immediately comes to mind— overwhelmed.

His back is turned on you. You can almost distinguish the dark aura he exudes, an inky blackness that matches his t-shirt and his gloves.

You pull away from the door and join him, absently noticing that your steps are loud enough for him to locate you— force of habit.

“Ghost?”

A metaphorical outstretched hand.

Silence.

Stopping behind his back, you instinctively raise a tentative hand— to ensure his attention? To provide comfort?— before halting halfway, reconsidering. Pulling it back, you opt for a verbal approach instead.

“You really need to stop terrorizing the new recruits.”

You can’t help the fond, amused smile that stretches your lips as you say it.

Silence, still.

It doesn't deter you. After all, you’re no stranger to the need to drop verbal communication in favor of onomatopoeias or hand motions.

Nevermind that, you can fill the silence with retelling of your day.

As the quiet remains your only interlocutor for the third time in a row, you decide to cut your losses, at least for today. You’re unsure whether Ghost's in a mood where he'd rather stay alone, or one where he'd appreciate company but only the silent kind. Eyeing the knife again, you reckon it must be the former.

But as you turn around to leave, a pair of arms circle your waist, putting a swift end to your exit. The sudden embrace causes you to sway a bit, nonetheless you keep your cool.

“Changed your mind?”

A light gibe, essentially harmless, but provocating enough to prompt an answer.

He replies with a muffled groan, before pulling you closer and pressing his face into the small of your back. The contact, admittedly unexpected, but not unwelcome, sends shivers down your spine.

“That's certainly an… interesting position,” is all you find to say, picturing the expression someone would make if they were to stumble upon you two.

Twisting around a bit, you manage to see half of him, and use the view to reach back and pat his head. You quickly come to the conclusion that you’re stuck there for a while, same as if a pet cheetah nominated your lap for its nap.

A few moments later, a minute or an eternity, you end up chuckling to yourself. There's a grumble in your shirt, and it takes a second or two for you to comprehend that the grumble is actually words.

“What's so funny?”

You sigh pensively.

“Was thinking about the recruits you scared. They were shaking in their boots when I got here, you'd think they've seen worse than a ghost. But the most formidable thing here is a cuddle monster.”

The limbs around your torso release you unpromptedly, and as you pivot to face the lieutenant, he only has one step to take to corner you against a wall.

“S'that so?”

The sarcasm in his tone is familiar, yet you fail to see what he's getting at.

“... yeah?”

You don’t try to hide the interrogation in your voice; you want your confusion to be known.

He props one forearm on the wall, right by your head, and leans closer to murmur huskily:

“Do I scare you?”

You bite your lower lip not to laugh, his antics evoking some sort of dark, tortured protagonist. Yet, you'd be lying if you pretended this little display was leaving you indifferent.

Hell, you wish you were scared, because then you wouldn’t long to reduce the distance between your two bodies, already scandalously limited.

Wavering about your reply, you ultimately select the truth.

“Not anymore.”

You swear you can make out the corners of his mouth rise behind the mask.

“Good,” he appraises, laconic as ever.

Stricken by a timidity as sudden as it is intense, you start to ramble nervously, avoiding his intense stare.

“No but, for real, you'd laugh too if you'd seen their faces. They were so worried, imploring me not to go. It's like they were convinced you'd eat me alive.”

“Could be arranged.”

The suggestive line has the merit to make you stop dead in your tracks. His insufferable confidence fills you with irritation and arousal yet again.

You can’t let him win this one, you categorically refuse to let him have the last word. So you bring your face even closer to his and purrs:

“It's such a shame you’re wearing a mask, otherwise I would have already shoved my tongue down your—”

He rips off the bottom part of his mask with such haste that it would be comical if you weren't busy being squished between him and the wall the next second. He presses you against the stone the same way he presses his lips against yours— insistent, warm.

Once again, his hands settle on your hips like they belong here, and his thumbs slip under the cloth to stroke your hipbones.

His newfound urgency is the antipodes of the restraint he manifested until now, leaving you short of breath.

A call of your name pulls you apart, but barely, noses almost brushing. You shoot a look at the door just to see the handle lowers in vain. Letting out an amused and relieved scoff, you rest your forehead against Ghost's torso, thanking yourself for locking.

The voice persists, asking if everything's okay. You raise your head but, as you open your mouth to answer, Simon silently orders you to stay quiet with a forefinger across his lips. You frown and mouth silently— no, YOU shut up— before hollering to be heard.

“All good, thanks!”

Obviously, answering is a much better solution than a suspicious silence. Yet Ghost doesn't seem to share that opinion, as he stares at you unimpressed, but you kiss him before he can make any disagreeable comment.

[noyasmashing]

If it isn't too much trouble, may I request mad dog with a nerdy reader. In public they have scary dog privileges but in private he becomes such a whiny puppy who doesnt know how to ask for master/mommy to touch him? No hurt feelings if you don't want too, I just don't see enough of him being a sub. Thank you!

CW: names such as pup and mommy are used, semi public, praise, hand job

A/N: i’m so sorry this took so long 😭 tbh i have no excuse

he would be suchhhh a grouch in public. Picture yourselves on the public train together. He's casting menacing glares at anyone who dares to glance your way, positioning himself protectively in front of you. Meanwhile, you're engrossed in your book, wearing a delighted expression that's impossible to hide.

And when you venture out together (a rarity in itself), despite your occasional awkwardness, you effortlessly connect with others over obscure subjects, radiating joy and warmth. Kentaro, on the other hand, stands by your side, arms folded, engaging only with you.

Its quite endearing how different you two are-personality wise. People often wonder why you're with such a seemingly grumpy individual, but they don't see the tender side he reveals to you. He's incredibly sweet and attentive, always accompanying you to your favorite bookstores for the latest releases. Despite his aversion to socializing, he willingly joins you for coffee outings.

What may be the most adorable thing about him, is his sudden shyness in private. Suddenly, he's flushed red, stumbling over his words, nervously fidgeting with his hands, unsure where to place them.

He gives up any ounce of control easily, falling to his knees at your request. Your favorite thing is making him work for his pleasure. He knows what he wants. He wants to cum until he can't think. But he doesn't know how to ask.

Recently, you'd discovered a new favorite pastime: teasing Kentaro in public. There was nothing quite like watching him squirm as he struggled to maintain his tough exterior, only to be undone by his own pent-up desire.

It was a simple matter to get him riled up. A strategically timed pause to admire a book cover, a suggestive lick of a lollipop, or a deliberate lean forward to show off your cleavage would send him into a tailspin. His eyes would flash with desire, his face would redden, and his lips would tremble.

But the best part was the moment he'd snap, his eyes pleading for mercy as he grabbed at your shirt, his voice barely above a whisper. "P-please… y-you… I need y-you…"

You'd feign innocence, playing dumb as you led him on a merry chase. "Hmm? Need me to what, Kentaro?" You'd ask, looking up at him with a concerned expression. He'd hesitate, his words faltering as he scanned the empty store for an escape route. "You know.." He'd mutter, gaze low and hands sweating.

Finally you relented, firmly grasping his cheeks, directing his gaze toward the family bathroom that was tucked away but still in sight of you two. "That'll work yeah?" you inquired, locking eyes with his widened ones, before proceeding toward the bathroom. "What if someone sees us?" he'd nervously stammer, but still following closely behind you.

You'd simply smile, your eyes glinting with mischief. "It makes it more exciting, Kentaro."

Once inside, you'd press your lips against his, drawing out a soft groan as he struggled to keep up. But you were just getting started, taking a seat on the bench, beckoning him closer.

"Y-you want to do it here?" He'd ask, his voice laced with anxiety.

You'd bat your eyelashes, playing innocent once more. "Do what puppy?"

Being the nervous dog he is, he'd trail off, his face flushing with embarrassment as he stumbled forward. You'd laugh at his shyness, running your hands up his shirt and down his stomach as he stood in front of you.

"P-please… touch me," he'd beg, his voice cracking as he dropped his head in shame.

You'd toy with him, running your fingers over his hips as he squirmed beneath your touch. "I am touching you, baby," you'd purr, but he wasn't having it.

He needed something more – something that would make him feel like he was truly alive. And so, he forced out the words: "My c-cock., touch my cock, mommy"

Your eyes lit up with amusement and a hint a sadism, unzipping his pants and pulling his underwear down without hesitation. "That's all you had to say puppy." You'd coo, while wrapping your fingers around his hardened member. It boasted a rather prominent vein tracing its length, accompanied by a slight curve that he found rather embarrassing.

You couldn't resist the urge to tease him with gentle strokes that coaxed a soft whimper from his lips. Spitting into your free hand, he'd gasp at your boldness, wanting to say something. But words quickly faded in his mouth when you smeared it long his length, making him throw his head. He'd look up at you, pleading for more, but you'd merely smile wickedly and instruct him to "be a good boy and fuck yourself with my hand."

Immediately, he would protest with a whiney, "noo I-I can't" his inexperience evident in his hesitant tone. But as you met his gaze with a firm, expectant look, his hesitation gave way to an exploratory thrust. With the help of your praise, he'd slowly become more comfortable with your embarrassing request.

As he quickened his pace, his breath would catch in his throat, his member pulsing in your hand. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and his thrusts became more erratic, your seductive voice making it harder for him to stay steady. His usually narrow eyes seemed to be welling up with emotion, and his face flushed.

Your other hand grasped the soft skin of his hips, guiding him into a harsher rhythm. He let out a loud, desperate moan, forgetting their surroundings as he succumbed to his pleasure.

Useless pleas would tumble from his lips, but you refused to indulge them, instead, instructing him to "show that pretty tongue, baby." He had no choice but to obey, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, coated with saliva as he reveled in embarrassment.

He'd pant and whine, his red tip darted back and forth between your hand, his face contorted in a mix of pleasure and shame. "M-mama, I'm close.. gunna cum.. c-cum, cum all over," he'd babble, his movements becoming more frenzied by the second.

Your grip tightening around his member, moving and twisting in tandem with his thrusts would send him over the edge. He'd cum with a loud, broken moan, tears threatening to fall from his eyes as he convulsed in your grip.

His body felt shaky and weak, his legs trembling beneath him. You stroked him through the aftershocks, praising him as he sat down, still flushed from his climax.

"You did such a good job, pup," you'd coo, making him blush once more. "Just sit there and look pretty for me and I'll get you allll cleaned up."

[yandere-metal-family]

hiiii this is my first metal family request and I feel a bit silly but this is my new obsession....

if it doesn't inconvenience you, could I have a yandere dee x reader?

the reader is sheltered and usually keeps to herself because she's shy and has a hard time making new friends. She's very innocent and tries to see the best in everyone, which is how she doesn't pick up on dee's yandere tendencies and just brushes them off as him being nervous or something

tysm in advance!

Lol yeah this is a more normal request tbh

Pt II: WIP

Moving to a new school in the middle of the year was the worst thing in the world. It was one thing to go at the beginning of the year, but the middle of the year- Everyone already had established relationships and such.

It didn't help that you weren't the most extroverted person in the world, so you doubted you'd ever make friends.

---

You went into class before school started, because there was no way you were going to introduce yourself to the class. The teacher, who had his head in papers, looked up when hearing you enter and told you to sit at the third table. There was a kid named 'Dee'[?] who sat there by himself.

When the bell rung, you felt the anxiety run down your spine. You hoped no one asked you anything or mentioned anything, because you would rather die than to be noticed.

That was short lived when a blonde kid spoke to you.

"Move."

You looked at him, a little flustered, "Excuse me?"

He gestures to the seat that he was leaning on and you made an 'Ooh,' face and moved seats.

---

Dee's eyes stayed on you during the whole period. You didn't look over at him once, because you wanted to pretend that maybe he wasn't looking at you and it was just your paranoia, but you were almost positive that he was looking at you.

Dee was interested in you. He knew you were new, obviously, but where were you from? Why are you here? What's your name? So and so.

He felt weird being so interested in another person, because he usually didn't care about other people. But he liked new things- and you were a new toy.

He looks down at your hands to see that were painted a nice dark purple, almost black, color. When the teacher's back is turned he nudges you.

You look over at him, a little confused, before he gestures towards your nails.

"I like your nails."

"Oh, thanks?"

After that he doesn't talk to you for the rest of the class.

---

You pack your bag, before finally leaving the school. You were glad it's over and thankful no one had approached you.

---

Dee wasn't listening to his brother. His eyes were instead focused on the school's interest. Heavy noticed his brother's lack of interest and looked over to the closed doors.

"Who are you waiting for?"

Dee looked at his brother, annoyed, "Nothing."

"Okay, are you ready to leave then?"

"No."

Dee was so quick to respond that it had taken Heavy by surprise. "Then what are we waiting for?"

"Nothing..."

He turns around, thinking maybe you had already left. But as he's about to leave, he hears the door open and looks back and is thrilled when seeing you. He is thrilled and walks up to you, leaving his brother behind.

"Uh, Y/n, right?"

You looked up at the voice to see the guy from one of your classes. You think he was an emo? You were unsure of which he was, but you were almost positive it was like emo punk kind of thing.

"Uh, yeah. Dee right?"

He smiles at his name, "Yeah. Uh, do you want me to walk you home? You know, so you're not alone?"

"Sure, yeah. Thank you."

He walks with you down the stairs, Dee ignoring his brother's call, but that doesn't last long.

You were confused when an orange haired boy came up to you and Dee. The kid looks at Dee, complaining about how Dee was ditching him.

"Oh, do you have to walk your little brother home?"

Dee grimace, rolling his eyes, before turning to you, "No, he can walk by himself. He's fine. Let's go," He quick to push you past Heavy, hoping that Heavy would get the hint.

[pedge-page]

does tommy ever feel the wrath of joel’s pregnant wife or does she reserve that specifically for joel? I feel like tommy would get on her nerves a little bit 😂

I was waiting for someone to ask this! Tbh I think preggo wife saves her wrath for Joel simply because shes comfortable with him and can relax and let her guard down. With Tommy alone....

Tommy Dealing with Preggo Wife

Warnings: just language and Joel and Wife being insecure in their own (slightly toxic) ways

- - - -

You were super pregnant at this point. A couple weeks away from making Joel a doting husband to a doting father, and he was probably more on edge than you were. Your anxious little poor husband Joel, freaking out that he needed to take a weekend trip away, and the only person he can rely to watch over you--

"I don't need to be fucking baby sat--!"

-- his sweet, helpless, innocent little pregnant wife, is unfortunately, Tommy.

"Ok listen very carefully," Joel starts, now having Tommy's full attention like he's about to ask him to do his first heart transplant. "She doesn't go anywhere unless you decide. She eats what you put in front of her, and you don't take her shit. She's gonna be bitchy and whiny and crying. She needs to rest. Rub her shoulder, put her feet up, whatever. But you gotta tough through and just make sure she understands that you're in charge. And what you say, goes. Got it?"

He knows Joel is relying on him to take care of his most precious belonging...who also is the devil. "Ok...ok. I mean it's like a... like watching a toddler, right?" Tommy asks, unsure about the whole thing.

"Yeah... a pregnant one that weighs more than ya and swears and probably will slap you a lot."

Joel smacks Tommy's shoulder lovingly with an encouraging smile.

Tommy feels even more hesitant. but he knows that he just needs to channel his inner Joel this weekend: stern, unmoving, and commanding, and he'll do just fine navigating you.

Joel hugs you real tight and kisses your forehead, inhaling your hair deeply as if to etch it into his brain. "I love you, baby, I'm gonna miss you so--"

"Later fucker." you pat his bum and wave him off as you waddle away in his large T shirt towards the freezer drawer, pulling out a Ben and Jerry's fudge pint with wet lips and a grin.

Tommy shrugs and helps Joel out to the truck with his bag. he waves goodbye as his brother backs out the driveway, shouting "YOU'RE IN CHARGE!"

I'm in charge, I'm in charge, he chants to himself, taking a deep breath before entering your house again.

"Alright!" he claps his hands together awkwardly but with a tone leadership. "We are going to stay in bed today,"

"Mall," you grump though a big scoop of ice cream.

"W-what?"

"M'goin ta mall. Yur takin mee," you nod towards him casually, gulping another spoon.

"uhh-h." Tommy looks around anxiously. Was this part of the test? He should put his foot down, yeah, Joel said you go no where unless Tommy explicitly said so. "N-no."

you swallow. "'Scuse me?"

"N-no? I mean... no! I said, we are putting you in bed, and what i say, go--"

"Thomas Miller," you say, and an eerie sense of fear swallows Tommy, sending shivers all over his body. Despite the 90 degree forecast, its like someone just tossed his insides into a freezer, and you were locking him in.

"Y-yes...maam," he whispers, feeling small.

"We can either do this... the hard way," you tilt your head with a sinister gaze towards him, as if referencing that bit of "Joel" he's trying to channel inside. "Or, we can do this... my way." The way you smile at the end is somehow even more threatening than the chilled tone you're having with him.

It was like when he and Joel broke his grandma's vase, and rather than yelling at them, she had the exact same terrifyingly threatening voice, and it made Tommy sleep with one eye open for a week.

"What will it be, Thomas."

He remembers to breathe shakily through his nose, licking his parched lower lip.

He doesn't want to be known as the guy who got beat up by his pregnant sister in law.

-

"Do you want a pretzel?" you ask kindly.

"Ah... no--no that's okay--"

"I'm getting you one, honey, just say Thank you."

"Okay. T-thank you."

Tommy bites into the cinnamon sugar one with the extra glaze you had ordered, and he had never felt such sweet heaven.

"Joel used to yell at me for my sweet tooth," he admits as the two of you stuff your faces and waltz slowly down the mall halls.

"Me too!" you bump his shoulder heartily.

Tommy lets out a relaxed sigh. From the moment he agreed to do whatever it was you wanted, the weekend had been fantastic. Turns out, you're not only super fun to blast kareoke to the worst songs in the car, but also all full of warmth, laughter, and even more suprisingly, extremely generous at offering to spoil him rotten like a mother with her favorite child.

"What can I make you for dinner?"

"Wha--no I'm supposed to cook for you--"

"Tommy stop please. I want to make you something. You have to be stuck with me all day walking like a slow penguin. I want to do something for you. You deserve it. "

You hadn't noticed Tommy pausing along your walk, watching you in awe as you waddled about, gently caressing your tummy absentmindedly as you window shopped.

This was the demon that Joel complained about every hour of the day???

And even more concerning was: how did someone like JOEL manage to score a girl like YOU???

You were so peaceful, generous, kind, loving, all smiles and willing to take care of him.

Was he doing everything right or everything wrong?

The two of you return home, with Tommy hauling more gifts that you had bought him. He really wasn't able to protest, with you somehow disappearing from sight conveniently, to his horror that he somehow lost you like a puppy in the park, and then finding you suddenly swiping your card at a register.

He should feel bad, truly, but you were just in such a good mood, he didn't want to seem ungrateful. And he also.... really liked all of it.

"Oh these are so fuckin nice!" He cheers, pulling out the new sneakers you had just bought in it's wrapping paper. "Mine are--"

"Old and ratty, yes I know that's why I bought them. Sick of your nasty shoes trailing my house--"

"S-sorry--"

"Bought you some fuzzy slippers too so you can switch out when you come in."

"Im not really a slippers guy..."

"You are now."

You ended up making a quick spaghetti, slapping him away every time he tried to hover in the kitchen. "I wanna stand! good exercise!" you nod with a smile.

And it seemed like you meant it. Despite babyzilla cooking and ready to burst out, you were light on your feet in the kitchen. Like a ballerina dancing and swaying, you hummed to a tune in your head as you tasted the sauce on the spatula. You were in the zone, in your world. and it was genuinely... beautiful. He understood it now, when people say pregnant women glow. the entire time, Joel always said you did, but he only ever saw how tired the pregnancy made the both of you.

Was... Joel the problem?

After a hearty dinner, Tommy washed up the dishes. You said your goodnights and headed to your master bedroom, tucked in, and lights off just as Tommy gathered his pillows down the hall in the guest bedroom.

He sighs, laying on his belly and inhaling the fresh linen before closing his eyes.

Not more than a few moments pass before he hears some sniffles down the hall. Then again, a cough and whine.

He sits up and heads down to your room, the door cracked and dark. he flips the light switch on to see you sitting upright in your bed, rubbing your eyes.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

"M'good!" you give him two thumbs up. "Night!"

He nods and flips the switch off again, turning away. he doesn't make it two steps before he hears your unmistakable crying.

He turns the lights back on to see you wiping fat tears from your cheeks, sobbing into your shirt--Joel's shirt.

"Hey...what's wrong? Are you okay? ya in pain? What can I--"

You pull your face up, lips trembling and all tear soaken. He sees your clutching one of Joel's jackets in your hands, wrapped tightly like you don't want it to leave you. A completely emotional mess as you huff and puff.

He puts the pieces together. "Ya miss Joel, don't you--"

"I MISS HIMMMMMM!!!!!!!!" you wail, erupting into a long cry into the air with slunked shoulders and larger tears strolling down from the creases of your closed eyes.

He tightens his lips awkwardly, not wanting to let out a chuckles. Turns out big scary pregnant "later fucker" wife really did love that dumbass. Its also probably the first time he sees bags under your eyes, like you were hiding your exhaustion. When Joel is around, you almost never looked tired. Just pouty and groutchy like a spoiled senior cat.

Maybe Joel wasnt the problem, but the solution. He knew how to take care of you, knew what you needed when you needed it, knew when to put his foot down, and even when hed watch you two bicker and bitch, joel knew exactly how to get you in bed wrapped around him like gumby. Every. Single. Night.

He rubs your arm soothingly.

"Why"-hiccup--"did he"--sniffle--"leave me!"

"He aint leave ya, just had some work."

"HE HATES ME!!!!!!!!!"

He shakes his head, knowing you're inconsolable. rather than trying to reason, he brings you to his shoulder so you can cry your heart out on him as he hugs you. "There there," he hums, swaying you two side to side.

like a crying toddler indeed.

"M'sorry," you whimper, rubbing your eyes with your balled fists. "Wakin' you up, me crying like this. I can't--I can't help it some times..." your voice waivers, face warm in embarrassment that you're burdening Tommy so much.

"Don't sweat it. You did a lot today. Can I get you anything to cheer you up?" he suggests, expecting a trip down to the freezer for a nice tub of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cr--

"Can you get the jar of pickles?"

That...is fine too.

He brings up the largest jar of dill pickles he's ever seen in his life, sets them in your lap. He pops open the sturdy lid for your eager fingers to pull a long dill out and slink it into your lips. the satisfying crunch echoes in the room as you munch.

You start crying again. "I Fucking HATE Pickles!" you groan angrily before taking another generous crunch with a confusingly delightful hum. "Like--I hate it, but they're good?"

He chuckles, taking a piece. He pauses, eying you fearfully as if he made a wrong move not asking your permissions to take one of your hated yet coveted pickles. You nod, and the two of you crunch down on the peculiar snack.

"It's probably from the baby..."

"Fuckin' weirdo." you pat the rounded hump of your tummy and swallow the rest of your slice. Though, the way you stroke along the skin so delicately with a little smirk, he knows you're already in love with your "fuckin weirdo" baby more than anyone could love anything in this world.

Tommy never really thought about the word "uncle" until this moment, and the first emotion he has to associate it with, is excitement.

"Mkay. I'm done now." You hold the jar out to him so he can close it. "Thank you, Tommy," you say sweetly with the gentlest, sleepiest smile. "I really appreciate it."

THIS IS THE ANGEL JOEL HAS THE NERVES TO COMPLAIN ABOUT????

He swears, if Joel comes back and calls him up later saying how insufferable you are, he may just have to size up and smack his big brother.

Tommy pats your head, tucks you in again and turns of the lights.

-

The next day you make Tommy take you to breakfast and get him as many pancakes and French toast he can stuff his face with. A spoiled little brother indeed, and as he swallows another lump of the best breakfast eggs he's ever had, he wonders how sweet life would have been with a big sister like you spoiling him every day instead of Joel making him do chores and shit.

Its not until Joel is meeting the two of you at a lunch spot that Tommy remembers exactly what Joel always groans about.

"Hi baby!" He grins, rushing to give you a big hug for the first time in two days.

And despite your crying for him last night, you only retort with "sup fucker" casually and near bored, as if you weren't sniffing his jacket and Wagging your imaginary tail in disguise.

Joel purses his lips sarcastically, knowing you mean well, and Tommy laughs. You two definitely understood each other way better than he thought.

"Im gonna wash my hands, you two get a table," Joel says, and disappears down the back entrance.

Your waitress greets you just as Tommy is helping you slide down into the booth, big baby belly and all.

"Just three waters, please,"

"And a pepsi! Lots of ice. Two pepsis actually. And bread. And maybe like uh milkshake to start off?--"

The waitress glances at Tommy with a raised brow, wondering if you're genuine or not. He shrugs and nods, noting "she's pretty far along if ya can tell."

"My older sister was the same way. I'll get that in. You two...sorry I shouldn't say it but you two make a cute couple--" she says kindly.

Unfortunately, its exactly at the same Joel returns and hears that last bit, directed towards you and Tommy.

She walks away just as you catch Joels bewildered expression, conveniently with Tommy's hand on your bump and another around your lower back (supporting you into the booth of course but JOEL doesn't see it that way with this new context).

You and Tommy open your mouths to dismiss the claim and misunderstanding, but ever defensive Joel just shoves Tommy aside, slides into your booth next to you and slams your hand into his lap, his bear paws enclosed around yours. Tommy quietly slides into the opposite end, met with Joels flaring nostrils and billowing steam coming out of them.

The younger Miller realizes that slapping some sense into Joel and "sizing him up" was a total pipe dream. He'd be lucky to live long enough to an uncle at this point.

You gotta defend your poor brother in law. "The waitress just saw--"

"Cute couple, huh," he seethe with gritted teeth his entire seething focus at Tommy rather than paying any mind to you.

"Joel stop, Tommy was REALLY great to me this weekend--"

"Oh I BET he was," he grunts, turning towards you with a scowl. "S'that why he got new shoes on?" Joel damn well knows Tommy didn't just pony up and buy new shit for himself this weekend, given he refuses to buy himself anything new for years past it's expiration.

Tommy knows he's never allowed to baby sit you alone again at this rate.

"She was crying last night saying how much she missed ya," Tommy blurts.

You kick his shin under the table, not wanting to let Joel know what a pathetic groveling mess--

"Wait really!?" he nuzzles closer to your, as if all the anger in his body dissipated at the notion his poor little wife was calling out for her hubby.

Tommy chuckles and nods. "We shared some pickles in bed, ain't that right?"

You slap your face just as Joel rears his once again flaring red face towards Tommy. "You did WHAT in WHERE????"

- - - -

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

girl i love your stories that i reread them A LOT. idk if your request is open but if it's not then you can do it whenever I WILL WAIT MY WHOLE LIFE FOR IT

some angst (but end with fluff) about y/n being bad at directions (me tbh) so she keeps clinging to minho and his friends (during idk maybe their tour in japan or other vacations)so when minho snaps at her she left the restaurant immediately and thought about going back to hotel but get lost and her phone died then when minho find out she's not back till late at night he starts going crazy looking for her around

i'll let you get creative from here! tq!!!!

I hope you enjoy!!!

The trip to Japan had been an exhilarating whirlwind of sights and sounds. But for you, it also became a constant struggle to keep up with the group. Your terrible sense of direction was something you’d always laughed off, but here, in the bustling chaos of unfamiliar streets, it felt like a glaring flaw. You clung to Minho more than you intended to, relying on him to guide you when you inevitably got turned around.

By the third day, his patience began to wear thin.

It started with small sighs, then curt remarks. But tonight, as you hesitated once again at an intersection, unsure which way to go, Minho snapped. His voice cut through the group’s chatter, sharp and biting.

“For God’s sake, Y/N, can you stop acting helpless for five minutes? It’s not that hard to figure out where we’re going.”

The words stung like a slap, and the embarrassment that followed was suffocating. The others fell silent, their eyes darting between the two of you. Chan stepped forward, his voice firm and reprimanding.

“Minho, that’s enough! You don’t ever talk to her like that. You hear me?”

Minho opened his mouth to retort but quickly shut it, guilt flashing across his face under Chan's firm glare. Still, the damage was done. You felt small and out of place, like an unwelcome burden. Chan gave you a shoulder squeeze before going to scold Minho a bit more. The group resumed walking, the atmosphere tense as all the boy looked over in your direction with awkward and pitiful glances. Felix and Jeongin tried to lighten your mood by talking casually with you, but the lump in your throat wouldn't shake.

When you reached the restaurant, you quietly excused yourself, claiming you needed some air. No one stopped you. Outside, the cool night air hit your face as tears blurred your vision. You decided to head back to the hotel, thinking it was better to remove yourself from the group altogether.

But as you wandered through the maze of streets, panic began to set in. Every turn seemed to lead to another unfamiliar alley, and your phone’s battery was dwindling fast. When it finally died, leaving you stranded without maps or a way to contact anyone, fear took hold.

Back at the restaurant, the group noticed your prolonged absence. Jisung was the first to speak up, glancing around nervously.

“Uh, has anyone seen Noona? She’s been gone for a while.”

Minho, who had been unusually quiet since his outburst, froze. Chan frowned, his protective instincts kicking in.

“I’ll check outside,” Jisung offered, already heading for the door. He returned a few minutes later, his expression grim.

“She’s not out there,” he said, his voice edged with worry. “I think she’s gone.”

Minho shot to his feet, his heart hammering in his chest. “What do you mean, gone?”

“I don’t know!” Jisung replied, his voice rising. “I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not answering her phone either.”

The weight of the situation hit Minho like a freight train. His earlier anger dissolved into a nauseating mix of fear and guilt. Without another word, he bolted out of the restaurant, desperate to find you.

You’d been wandering for what felt like hours when a man approached you. He looked to be in his fifties, his kind eyes and warm smile a stark contrast to the bustling city around you.

“Are you lost?” he asked in Japanese. You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you tried to explain your situation.

“Come,” he said gently, switching to broken English. “My daughter recognized you. Said you are with boyfriend, Minho? Safe at our house. You charge phone.”

Too exhausted and desperate to refuse, you followed him to a modest house nearby. His daughter, a young woman about your age, greeted you with tea and a charger. The warmth of their home was comforting, but your heart ached with the weight of the evening’s events.

Minho was spiraling. He darted from street to street, asking anyone he came across if they’d seen you. When he entered a small cafe, the owner paused, recognizing your description.

“Yes,” she said. “She left with an older man. He seemed…kind. Not dangerous.”

Her words did little to calm Minho’s fraying nerves. The thought of you- vulnerable and alone- with a stranger nearly pushed him to the brink of a breakdown. His hands trembled as he tried to focus.

“Where? Which way did they go?” he demanded.

She pointed him in the right direction, and he took off without a second thought. When he finally reached the house and saw you through the window, sitting safely with the older man and his daughter, the relief was overwhelming. He knocked and burst through the door, his chest heaving.

“Y/N,” he choked out, rushing to your side. “Are you okay? I was…I was so scared.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Minho pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if to make sure you were really there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I…I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I didn’t mean it. I…I can’t lose you.”

You let out a shaky breath, but before you could respond, the daughter handed you a photo card she’d been holding. It was of Minho, from a recent album. She giggled nervously, gesturing to the collection spread out across the table.

“I'm a big fan,” she said in English, and you couldn’t help but smile. "So, I recognized her from your posts."

“Thank you for helping her,” Minho said to her and the father in Japanese, his voice hoarse. Then, in a move that stunned everyone, he sank to his knees. Lowering himself further until his forehead almost touched the ground, he bowed deeply, the ultimate gesture of gratitude and humility, as he cried out words you couldn't understand, but the small family did.

“Thank you,” he said again in English, his voice trembling. “Thank you for keeping her safe. Thank you.”

The father’s eyes widened in surprise before he helped Minho up, patting his shoulder reassuringly before he looked at you. “She…good girl. You take care of her, yes?”

Minho nodded fervently, his gaze flickering to you. “Always.”

As the family waved you off, Minho kept a protective arm around you the entire walk back to the hotel. Neither of you spoke much, but his grip on you never loosened, his actions speaking louder than words ever could.

By the time you reached the entrance you took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry-"

Minho pulled you into his chest before you could say anything else. "You scared me." He whispered. "I was so scared- people...they can be dangerous."

You didn't say anything, just sunk further into his embrace, your lips turning into a pout as Minho held you.

"You found her?" Chan's accent cut through the sound of Minho's rapid heartbeat as him and Han rushed over. "I'll call the rest of the guys and tell them to come back."

Another wave of guilt hit you and you tried to sputter out another apology but Han spoke.

"It's not your fault Y/N. It's Minho's for acting that way."

You looked up at Minho, whose eyes were blank. "I'm tired. Let's head to bed." He said quietly, pulling you along. He walked into your hotel room and kicked off his shoes, pulling you under the covers with him.

He pulled you flush against his chest and rested his chin on your shoulder.

"I'm sorry." He said again. "I'm a horrible boyfriend." You turned in the bed towards him, and your heart tugged at seeing his eyes. He had been silently crying, and when he felt he didn't want you to see him cry any longer he buried his face in your chest, hugging you closer.

"I forgive you. You don't have to say sorry."

"I do. I put you in a dangerous position because of my frustrations. That's ignorant of me. If anything had happened-" His voice was muffled but you heard the slight crack in it.

'Well, nothing happened so I'm okay. I'm safe. And the father and daughter were such a cute little family and kind. You were her bias as well so if anything I was probably the most safe there." You teased. Minho didn't say anything instead pulled the blanket tighter around you.

You sighed and closed your eyes, deciding to just let Minho wallow. When he thought you were asleep he moved the strands of hair stuck to your cheek and laid a gentle kiss there.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight for the rest of this trip." You stayed still as he placed another kiss on the corner of your lips, then forehead.

"I love you, jagiya." He murmured, before resting his forehead against yours, a drifting off into a dreamless sleep with you.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

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@night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz

@rockstarkkami

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[rimqueen]

LIMERENCE !

ft. jimmy x fem!reader

tags. implied/reference rape, failed rape recovery, talk of incest and underage but not in regards to reader, public humiliation, obsession on readers part, sort of stalking, one mention of suicide, slight boot kink, just humiliation tbh..

note. waow.. don’t know what this is.. unedited and kind of sucks.. rbs n feedback always appreciated. ignore any typos!

What do you do when your rapist is the most handsome man you’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking?

He wasn’t ugly or fat and he wasn’t the tallest, but everyone has their shortcomings.

You feel like a total fraud, picking at the lint on your sweater as you listen to a girl bawl her eyes out while recounting the time her father raped her in the back of his pick-up after school.

The woman before her was gang-raped by her delinquent boyfriend’s lackeys, the man to her left is the victim of his middle-school teacher, another lady pushed out two rape babies from her deadbeat husband before she managed to get away from him.

They’re all ghosts; beaten down, so broken, and you are you.

The same as before, if not a little bit better.

In fact, you’ve stopped getting those night terrors where all your teeth fall out.

You got raped and everything just felt right.

Like he knocked something into place, dug so deep into your cunt he rewired your brain.

Your therapist said this would be a chance at community, some place to bring you comfort, like-minded individuals who have gone through all the same things you have. Circle time for victims of brutal, life-ruining—life-changing rape, you should fit right in.

But you have never felt more out of place.

Pick-up girl can’t continue, she’s choking on her words, they come out her throat like the creak in an old floorboard. The box of Kleenex is significantly lighter.

“We can move on,” says a lady with kind eyes, shifting on her chair to face your way.

They all look at you with their haunted, dark eyes, gaping black chasms that lead right to fucking hell. God. You’re going straight to hell.

“Erm..” You squeeze your hands into fists. You unstick your thighs from the plastic chair. You count to ten and try not to think about how nice he looked on top of you.

“It’s okay, honey, take your time.” She places her hand on your knee. You think of him. His hand on your thigh, squeezing your tender flesh until it came right off the bone, the way it inched up your skirt.

You go stiff and she notices, gasping softly like she has done something wrong. And she has. She’s turned you the fuck on, the warmth of her encouragement going straight to your cunt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think about—“

“No, it’s okay,” you strain to get it out, avoiding her eyes like sympathy is a highly contagious disease of some kind.

They’re all feeling bad for you when you have finally started to feel good about yourself.

Man, you suck.

“He was my boyfriend.” Your voice cracks for dramatic effect, hold the applause. You wish he was your boyfriend. “He did it almost everyday.” You wish he did it everyday. “It would be after I came back from work…” It would be great stress relief after your Friday shift, it’s nearing Christmas and everybody is crushed into the stores like cattle in free stall barns.

You open and close your mouth, unsure of where to go from here, so you stand up and the chair screeches against the ground. “Sorry… I’m so sorry—I need to go.”

You leave and it looks real.

Like you are a real victim with a real story and very real feelings. The type you see on TV, dressed in white, trembling like lambs, abhorred by the notion of anything sexual. Squeaky clean like you should be.

For just a moment you feel normal. Your therapist is not eyeballing you like a mildly fascinating organism in her Petri dish. Your friends don’t give you a funny look when you say you’re fine—great actually. Your mom is not hanging her head in secondhand shame when you refuse to file a police report, disturbed when she unearths your bloodied underwear beside the prayer book you keep tucked beneath your pillow, rosary nowhere to be found.

They mutter quietly amongst themselves.

Poor thing she can’t even speak about it, it must’ve been awful, I can’t even imagine what she went through, so young.

You can’t speak about it, you really can’t, you might start reciting wedding vows if you think about him longer than a second.

Your loneliness is like the crack in a China cup, fine and glossy on the outside but delicate from years stowed away in show cabinets, passed from bidder to bidder. He pressed golden lacquer into the seams of your fracture, put you back together like you were something worth holding, something to be used.

Stored away in your bag, a sacred place your mother has not yet invaded, is his work ID. You say his ordinary name like you’re uttering a prayer, you drag the jagged tip of your nail over his tiny photograph. His hair and beard are longer than you remember, he’s handsome underneath the scruff, a strong nose and a broad chest. The collar of his company-issued jumpsuit is half popped, and he’s scowling at the camera like it’s an inconvenience.

There’s no phone number on it and part of you is glad you won’t have to call into the company, requesting Jimmy like The Pony Express is a sex hotline and he’s their newest, youngest, bustiest doll.

You wait outside the warehouse instead. It’s a big old thing, the last of its kind, muted in colour, blending into the silver skies. You look at the horse who sits on top like a weathervane on a cathedral, oversized features and the stomach of a pudgy toddler.

Every day from two to eight you circle the block a few times, take a window seat in the cafe opposite until the staff begin to stack tables and chairs, sit at the bus stop beside the same lot of people who wonder why you never get on.

The horse watches from above, wide eyes glowing in the dark beside the moon, unsettlingly reverent, sparkling with diamond-sharp logic, like it knows something you do not, a silent witness to your dog-like devotion.

One day, you leave work early and find a truck parked in front of the hulking, metal mass. Two men are unloading it, one is old and the other is blond, but they don’t matter to you. A third steps out of the cab, your breath gets caught in your throat, scared your exhale might blow him away.

You don’t look when you cross the street.

“Excuse me?” You call out, you’re sure he hears you, but he’s choosing to ignore it. “Are you Jimmy?” You ask once you're close enough to go unnoticed.

“Depends,” he says in that voice you have heard so many times in your dreams, rough like the serrated edge of a knife. “Who’s asking?” He hasn’t looked up once, disinterested and completely unaffected while you burn just being near him.

There is a woman near those other two men, leant down amidst some crates, a clipboard pressed to her chest. Her face is white and her nose is long like the snout on a hound dog, her charcoal eyes are sad and droopy.

You wonder if he has touched her like he has touched you. Either she just has one of those faces or she can take your slot at circle time. She would fit right in with the rest of them. Herbivores hiding in long grass.

“I’m asking.” You clear your throat, he looks up at you with his lidded eyes and you don’t look away, openly admiring the colour of them, how they look in the sunlight. There are a million things you want to ask him.

Was it just me? Was I your first and only? Have you been thinking about me? Do you want a summer wedding or a winter one? Vanilla or chocolate cake? We could do floral arrangements in your favourite colour.

He seems to grow slightly antsy when you continue to stare, Adam’s apple bulging out of his throat when he swallows. He looks like he’s started to feel sick, like he’s waiting outside the principal’s office after breaking a window.

It’s different, he’s different in the day. Long gone is his barbed tongue and wolf-like smile. “What do you want?”

You.

Your fingers toy with the rounded edges of his employee card, if you hand it to him now it’ll all be over.

“Listen,” Jimmy starts, lowering his voice, “if it’s something I did, I’m sorry.” Apprehension twists his mouth into a frown, and he doesn’t sound all that sorry. “But you can’t show up—“

“Here.” You fish his ID from your purse, reluctant to hand it over. His fingers don’t brush yours like you hoped and he seems all too eager to get rid of you.

“Thanks, cool,” he says with all the enthusiasm of a funeral celebrant, tucking it into his breast pocket for safekeeping, his disengagement is a knife in your chest. You’re a stain on a shirt he has no intention of cleaning.

“Yeah…” Does he not remember you? Is there nothing about you that is worth remembering? Were you not good? “Cool.” The longer you stand there the more likely it seems he’s going to grab a broom to chase you away. “Well, bye, Jimmy.” You blink at him sadly, expectantly, longingly. This is it.

You walk away and that was it. That was it. You’ll never see him again, you have no reason to be caught lurking outside the warehouse.

You start to think long and hard on your way home about the fuck is wrong with you.

Everyone is shaped by the sum of their exposures. A product of the people you meet, the enemies and friends you make, who you go home to. Every smile, every scowl, every bad habit is the reflection of another. But to be completely fucking honest, you think you’re just like this. The root of the problem is you, it stems from deep inside your very core, a fundamentally fucked up instinct that makes life a fucking inconvenience. It turns everything into a complication and that is why you’re like this.

God, you wonder what it would be like to wake up and think about normal things like normal people who do not have this constant flurry of wrongness whirling around inside of them. You want to go through life like you’re meant to be on earth, not like an alien species that crash-landed here and never managed to get out, unable to acclimatise to the human way, not like you’re a manufacturing defect.

You want to laugh at the right moment, you want to know what everyone else is thinking, you want to be raped so badly. Again and again and again. You can’t be normal if you can’t stop thinking about the most abnormal thing about you, that just defeats the fucking point.

Your friends think it is their fault for bringing you home that night, for letting you go home all on your own, for getting drunk and leaving you sober. They feel responsible for the best night of your life and you hate it. You hate that they don’t get it. You had a good time in your own right, they don’t need to feel guilty—Or maybe you need to start thinking how they do. Like normal people. They’re horrified when they’re supposed to be horrified. Their minds are tailored to the tastes of this world, yours is somewhere else, some rotten, tumultuous, toxic planet.

Therapy is supposed to be helping you learn how to be even slightly human, little by little, step by step. But you can’t take it in small doses, you need all of this wrongness gone at once like a decidual cast. It doesn’t make you lighter, it doesn’t put a pep in your step, it doesn’t do shit.

So you keep going to wait outside the Pony Express warehouse. You camp out in that cafe all day on days off from work. The staff know you by name, six holes punched in your reward card, special access to the staff bathrooms. You’re set for stalker life.

He never comes again, but you do everyday.

The nights are getting darker, stars bleed into the sky as the sun dims, the moon is larger than usual tonight and if you weren’t so taken by the brightness you would be quicker to notice the dark figure in your peripheral.

When you finally do, you think it’s the devil, cloaked in darkness like the devil probably should be. “Oh, it’s you.” You try to hide the smile in your voice as you watch him put a cigarette between his crooked lips.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He’s unbothered in tone, indifferent in manner. It would be flattering that he remembered you if he hadn’t said it like that.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, from last week.” Jimmy’s eyes glow radioactive in the dark like tiger eyes when he lights his cigarette, the flame flickers and casts him uneven light, softening the right side of his face with a golden haze and plunging the left into shifting darkness. “You stalking me?”

“No!” You say all too quickly. “No, no… I study at the cafe opposite you.”

“Okay.” He was joking you think, making fun of you maybe, you wouldn’t be able to tell either way. “Studying the menu or what?”

That was a joke, that has to be a joke. It’s your cue to laugh so you force one out, it crackles unnaturally. “I wish, but I meant before that, do you remember me from before that?”

You look different under the street lamps, they do nothing for your skin, light pools unfavourably in every pore, the jewel-toned dress you picked out today must look washed out.

Jimmy’s lazy eyes rake up your body, and then he shakes his head slowly. “No.” Even to someone like you, it’s clear he has no interest in taking this conversation anywhere.

“It was in November, the beginning, I was on my way home, and it was late...” You should’ve done this at circle time. “You grabbed me and I let you take me, and then after you told me to walk down the block and call a cab, and I did.”

“Hm,” Jimmy shrugs, though you notice his hand trembling as he raises his cigarette to his lip, “nope, don’t remember that.”

Frustrated, you clench your fists, wondering what could jog his memory—Did he do it often? Nab a girl off the street corner so regularly that he didn’t remember a single one, faces all blurring together, the same hole with a different set of tits.

“Remind me again.”

“How?”

“Take off your jacket.” Jimmy’s cigarette gets crushed beneath his boot, he’s looking at you now. Really looking at you, and this is where it all goes pear-shaped. Your whole life is pear-shaped of course, but this is just fucking sad. You beg yourself to think it over, to think of the dozens of security cameras on this street alone. None of it seems too important when he’s here.

And then, you shrug your coat off your shoulders.

“Okay.” You’ve always been obedient because you have no reason to say no, you don’t care if he’s going to mug you, at least he’s talking to you now. At least he is looking at you.

“Think I’m gonna need to see more to know who you are,” he says, detached like there are a million better things he could be doing with his time, but he’s spending it with you. “Take off your dress.”

“What…” You’re shaking slightly in the cold, wind stings your cheeks and the tip of your fingers have started to ache.

“Take off your dress, I might know you.” Fair enough. He’d seen your ass more than your tits and your tits more than your face. It was forced into a flat pillow for three quarters of the night, between his thighs for the last quarter.

You take off your dress, edging it off your ankles. He drapes it over his arm - he’s got enough humanity to not leave your pretty clothes on the pavement.

It’s cold. The type of cold that makes your brain freeze, the type of cold that only Siberian Huskies and yetis enjoy.

And yet here you are in nothing but your cotton panties, t-shirt bra and boutique winter booties looking like the most expensive kerb crawler in all the world.

“Turn around,” Jimmy hums, his hand is cold but not as cold as you, tracing along your spine when you listen like a good girl.

From here, the horse is watching you. Seeing it all, cartoonish eyes forced in your direction. It’s late so the cars that whiz past have no intention of stopping, some houses have their lights on.

Humiliation prickles your skin, it could be the cold, but you don’t think the cold gets inside of you like this. What are you doing? What are you doing? What is mom going to think? What is dad going to do? What are they going to tell your family when you’re sectioned for Christmas?

”That’s good,” his voice comes out in a whisper, “take ‘em off and get on the ground.” Lukewarm hands slide over your hips, checking you over like a piece of meat.

“Okay,” you whisper back to him, and you’ve gone so far there’s nothing to lose, stepping out of your underwear and doing just as he says.

There’s no praise from Jimmy’s end and you don’t expect any. His stern face, his flat tone, it’s all unforgiving like this cold, hard sidewalk is on your hands and knees.

“Jesus, there something wrong with you?” He sounds surprised and you don’t know what you’ve done wrong. (You do know. You do know.) Isn’t this what he wanted? “Sorry,” Jimmy says, not sounding sorry at all, “I shouldn’t say that, you’re not all there.”

Your head isn’t entirely intact, and there is this worm hole that eats away at your insides, but you’re here. You’re here and you’re on the ground, on your knees with your cunt bared to him. Does he not see you?

The horse sees you, perpetually wide-eyed and forever watching.

Something cold, like the nose of a dog, presses against your pussy. It takes you a moment to figure out that it’s the toe of his boot, the leathery texture is wet almost, smooth and still textured, grainy. The cold is making it too hard to focus on the feeling of it nudging your swollen clit. You close your eyes and focus on anything but your hands burning on the ground, how the wind is going straight to your bones.

You’re going to make this worth it. You will. You’ve been wet for months and you won’t let it dry up so quickly, not when the cause of the leak is here to plug it up.

Just as you’re about to push back into him, grind your clit into the leather, show off how much you want him—He kicks you down, your body skids forward, elbows scraping on the cement. It’s painful, but you’re so cold, so shocked, so confused.

Quietly, you hear him under his breath. “What the fuck… Fuckin’ freak.” You don’t know if it’s in awe or disgust. He drops your coat and dress over the flat of your back, you scramble to put them on. “Why did you do that?” Jimmy asks, and he is looking at you like you’re crazy, like he’s disgusted.

You can’t tell if it’s a trick question. “Because you told me to.” It’s a simple answer, the only answer. Your chest heaves, teeth chattering as you stand on aching legs. God. It feels like your bones are fragmenting.

“Are you a dog?”

“No.” You check your pockets to find some loose change is missing.

“Then you didn’t have to do that, it’s not fuckin’ normal.”

Rape is not normal. And neither is asking seemingly nice, well-meaning girls to undress in sub-zero temperatures. But you don’t want to talk back, you don’t like to talk back, you don’t want to scare him off.

“Okay… Then, I’m sorry.”

“What…” His tone lilts in what might be confused laughter, everything you say is a twist or turn in a tangled thread he can’t quite follow. “Don’t say sorry, no, I don’t—I don’t know, just go home.”

“You’re not going to take me?” You gaze at him sadly. Wanting, yearning. “I think I’m going to kill myself tonight,” you proclaim softly, not because you want to make him feel bad, but because you don’t know what to do with yourself and he is distant enough to confide in.

“Alright,” Jimmy shrugs, he lights another cigarette, the smoke billows out of his thin lips, lined with the slightest smile. “Tell me how that goes.” Well, now you feel stupid and wish to take it back. Then, before he goes, he asks a little too casually, “Your dad touched you or something?”

“No…” You answer slowly, wondering if you should’ve said yes, if that was what he wanted to hear, gauging his reaction like you’ll be able to read it at all.

“Right.” He laughs, and his shoulders are still shaking in disbelief as he wanders into the dark like something out of a nightmare.

You look over to the horse, it tells you he’ll be back.

Considering he works there and all you thought the same, so you’ll be back alive and well.

[whimsyfinny]

He’s a Winchester

Chapter 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader

Warnings: language, anxious Dean, anxious Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2683

MDNI 18+

A/N: another slightly shorter chapter (sorry). Idk why but I rewrote this chapter so many times to try and get it right, so fingers crossed it’s not awful. But the encounter finally happens! Not long now until we get to see Dean doing dad things, and tbh, I’m living for it. Feedback is always appreciated! Love you all

A/N2: GUYS IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING but PLEEEEASE provide your age if you want to be added to the taglist and it isn’t in your blog. This story is tame now but it’s gonna get spicy, and my blog is strictly 18+. So pleeeeease save be a very long job and help a gal out.

Photos from Pinterest

New Readers Start Here: Chapter 1

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Spilling the truth took a lot less time than I'd anticipated, so after a quick update texted to Kat and the much needed coffees, Dean and I decided to head over to the track. Dean himself was feeling every emotion under the sun. He expressed a constant string of heartfelt apologies for nearly the whole walk from Jolenes’ Café back to where we'd parked, despite me constantly reminding him that he has nothing to apologise for. He's here now, and that's what matters. The phrases ‘I have a son,’ and ‘I’m a dad’ seemed to intertwine with the ‘I’m sorry’s’ like a mantra, to the point where I had to stop him in his tracks and refocus his attention before his head got lost in the clouds.

“I get it, Dean. This is so much to absorb right now, and I can't imagine what is going on in that crazy brain of yours. You don't have to come with me right now, we can meet tomorrow if you want-”

“No, absolutely not. I've been absent for too long and I'll be damned if I waste another minute,” he nervously wiped his hands over his face as we approached my truck. I couldn't help but smile. “I mean, what if he doesn't like me?”

I couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping my mouth, earning a raised eyebrow from the man who was working himself into an anxious sweat.

“Dean, trust me, he's going to want to be your best friend. Especially when he knows that’s your car,” I nodded my head to the impala a few spaces away, recalling Levi's excitement when he saw it in town yesterday.

“Really?”

“Really. Plus…” I hesitated, unsure what emotion my next statement was going to stir within Dean, “he's been bullied for not having a dad around, and I think he'll be grateful for that to stop.”

Deans’ brows furrowed as he leant on the side of my truck, dropping his head and muttering a few curses.

“He's been bullied because I've not been there?” He looked up with a pained pinch in his brow. I sighed.

“Yes but trust me, your boy gives as good as he gets,” I smiled a little, bringing Dean some reassurance. I could tell the words ‘your boy’ had an effect on him. “Look,” I reached out to rub his shoulder affectionately, to which he responded with a warm hand over mine, squeezing my fingers. “We need to get going to pick him up. Why don't you come in my truck with me?” He paused for a moment, thinking, gathering his thoughts before standing up straight and nodding. “Great,” I grinned at him, a few nervous butterflies fluttering in my own stomach now. I reached for his hand again, giving it another squeeze, “let's get going then.”

Dean had insisted on driving, mainly for his own sanity and I’d happily obliged, remembering what a terrible passenger he was. After a couple of painstaking minutes of him readjusting my seat, we pulled away and headed down to the track. 

The drive was about twenty minutes, and most of that was spent in a comfortable conversation about Levi. Dean wanted to know everything. And I mean everything. His hobbies, his favourite movie, his favourite cereal, his least favourite cereal, his grades, his favourite subject… the list went on. Before we knew it, we were turning down a dirt road and pulling into a large gravel car park. As we pulled up and hopped out, the buzz of dirt bikes and loud chatter filled the air, along with the intense smell of petrol. Dean walked around to my side, looking around and taking it all in.

“Levi does this? He can ride a dirt bike?” he asked, an impressed tone to his voice. Dean had forgone the leather jacket and as I glanced at him, I couldn't help but trail my gaze over his biceps and the way the grey fabric of his t-shirt stretched around the large muscles. I looked away quickly before he caught me. Now was not the time to let my eyes or thoughts wander.

“Yeah, he's really into it, and he's good too; he has a few trophies at home. To be honest, he loves anything with wheels and an engine,” I grinned, meeting Deans’ eyes with a knowing look. He smiled back.

“Really?”

“You know, he's a lot like you - even though you've never met. It's kinda crazy,” I started heading down to the gathering point, knowing that Levi would be coming off the track soon. Dean was hot on my heels. “He even looks like you.” 

“Poor kid.”

I smacked him on the arm playfully as Dean chuckled.

“You're handsome and you know it, so shut your mouth.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Just as we were approaching the gathering point I heard a familiar voice calling my name. Looking through the crowd I saw Kat trotting up to us in her poorly chosen footwear, Toby nowhere in sight. She pulled me into a hug with a smirk already growing on her lips, and as she pulled back she turned to study the tall man at my side.

“Hmm… you are even finer than your photograph.”

“Kat!”

She ignored me.

“I'm Kat, it's nice to meet you, Dean. I feel like we'll be seeing a lot more of each other. You know, since our son's are besties,” she stuck out her hand and grasped Deans, giving it a firm shake and dropping it before he'd even uttered a word. She turned back to me, her smirk still on her lips.

“Since Levi is coming home with you today - much to Toby's disappointment - how would you feel about him sleeping over tomorrow?”

“Yeah totally, he'd love that,” I grinned at her, forever grateful.

“Great! I'll pick him up tomorrow,” she beamed, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before turning on her heels and heading back into the crowd of parents. We'd normally wait for the boys to emerge together, but I know her, and she didn't want to step on Deans’ toes. This was a big deal, and in her eyes, she was the outsider here.

“What was that?” Dean looked at me, slightly stunned with a quizzical brow.

“That,” I gestured to Kat's disappearing figure, “is Kat. She's my best friend, and to be honest I don't think I'd have made it this far without her.”

“Kat. Got it,” he seemed to make a mental note of who she was, catching on quickly that she was an important person in my life. In Levi's life. I grinned at him, perhaps a little nervously before grasping his hand and pulling him with me in the same direction Kat had left.

“Come on, he’ll be out soon, let's wait for him.”

Dean flashed the smallest smile whilst taking a deep breath. He looked down at our hands and I noticed his palms were a little sweaty. He gripped tighter, hanging to me like I was a lifeline as I pulled him through the crowd. His silence spoke volumes of his nerves, so I stopped at the edge of the gaggle of parents, fearing that he would soon find this all too much. 

For the whole five minutes that we waited, Dean didn't let go of me.

It didn't take long for the whirring of tiny engines to draw closer and closer before finally stopping, shortly followed by the chatter of smaller, childlike voices. Kids began to filter through the crowd, and it wasn’t long before a familiar outline pushing a small, black dirt bike headed our way. Suddenly Dean pulled his hand away from mine and raked his fingers frantically through his hair, pacing in a small circle.

“Shit…shit- what do I say to him? How do I talk to him? He's gonna hate me-”

“Hey hey hey, calm down, everything is fine! Trust me, Dean, Levi is not going to hate you,” I reached to rub a hand over the back of his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense and flex with every deep breath he took. 

“I've done a lot of terrifying shit in my life but this really takes the cake,” he dragged a large hand over his paleing face.

“He's an eight year old boy, baby. Trust me, you've got this.” 

He sighed before stopping in his tracks, his gaze catching mine with a twitch of his lip.

“It's been a hot minute since you've called me that, sweetheart,” he stepped closer, reaching to touch the small of my back with tender fingertips.

It took a moment for realisation to dawn, and when it did I felt heat bloom across my cheeks. 

“I-I'm sorry- it just slipped out- I didn't mean-”

“(Y/n) it's ok! I don't mind,” he chuckled slightly, his nerves seeming to dissipate. The playful glint had returned to his eye for a moment, but it was quickly replaced with something calmer, more serene. His grin lessened, but the warmth in his features remained. “I don't mind.”

I looked up at him, my heart and stomach feeling warm and light as we seemed to acknowledge our own familiarity between each other. It wasn't just Levi that connected us, and I seemed to forget that Dean and I used to be in a relationship. We were more than just a one night stand - we were intimate on multiple levels. 

“Hey mom!” 

The bubble around Dean and I popped as Levi had crept up on us, crash helmet still equipped and his bike to his side.  I felt Dean tense beside me, the air around him practically sizzling with anticipation.

“Hey there, trouble! You had a good afternoon?” I stepped up to Levi and patted his helmet. He nodded vigorously.

“Great! You can tell me all about it in the car,” I paused and glanced at Dean, frozen in place and not taking his eyes off Levi since he appeared. It took a moment for Levi to realise that Dean was even standing there, his focus still on me and his fun afternoon. After a few breaths, Dean tore his gaze away from his son and he looked over at me, his expression heavy with a whole concoction of emotions. I offered him a small smile before nodding. 

“Hey, Levi,” I crouched down to my sons’  level, “I have a surprise for you. I'm gonna need you to take your helmet off, ok?”

I saw his eyes light up as he nodded vigorously. Helping him to support his bike, he eagerly tore his helmet off, his short brown hair tousling in the process. He grinned at me, his helmet now tucked under his arm as he waited patiently. I heard a sharp inhale hiss through Deans’ teeth from behind me as he laid eyes on his sons’ face for the first time. I smiled at Levi, taking his smaller, dirt covered hand in mine.

“Ok, so… You see this man behind me?” I tilted my head in Deans’ direction, and Levi followed with his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, his grin unfaltering.

“Well,” I drew in a breath, “his name is Dean. And I knew Dean a long time ago,” there was another apprehensive pause as my own pulse quickened. “Sweetheart… Dean… He’s, well… He’s your dad.”

I watched as the grin fell from Levis’ face, his green eyes widening.

“What?” his voice was all but a whisper, his gaze flitting rapidly between me and Dean, who’d now taken a step closer.

“He’s your dad,” I repeated, reaching up to softly comb my fingers through the front of his wild hair. Levis’ bottom lip started to tremble as my words sunk in, the truth of the situation we were in starting to hit home as tears started to well in his eyes.

“You’re serious?” he squeaked with a sniff.

I nodded, the emotions from my son now bleeding into me, a lump forming in my throat.

“Yeah honey, I’m serious.”

Levis’ helmet hit the dirt with a thud and in that instant he’d thrown himself at Dean, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his mud streaked face into his shirt. His dad didn’t hesitate to return the gesture, wrapping his large arms around Levis’ shoulders and pulling him into the same crushing hug I’d received earlier today.

“Hey kid,” Dean spoke against the top of Levis’ head, his voice rasping as he choked his words out, “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get here.” 

I stood up from where I’d been crouching, now clutching the small helmet that had been flung to the ground. I drew Deans’ attention as I shifted, and I felt like my heart could have exploded in my chest when I saw the glossiness in his eyes. Tears of joy, relief and perhaps even bittersweet regret were on the brink of spilling over, and the soft smile he threw my way said a million ‘thank yous’.  The quiet sounds of Levis’ sniffling were what pulled on my heartstrings the most. The boy who loved nothing more than to race bikes, watch movies and talk about cars had grown up without a dad to share those interests with. He’d watched the other kids around him down at the track, their fathers joining in with the activities. Other kids had their dads to play sports with down at the park on a sunny Sunday afternoon. They’d had a role model who they could admire, always in the bedroom next to theirs. But not Levi. He’d had me, and I did my best to fill those fatherly shoes, but we both knew it just wasn’t the same. There were times when I think it upset me more than it had upset him, feeling like my child was missing out on something so important. But now… now that Dean was here, for however long he was planning on staying, Levi could finally experience the things he’d dreamt of for so long. I just hoped it would turn out to be everything that he’d ever imagined.

I watched as Levi finally pulled away from his dad, his tears having cleaned tracks through the mud on his face. He sniffed one my time before beaming up at Dean.

“Hey, kid,” Dean smiled softly, ruffling his hair with a hand the same size as his head, “maybe if your moms ok with it, we could hang out a bit. Maybe go and grab some ice-cream? My treat,” Dean shifted that smile to me, and I would’ve had to have had a heart of stone to decline that request.

“Of course,” I smiled back, “ice-cream sounds perfect.”

“Great,” Deans’ grin widened, a refreshed look in his eye as he let go of Levi and stepped towards me, taking the helmet from my hands. My breath caught in my throat when he pressed a warm, lingering kiss to my cheek. I took everything to not let my eyes flutter closed, to not get lost in that moment, but the familiar feeling of his lips on my skin and scent washing over awoke the butterflies in my stomach. My heart leapt in my chest, and I couldn’t help the sigh of relief when he pulled away, stepping around me. He kicked the bike stand back and wheeled the small vehicle forwards, looking at Levi and urging him to come and push it.

“Come on kid, why don’t you tell me all about this beast on our way back to the truck,” he smiled to his son who beamed back, leaping over to him. Dean chuckled slightly as the smaller version of himself burst into conversation about top speeds and engine strokes, and the wide look in Deans’ eyes as he glanced up at me, finally understanding what I’d meant when I’d said they were so alike. And as Levi chatted animatedly to his dad as we walked, my heart swelled as I watched them.

I couldn’t seem to look away as I witnessed Dean gaze down at his son, looking like the proudest father in the world.

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

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[bruisedboys]

ok so i think about eddie ordering food for shy reader 😭like he so so would. i know it’s a simple thing but he’s be so sweet about like “i got you sweet thing don’t worry about it” 🥹

I want someone to order food for me tbh. like I’d probably start crying

shy!fem!reader 0.7k words

You’re anxious about it before you even get inside the diner.

Talking to strangers is not your strong suit, and waitresses are no exception. You’ll do anything to avoid ordering your own food, even if it means going without something you actually want, because you’re always so scared of messing up, of making a fool of yourself. It’s silly, really. But you can’t help yourself.

Eddie notices your discomfort not long after it begins.

“Y/N.” Eddie’s ringed finger taps your hand where it’s curled around a menu. “What’s up? You feeling okay?”

You look up from your menu, where you’d been scoring it for the option that’s easiest to get your clumsy tongue around, and meet Eddie’s eyes. He’s a mirror of you, gazing right back with his own menu propped up in front of him.

“I feel fine,” you say. It’s half true.

Eddie scrutinises you for a second. He’s gotten very good at reading you and knowing what you’re thinking without you even opening your mouth.

You try not to look like you’re a bubble of anxiety right now. You’re sure it doesn’t work, but after a moment Eddie shrugs.

“If you say so, babe.” His eyes fall to your menu and he tilts his forehead towards it. “What looks good, hm? What d’you feel like?”

You turn back to your menu. “Maybe the waffles?” You say unsurely. “I don’t know. There’s so much to choose from.”

Eddie hums, his fingers tap tap tapping on the shiny table surface. You watch him put his chin in one hand, elbow propped up in front of him, a dangly bracelet hanging from his wrist. He’s so pretty, so effortlessly cool. You sometimes wish you had his level of coolness. If you ever told him that he’d first, get a huge ego boost and second, tell you you’re way cooler than him and totally out of his league. So not true, you think.

“Waffles sounds good,” Eddie’s saying thoughtfully. “Did you want to get a milkshake, too?” He grins suddenly and meets your eyes. “They have Oreo.”

Your heart does a little stutter at the fact that he always remembers your favourites of everything. Favourite colour, favourite place for takeout, favourite milkshake flavour.

“Yeah, okay,” you agree, smiling big. He’s maybe the sweetest boy you’ve ever met. You forget all about your predicament for a moment.

The moment doesn’t last long. A waitress appears at your table, ready to take your orders.

“What can I get you two today?” She asks sweetly.

There’s no reason to be nervous, there really isn’t, but you can’t help it. Your heart starts pounding like crazy. You’re hastily going through your order in your head, trying to memorise it so you don’t get tongue-twisted, when Eddie beats you to it.

“Uh, okay, I’ll have the hot fudge cake, please,” he says casually, lifting his chin from where it was resting in his hand. Then he gestures to you, elbow braced on the table. “And she’ll have … the waffles, right, babe?”

He’s looking at you, smiling softly. His brown eyes all sweet and understanding. You’re stunned, but not surprised. Because of course he’s figured out what’s bothering you and saved you from it, without even having to ask. You nod soundlessly and offer the waitress a weak smile.

She jots down the orders and smiles at both of you. “Anything else?”

“Oh yeah, one Oreo milkshake, please,” Eddie adds with a grin, winking at you across the table. “Thanks a lot.”

The waitress takes your menus and you watch her go. Your heart’s still thumping, but you’re not sure if it’s the lingering anxiety or your complete and utter infatuation with your boyfriend. You’d put your bets on the second.

You turn back to said boyfriend and give him your best, most grateful smile.

“Thanks, Eds,” you say quietly. You try to sound as grateful as you feel. It makes your words all sticky and sweet. Lovesick, almost. You can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed about it.

Eddie grins and reaches across the table to take your hand in his. His rings are warm against your skin, his thumb warmer as it rubs over the back of your hand.

“Don’t worry about it, sweet thing,” he says. He pushes his fingers between yours, the heels of your hand pressing together on the table. “I got you.”

-

[aineryeo]

The Legend of the Blue Sea Episode 2: Once Upon a Dream

Chapter Synopsis:

Kenji still doesn't know that you've bonded with him, considering him as your mate from there on out. What he does, however, is take a bath with you as he inches on the edge of being the father of a cute giant pink baby lizard; where he makes the decision of keeping you around too. Just enough to investigate about your possible human personality, of course.

Themes & Warnings (Chapter):

Warnings from the General Masterlist | Flashbacks | Canon Movie Scenes | The Ice Bath scene | Nudity | Kenji whimpers :p | Suggestive themes

Author Notes:

Okay I think this is going a little slow HAHAHA, I changed my mind regarding a few plot points but I literally wrote the ice bath scene at 4-5 am in the morning because I couldn't sleep. i keep DREAMING about it. like it wasn't supposed to be part of the chapter tbh but i think st. michael was giving me a sign !!

The Legend of the Blue Sea: Masterlist

Episode 2: Once Upon a Dream ⇾ Episode 3.1: Maybe This Time

“Mom? Mom…” Kenji sobs, there are small sounds of pit-a-pats from where he stood. Which was a community playground filled with colourful slides, swing sets, tubes, and sandboxes.

The playground however, was not as lively as you’d think. The weather was gloomy that day, the sun hiding behind rumbling clouds threatening to spill the water they’ve soaked up from the sea. Kenji kept looking around, yet he remained lost, the same as he was five minutes ago. To the seven-year-old boy, it was like five months.

“Hi,” a girlish voice cuts through the sobs of the only other kid around. “Why are you crying? The other kids here say that boys aren’t supposed to cry.”

Kenji frowns, lips still wobbling as he makes his reply. “I lost my mom…”

“Oh.” You hum, looking down at your mismatched socks, noticing how the boy visibly had brand-new sneakers. “Hmm… Don’t worry, I lost mine too.”

“Really?” The boy replies, nose still stuffy as he tries to wipe it with his sleeve. “Will they find us?”

You shrug. “My real one won’t find me.”

“Your real one? You have a fake mom?” Kenji asks, curious.

“I don’t know. I never met my real one.” You reply, walking to the swings and taking a seat. Kenji does the same, sitting next to you. “But I know my mom right now isn’t my real mom, so, I ran away.” You say all this with such a tone that didn’t contain much sadness; as if it was just a normal thing to do so.

“What? Why?” Your feet kick yourself off the ground, allowing you to move back and forth. Kenji follows suit, trying to match your force. Once he got the hang of it, he continues. “Are you not scared?”

“I am. But they don’t want me, I think.”

There are a few seconds of silence as Kenji could no longer spark up a reply. All you both could do was swing on the set together. Feeling like he has to say something, Kenji blurts out the first thing that came to mind.

“My dad said I should love kaiju even if he fights them.”

“Woah! Your dad fights the giants?!” You exclaim, digging the heels of your red shoes on the dirt below. Kenji only nods at this. His swing keeps going. “I think the kaiju are super cool. And Mr. Ultraman too. Is your dad Ultraman?”

“Dad says it’s a secret.” Kenji replies with a pout.

“Then, would you love a kaiju?”

The question makes Kenji stop, the swing set back in its still state as you stare at each other’s eyes. 

“Baka! Why would I love—” Kenji stops, your eyes remain wide and curious. And despite the stormy weather, they still chose to shine. A heat creeps up from his neck up to the tips of his ears for reasons beyond him. 

“...I’m, maybe?” He trails off, breaking your intense eye contact. He then mutters, unsure and low:“If they’re cute enough, why not?”

Before you could respond, however, you two started feeling the rain slowly drop down, seconds before it turned into a downpour. 

“Ah! It’s raining!” Kenji exclaims. Without saying anything, you grab the boy’s hand, leading him into the plastic tube to hide from the rain.

“We can hide here while you wait for your mom.” You assure, you and Kenji sitting with your knees bent to hug yourself better. Every other second, you scoot closer to each other, trying to get warm from the cold breeze picking up.

It’s a few minutes more of silence, maybe ten or so, that Kenji felt like crying again. You heard sniffles from beside you, making you tilt your head to see his glassy eyes, tears brimming the edges.

“Dummy, are you going to cry again?”

“I miss my mom and dad…” Kenji says quietly, digging his face into the caps of his knees.

You breathe out through your nose, feeling bad for the boy.

“Here, face me.” 

Kenji hums, still upset as he does what he’s told.

“You can’t be sad after this, okay?” You say as you lean in and Kenji felt your lips meet his. “There. That means I’ll be around when your mom and dad aren’t. So, stop crying okay, dummy?”

“You’ll… be around when mom and dad aren’t?” Kenji says after the brief kiss, not really processing what just happened. Both your cheeks and nose were a mix of warmth from each other, and cold from the rain.

“Yes.” Kenji continues to look at you curiously, waiting for more context.

“My mom and dad right now say that’s how married people are. They stay together even if no one else is around.”

You point your small finger to his face, he looks at it then back at your unyielding gaze.

“Especially if no one else is around.” You share the valuable piece of knowledge with Kenji who soaked it all in like you were a prophet. He nods slowly.

“Then, we’re married?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

The conversation ends as you two bask in silence again. This time, Kenji is the one to look over at you, staring at your sombre look towards the passersby covering their children with their umbrella; carrying them on their arms to avoid them getting wet. Your expression barely changes, but the way your eyes lidded lower.. it compelled Kenji enough to hold your hand, shocking you.

“Hey! What’s wrong with you?” You ask, mostly out of shock. But you don’t let go.

“I’ll be here too.” 

You realise he’d been staring at you when he said that, making you turn away, resuming your waiting game as you squeezed his hand lightly. He squeezes back. The rain somehow felt more mellow.

Half an hour later, Kenji’s mom arrives at the playground with his dad, ushering him to their car. As Kenji was about to point towards you, he sees you running through the rain, cutting a corner, before disappearing out of his sight.

“What is it, Ken?” Emi Sato asks, carrying the boy in her arms as she checks for injuries, now in the backseat of their car. She glances towards where her son’s eyes were fixated, seeing nothing but the empty playground.

Kenji only shook his head, choosing to say nothing. All he could think about now was when he’ll meet the person he married again.

“Were you lonely, Ken?” His mother asks. He perks up to look back towards his mother’s worried gaze.

There’s only one answer dripping from the tip of his tongue, his hand tingling in warmth, remembering the soft embrace it had just minutes prior. 

“No…”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Your lips were soft against Kenji’s slightly chapped ones, both your bodies stuck in the motion of the accidental kiss. There was a small spark of electricity that climbed up from the bottom of your spines, a tingle that's much too noticeable.

It was merely six seconds. 

Kenji would know. 

He counted. 

Six seconds for you to pull away, five of you just staring into the other’s similarly wide orbs; four for Kenji to catch a whiff of that addicting scent he never noticed until now, and three before your eyes finally drooped, your head nuzzling his chest. Kenji's plain white shirt getting wet alongside with it before he feels your whole frame lose its tension, breathing resuming its slow and quiet rhythm.

Kenji remains quiet, his brain absolutely fried, staring straight ahead as he sits to support your weight, comparatively light for the athlete and occasional superhero, especially now that you weren’t a giant. His hands hover over the smooth expanse of your bare back, his legs spread, lightly encaging your snoozing figure. His mouth still ajar, not a word slipping from him.

Eventually, his hands meet the damp skin of your shoulder and the middle of your back, pushing your figure against him even more. He supports your head that was now resting on his shoulder, even as your hair lightly tickles his ear.

“Ken.”

The sudden call of his name from Mina finally releases him from whatever trance he was in. Almost forgetting the giant baby kaiju a few metres away from him who, surprisingly, had settled down; sitting on its hind, watching you and him with a curious gaze.

“I… Uh, yes. Sorry. Uhm,” He clears his throat. “Could you fetch us a towel, Mina?”

It takes only a minute before the ground next to him opened up, a mechanical hand holding the extra white towel was handed to the boy, who takes it wordlessly, working to wrap it around you as delicately as he possibly could. Taking note of your legs and arms littered in bruises and quite nasty wounds.

“I’ll take her to my room, watch over the baby for a minute.” Kenji says. “I’ll prepare the guest room tomorrow.”

“Sure, Ken.”

Once you were wrapped in the soft cotton, Kenji moved to carry you in his arms effortlessly, though he winces every now and then when he rotates his left shoulder a little too much, though it wasn’t that big a deal compared to your injuries. While walking, he would glance at your face, peacefully asleep as if you weren’t even hurt at all. He notes that your eyelashes were the same colour as your hair and eyes, that is, they’re all prismatic in nature; and with the absence of light, there is the absence of colour, where he understands your features much better.

Kenji arrives at his bedroom, setting you down gently on his king-sized bed, turning the duvet so that it covers you, he doesn’t think much of his sheets getting damp from your hair. 

You remain unmoving, both hands rested on your stomach. Kenji finally takes a deep breath in as he drops his weight to the apex of his feet, crouching as he really takes in what happened. 

His hands covers his face; lightly messing his hair in the process as an unexplainable heat pushes its way up from his chest.

Apparently, what happened smelled like Hinoki Wood and Yuzu.

“Ken, your father is waiting outside the door. It seems he has driven here in a haste.”

“Min— Shhh,” He chastises, stopping mid-call to lower his voice. 

“I’ll get to it.” He whispers in reply.

Easily enough, he’s getting off his feet and shutting his door closed as he made his way to the front door. On the way, he starts hearing distant music and giggles from downstairs, along with flashing lights.

“Mina!” Ken calls out from the living room. “What’s going on?”

“The baby had begun fussing two minutes after you two went upstairs, I have discovered that she is currently happy with Doraemon”

Kenji sighs, “Okay, but keep it down a little. Dad might suspect something.”

“But there is something.” Mina replies.

“Shut it, Mina.” He interjects, Mina doesn’t reply, knowing that Kenji particularly has a difficult situation with his father.

Kenji opens the door, looking back to regard if the lights are still on, just as he looks to see that his dad was about to knock.

“Kenji,” his dad almost whispers, a relieved undertone transfixed in the simple call of his name.

In haste, he runs his hand through his hair, ears still catching the tunes playing in the basement.

“Dad, hey. Hey, what’s up?” Kenji leans in, slyly closing the door a little bit more, giving worried glances towards the glass elevator before giving his minute focus back towards his father. “How about that game tonight?” He plays dumb.

“Oh, thank God. You’re okay?” His father fusses.

“Yeah, you know. I’m good.” He allows a little bit more of his body to show that he really was good. “It was a tough battle. I’m a little sore, still recovering, but—”

Suddenly, a screech that Kenji knew was from the baby kaiju pierced through the air, making him reel back in defence behind the front door. His dad, the invader, moving a pace forward like a rook on a chess board made it easy for Kenji to spot the suspicion on his face.

“What was that?”

“Uh…” He needs to come up with something— “Uh, you know. It’s… Uh…” Suddenly, the lights behind him visibly changes. Green, blue, pink— 

“That’s the.. The party downstairs.” He jives along.

Kenji fails to notice the swift change, the quirk of his father’s eyebrows. “The most magnificent creature on Earth has died. The last of its kind.” With each word, his father’s words become more punctuated with anger, hands flailing along with it.

“And you throw a party!?” 

Red. For a brief second or two, Kenji’s mind, his thoughts, were clouded in red; an emotion quickly visible in his face and body. 

“That magnificent creature nearly took my head off, Dad.” 

This time, each word was not only punctuated in anger, but stomps that slowly but surely made his father back away from the shelter of Kenji’s patio, the rain dripping on the old man who could only recede and listen to his enraged son.

“I’ve barely seen you in twenty years. You chose this city and literal monsters over us.”

“No…”

“Then, you get hurt, can’t hack it anymore, and I get to come back and clean up the mess you made as…” Kenji raises his hands in mockery as he sings the branded tune the masses had placed upon his famous counterpart. “Da, da, da, da! Ultraman.”

“—Which I only did because Mom begged me.” Kenji pauses. “And you’re more worried about the monster. Classic.” 

With eyes that sheened in a way that scratches at Kenji’s nerves, his father chalks up a reply. “No… I only wanted to.. protect you.”

It claws in his chest, a familiar wall that’s repeatedly been torn again and again, by the same person; enough so that Kenji could still feel the recurring pain, but no longer does he break down from it.

“But you didn’t.” He says, eyes glassy. “You didn’t even pay attention.”

The furrow in his father’s eyes disappear, a notable change; cognizant of his actions.

Kenji continues.

“Be honest. When Mom disappeared, did you even look for her?”

~

“I stopped hearing it.”

“Stopped hearing what?”

“Do you think kaiju have a special way of communication?” Tadashi asks mindlessly, spinning on his desk chair.

“All animals do, now let me sleep.” Hiro replies, covering his head with a pillow to possibly drown out whatever his big brother could mutter.

But telepathically? 

Is there a possibility? Tadashi thinks, leaning on his elbows that rested on his knees, fingertips of his hands on each other.

And if he can hear it, why can’t Hiro?

Tadashi leans back on his desk chair with an audible sigh. If he were being honest, he didn’t know why he was suddenly so invested in the recent kaiju sighting. His eyes fixated on the smaller version of his whiteboard dedicated to his looking for you in the past three years hidden behind the shelves in his lab at Tokyo Tech. He often hides this side of him from Hiro. This side of him that’s… too dedicated in his search that definitely has been fruitless for years.

It’s simple. 

The scene of the incident, a huge gap in the wall of the building where your personal laboratory was; a trail of disaster followed right after. Like many other kaiju incidents, everyone suspected that it had walked from the sea. Considering that the building was situated on the seaside.

It was late at night when it happened, you went back to your office because you left something and… that’s it? 

You’re just.. gone? Now he has to grief over his sister who he had just spoken to an hour prior to your leaving asking if you wanted some ramen he was cooking because he was too busy studying for his exams and— Tadashi had to catch his breath even though he wasn’t speaking, feeling his heart beat a mile a minute.

They weren’t given much information past that. 

The authorities say that they were just unfortunate that a kaiju had attacked the facility; no security footage, considering that the building was crushed in half. But out of everyone, the guards, other leftover researchers, they were able to leave unscathed while your brothers had to deal with the loss of their pillar; their big sister. Unable to even confirm if you’re dead or not, hoping that you’ll come back, even injured, to them.

Tadashi ran his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time that night.

Truthfully, he was about to give up. He was about to take off all the newspaper clippings, all the letters, all your bank records, any and all leads from his rolling whiteboard; erase all the theories, and maybe, just like his little brother always told him… to just.. move on.

But then, on the way home after Tadashi introduced Hiro to his friends at Tokyo Tech after getting arrested for that night when Hiro won one of many of his recurring bot fights, the invasive sounds of the oceans permeated through his mind; wrapping around it gently like a blanket of warmth, telling him, making him understand— that he had to go there. To you.

“Bioacoustics.” Tadashi snaps, getting his favourite cap off his desk as he runs down the door. A course set to Tokyo Tech.

He leaves, not knowing his little brother whose eyes blink open, a frown on his face.

~

We share the pain of her loss, Kenji. 

“Yeah, right.” Kenji mutters beneath his breath.

A few hours have passed since his dad visited and left, a few hours into the morning. He hadn’t gone down yet, choosing to just have the time to himself for at least once today. A box of donuts beside him as he slumped down lazily on his couch. The distant sound of thunder and the whining of the baby fills Kenji’s ears.

He sighs heavily. Kenji knew that he stepped a line earlier when he mentioned his mother to which his father solemnly left right after he said the same words that were stuck in his head amongst other things. It seems like there’s too many things getting stuck in his head recently, and just for this day alone. How did he even get into this mess?

He was so tired, yet he couldn’t sleep a wink.

Kenji would walk around aimlessly, every other time going to his room just to look at you from the doorframe; still and unmoving, your eyelashes resting easily on your now dry cheeks. From here, where your fins and scales were hidden by the combined efforts of your towel, hair, and his duvet; you absolutely looked human. Maybe part of the 0.1% because of your inhumanely beautiful hair. A princess would fit. You look like a resting princess to Kenji. And he, with his dishevelled hair, stained shirt, and day-old pants, would probably be the fucking peasant on your feet.

Kenji disregards the thought, the shrill whine of the baby reaching his ears. He groans, head drooping down as his hand slides from the frame. Walking towards the elevator after getting his donuts, he heads down to the basement.

Mina, in a slightly panicked tone, explains the baby’s neverending screeches that added on to Kenji’s inability to sleep.

“She settled down for a minute, then started right back up.”

“Yeah! I can hear it!” Kenji replies, exasperated.

“She’s still scared of you, Ken.” Mina explains as Kenji puts down his box of donuts on the floor.

“Ya think?” He gets sassier by the minute, Mina thinks.

Looking back at the shrieking baby, Kenji groans; before clapping his hand with faux energy, walking a little further back to try a little trick up his sleeve.

“Hey! Hey, hey.” He calls out, catching the baby’s attention. “Hiii!”

“Let’s try this.” Kenji mutters, the baby still frowned, faux cries coming from its little— big beak. Kenji motions to himself, “Beforeee.”

Then, he bumps his head as he transforms into his alter ego. “After!”

When the baby caught sight of her other sole parent, a smile was quickly seen on her face.

“Before,” She whines.

“After!” She smiles, chitters crooning from her throat, visibly pleased.

And it goes on like that for a minute, enough so that the baby, seeing her dad transform in and out of Ultraman form, give off a confused expression, still trying to put two and two together. Eventually, her chitters come when Kenji is in Kenji form.

Kenji sighs as he approaches the now happy baby. “You see? It’s me.” He explains, turning around and sitting next to his box of donuts once more.

And it wasn’t even two minutes in that the baby started whining again.

[...]

After tending to the baby that Kenji creatively decided to temporarily name ‘Baby,’ giving her a litter of fish for an early morning breakfast— considering it was probably 3 AM by then, Kenji fell asleep on the floor in front of Baby’s containment unit. 

And woke up to strange drops of liquid on his face.

“Eugh, what the…” His eyes, still squinted and opting for sleep, meets the hazy vision of the baby looking down at him, dripping drool. Drool on him, smelling strongly of fish and guts, and… and.. and drool!

Kenji rolls over quickly just before a fat drop falls directly on his face while his mouth was open.

“Oh, God.” He spits out, trying to wipe the substance off his face. “Ew! Ew!” 

He scowls in a second, transforming into his Ultra. Baby tries to reach for him, but Kenji was already on the verge of throwing up from the stench, his fingers pinch the nape of the baby’s neck like she was a kitten. A disgusting trail of spit follows the baby around and Kenji keeps trying not to gag at every moment when he pulls the baby off the edge of the containment unit.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting.” He shakes his head, hand reaching for the lid of the unit. “Oh, that smell.” He looks at the baby who was so happy in return; tummy full from the meal he haphazardly gave earlier. But then suddenly she burped and let out a glob of drool, enough to cover nearly half of his Ultra’s face, luckily turning a little so as not to swallow anything. He coughs, really about to throw up. Quickly putting the baby back to the bottom of the containment unit, he rasps out a few more gasps and Oh Gods before putting the lid back on where it belonged, not seeing the baby try to reach for him.

“It’s so bad.” Kenji coughs out.

Kenji stumbled back releasing his Ultra-form. Crouching a little as he groans out. “I shouldn’t have eaten all those donuts.” He gasps, brain actively fighting to ignore the horrid smell surrounding him when Mina suddenly approaches him.

“Ken, I know you’re exhausted. But you have a game today.” He has a what?

“After last night? There’s no way we’re gonna play.” He shakes his head.

Mina moves back to flash the holographic news of his coach declaring that despite the battle, the stadium is safe, and we will be playing the game. Oh, bullshit. He is not excited to even see that Yakult Swallows fucker.

“Of cooourse. Of course, we’re still gonna play.” Kenji says, frustration evident in his tone.

“What are we going to do about the baby and the woman, Ken?”

“We aren’t gonna do anything.” Ken replies, shrugging, a mechanical hand giving him his Giants jacket.

“You are gonna have to figure something out.” He continues, putting on his jacket backwards without thinking, walking towards the glass elevator. “Get creative, Mina. You are a state-of-the-art supercomputer.”

The hovering orb listens as she understands the orders given to her; turning back to flash a different kids show towards the baby.

“Studies suggest this isn’t healthy for children.” She states, upbeat music overtaking the basement as the baby immediately fell in fascination of the bright colours.

“Ah, TV, the ultimate babysitter. Just not all this crap all day, okay? I don’t want her getting hooked on that stupid song.”

When finally arriving upstairs, the sun has already risen, he opted to take a quick shower to get rid of all the nasty fish spit left on him by the baby. When entering his room right after to get some clothes, he finds you still fast asleep. Not a twitch, not a hair out of place.

A towel still wrapped around his waist, Kenji decides to approach you in quiet footsteps. If only to check if you were still breathing, and you were, he confirms, after placing his ear close to your face.

“I wonder what your name is,” He says lowly, sighing and sparing you one last look before going to change and leaving for today’s game.

~

⌈ And there’s another strike. Sato just looks exhausted. ⌋

⌈ And now it looks like there are words being exchanged between Sato and the Swallows catcher. Oh! Oh no. We haven’t seen a brawl like this in a long time. Both benches have cleared. They’re throwing punches… ⌋

Now, Kenji was watching this morning’s replay of his ruffle with that stupid Swallows catcher in the middle of his living room. Watching as he sees a pathetic version of himself, missing strike after strike. A litter of bruises and small cuts on his face, his knuckles a nasty mix of blue and purple from delivering similarly menacing blows because of his undiluted anger.

He doesn't sense the silent footsteps approaching him in the dark room, head too deep in the failures within his past two days and the injuries he’s incurred so far. A whine falls from his lips as he tries to appease the patched bruise on his temple with the premium canned drink that mockingly had his once flawless face plastered on.

It was only when you were standing right beside him, dipping your finger in the ice did Kenji fully comprehend that someone was in the room with him. He yelped, almost sitting up.

“H-hey.” Kenji exclaims. “You're awake. What are you—”

His words die down from his throat, words turning to a gulp, when the loose towel around you drops to the ground, exposing you to the man who had his mouth agape, taking it all in before he realises he should be darting his eyes away. 

You don't spare him a glance when you try to step in the tub, Kenji moving his feet to give you room, and really, to begin getting out of there.

I mean, he can't just bathe with you, can he? Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to take the indulgent step of bathing in the middle of the living room.

His efforts to go and step out are stopped when you gently place your soft hand on his rigid arm. You're quiet, voice unheard, but it seems like your sounds that blanket over Kenji's cortexes are working just fine. And it— you said: 

Stay.

Like a puppy, he felt compelled to stay. 

So he did. 

You stared at him, and he observed your movements, the cooled can from his hand had long been forgotten as you kneel between his legs, your ice-cold hands dragging along his. From his palm, to the space between his fingers, to his knuckles and… Up, up, up, following the veins that decorated his overworked arms, the ticklish sensation made him drop the can from his lightened grip.

All the while you looked at him so earnestly, and in this light, it's like there was a brief flash of the more natural hue of your features; the usual iridescence dialling down a notch, making Kenji, among the other things you were doing to him, hitch his breath for the subtle flicker in changes.

The moment was quiet, none of you talking as the volume of the video he watched on repeat had been dialled down in his head. All it was in this moment was your touch on his, every gentle, slow drag of the freezing tips of your fingers on his bruises and scratches left such a sensation. Like electric fire on water, but also ice on skin on the hottest summer days.

Whether it was a spark or from the cold, or from something else entirely, Kenji at this moment, didn't care to know. Because your hands finally reached his collarbones, thumb rubbing circles on his Adam’s apple, and if you weren't so… so delicate with your touch, he would have blamed you for making him feel so choked. Like he couldn't breathe, like he didn't want to breathe anything else but the addicting scent you were giving off. You’d have to have been in the ocean for so long. How come you smell like this? Not of salt or fish, or—

He cuts his own thoughts off as he hears a small hum from your throat, his eyes that he hadn't noticed to be so lowly lidded already, on the brink of closing from your light caresses, widens at the slightest hint of your voice.

Your hand traces up from his collarbone, up to his neck, until you're perusing your way to his bruised cheek and damp hair. When you decide to leave your hand on his injured cheek, pressing a little, Kenji involuntarily lets out a whimper, the pain from the punch of that stupid catcher unironically catching up to him.

But even with this, Kenji finds himself leaning to your touch, eyes instinctively closing when the pressure returns to a light careen, allowing himself to delve deeper into the abyss you were taking him into. His cheek where your hand lay felt cool, a separate feeling from the ice, like it's carefully taking his pain away. 

You move the slightest bit, hand pulling away; and Kenji's first instinct when his eyes shot open was to hold your wrist.

“Don't,” He whispers quietly, his cool breath fanning you who looked at him with your currently doe eyes in surprise. It seems that Kenji has a habit of not noticing things involving you. He didn't flinch from the closeness, a surprisingly welcome gesture for him. “Don't stop.”

For a brief moment, he forgets that you're half-kaiju, and that you haven't spoken a word at all since you two met. But when you rise from the water, bare chest seen for his eyes only, his other arm wraps itself on your waist subconsciously. Your legs and his tangle as he sits lower on the bathtub, allowing you to sit taller than him so he can bury his face on the curve of your neck and shoulder, dipping down to the valley of your soft breasts as he sighs in contentment, eyes closed all the while his arms wrap around your torso.

You were sitting on Kenji's navel, arms wrapped around his neck as your hands combed through his hair while you rested your cheek on his temple. It was quiet, not even the sound of the looping clip on the wall-to-wall TV was getting any of yours and Kenji's attention.

It's soothing, this feeling.

Kenji feels like you’re unravelling the knots on his physique, the pure sensation makes his fingers run along your slightly arched back in appreciation. 

With his eyes closed, trapped in your soft embrace, Kenji allows the time to pass by. Not seeing the slowly pulsing, bioluminescent glow of the once normal water of his ice bath. The cooling sensation wasn’t from the ice any longer, but from the conduction of your healing enzymes, your kaiju features coming out strong, the brief reprise of your earlier change in features disappearing, replaced back into its original state of prismatic disposition.

“Ken,” Mina’s slightly excited voice calls out and Ken snaps his eyes open, the once peaceful environment long gone. “We have something to show you.” He groans when the chirps from below reach his ears.

When he pulls away, he’s careful not to let you graze.. him. You only stared in curiosity, wondering why he was plucking himself away from you. Kenji makes a point to only stare at your eyes, and only your eyes despite quite literally using your chest as his pillow not only a few minutes earlier.

“Let’s get changed, okay? Close your eyes so I can get out.”

Kenji shouldn’t be surprised that you didn’t understand what he meant, so he lightly grabbed both your wrists, still pointedly ignoring the curve of your waist, disappearing into the icy bath, and how you were so soft cushioned on his comparatively hard stomach. Honestly… how did he look past all of this earlier?

“Here, cover.” He says, holding your hands over your eyes, the fingers leaving an undeniable gap, which he would close. “Cover tightly.”

When he made sure you weren’t leaving your arms loose, Kenji moved to get up from the tub, his only guiding light is the TV, he scampers for his towel, wrapping it quickly around his waist before turning around to fetch you yours. Only to see that your eyes were already set on him.

“Hey! I said cover!” Kenji exclaims, already feeling his skin growing red from the embarrassment.

“You’re actually a perv, aren’t you?” He asks, but you remain quiet, simply observant of his actions. When he leans down to grab your towel beside the tub, his eyes dart over to his knuckles that were once purple. Now, it was back to his original shade of skin. His brows furrow at this and he immediately moves to touch his once painful temple, cheek, and then arm— until he rotates his dominant shoulder.

The realisation dawns on him as he looks at you, still a little worse for wear, only tilting your head at his gaze.

“No way.” He mutters. Kenji turns on the lights to the room, making you squint and hiss. 

“Sorry.” Kenji offers you your towel, wrapping it around your shoulder. “Come on. Up, up.” He pats his arm for you to take.

[...]

 When he got downstairs, you in tow, Kenji had a little pep in his step. Briefly forgetting the other reason he came down. You were currently dressed in Kenji’s old Dodgers shirt and one of his old boxers; the only few that would fit you. He thought it would be a nightmare to dress you at first, but you were a quick learner. Kenji only had to show you how he got his own shirt first before you followed suit and things went from there; of course when he had to show you how to put on his old boxers, it was decidedly… too much to show you how he does it firsthand.

So, he opted to put on the rest of his clothes in his walk-in closet away from your tailing figure. Kenji decided that he was lucky that his Dodgers shirt was big on you, enough to cover a good portion of your lower half so that when he instructs you to put your feet on the holes of the only other clothes he had that fit you, he wouldn’t be staring it at the face.

“We’re definitely going to need a trip to the mall.”

When the baby caught sight of you and Kenji together, she chittered, the massive fins on either side of her head lightly twitching as she smiled. Kenji gives you a brief look as you grinned so brightly at the baby, your hand that once held on to Kenji’s arm was now set on the glass container as you met the baby face-to-face.

Kenji smiles. “Mina, I have some good news.”

“Wait, Ken. Baby has a surprise to show you, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Yes. What was it?”

When the music started playing, the baby started jumping, dancing along. But the foul odour took away the charm of the cute dance. So much so that even you reeled back, a scrunch on your nose.

“Oh, dear God, what is that smell?” Kenji exclaims, covering his nose with his arm.

“Ken, you cannot feed a 20-foot baby a half ton of fish and expect nothing but a giant pile of—” Shit.

Kenji’s gaze flitters to the green goo that the baby repeatedly stomped on in its little happy dance.

“Which brings me to something we need to discuss.” Mina continues. “Until I am able to find Kaiju Island, we’re going to need to raise her.”

The mention of Kaiju Island perked Kenji’s ears, he’d briefly forgotten how much he needed to send the baby back.

“And as for the woman…”

“No, no. We can’t send her back to Kaiju Island, she’s obviously not a monster.” Kenji stops. “But she does know Kaiju Island. She should, shouldn’t she?”

“It is a possibility.”

“Look, so far, she’s not acting wildly. She’s just a little…” Kenji watches as you peruse the shirt you’re wearing, seeing the peeks of scale glistering from your wounded legs. “New to all this. And she learns fast too.”

Your eyes catch on to Kenji’s and he waves at you lightly. You smile, all pearly white, at him.

“Ken, your heart rate seems to spike when you are around her.”

The statement makes Kenji reel back. “What?!”

The floating robot does not respond from her out-of-pocket statement however, opting to float towards you.

When Mina approaches you, you lean back, afraid of the foreign levitating ball. When the supercomputer emits the same cyan light, you run, all the way towards Kenji who huffs when you bump into him in your haste to avoid getting scanned. Your being scared was obvious as you hid behind Kenji’s back; you three were a little far from the baby now, mostly Kenji’s attempt to smell the stench less.

“What if she was a person before all of this, Mina?”

“There are no records or any news at all of cross-contaminating human DNA with kaiju DNA.”

“It would feel wrong to send someone that looks, acts,” not talks yet, but— “You get what I mean.”

“Then, we’ll just have to arrive at a compromise, Ken. Earlier I said that we must raise the baby,”

“Mina, I’ve got a whole season of baseball ahead of me.” Kenji digresses. “I.. I just can’t do it.” He turns around, about to leave and head upstairs.

For Ken, raising a baby was an entirely different responsibility than… teaching someone, he would reason in his brain. He wasn't going to raise you, he just needed to.. investigate.

You turn your head from the baby to Kenji.

“Ken, you brought her home and now she is your responsibility. I have observed that our other guest doesn’t mind helping you with her. In any case, she’s more experienced towards kaiju behaviour. So if you want to keep one of them, you’re keeping both of them.” Mina keeps going, and Ken can only stay quiet as he steps back with every self-effacing statement the robot made.

“They will both die if you don’t take care of them until they are ready to leave. Now, it won’t be easy, but I’ll do everything I can to help.” The bot asserts.

“We’ll have to continue feeding her, washing her, develop a strategy for taking her to potty.” This makes Kenji flinch, looking at the giant pink lizard who was giggling in the similarly giant glass container she was in.

“You’ll have to learn the five S’s.” Kenji trips back a little as he keeps walking backwards, back slowly to the containment unit. 

“Swaddle, side, shush, swing, suck.”

The sudden rumble of the surroundings makes Kenji and Mina look back, your tail swashing as you transform into your kaiju form; Kenji’s old shirt and boxers on the ground beside you.

~

The night ended rather quietly after Kenji finished cleaning up and with you humming a familiar tune to put the baby to sleep. Along with coming into terms that he basically had a kid starting then. Now, Kenji was walking to his room, ready for bed. The guest room was ready for you to sleep in, and even after Kenji pointed the bed there, you kept following him. He grunts.

“No. You sleep there,” He points again, and you dumbly look towards his finger pointing. However, he reels back when he realises you flinched in surprise at his sudden action.

A weird feeling of guilt overtakes him, and he sighs. “Why are you so clingy with me?” He whispers, mostly to himself, really.

As he went on though, he no longer stopped you from following him. Eventually, he was lying on his bed. You stand there, waiting.

“Come on. Lie down.” Kenji pats the space beside him. The change in disposition is so obvious, your glee spreading across the room and wrapping Kenji in unreposed warmth.

You jump on the extremely soft and fluffy mattress, diving beneath the covers like a bean. A bean that eventually found its place on his chest, grinning widely. Your whole body hid beneath the thick duvet, your face the only thing peeking out. The sight made Kenji breathe out a chuckle as his hand lands on your head, lightly patting it.

“Thank you…” Kenji starts, your chin resting on the middle of his chest, eyes fixated on him. “You know, for whatever you did. I feel better.”

You may not have understood him word for word, but the message seemed to have gone through, ending up with you simply humming and smiling up at him, before your cheek replaced your chin as you begin to get comfortable. 

For now, Kenji can allow this.

He closes his eyes, unknowingly basking in your warmth and the way your body seemed to melt into his.

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