#every time i think about the scene of him chanting i think of

[derpycatsu]

ohhh so hes pathetic. ok. got it. Deploy The Hyperfixation

[iannmin]

HEAD OVER HEELS | p.sh 박성화

pairings + warnings: heels!obssessed!hwa x fem!reader, creampie, breeding kink (literally breeding everywhere >_<), just pure smut so mdni! 18+, unprotected sex, exhibitionism (?)

synopsis: “get hot on ya heels”

a/n: just got some inspiration looking at some of the reblogs from my previous works on hwa and one of them said that hwa may have a kink of loving to their s/o in heels, so credits to whoever who said that i love you

୨��� ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

you owned a lot of heels, but “a lot” would definitely be an understatement. the heels came in tens, even dozens - from the classic YSL’s to the fancy Dolce & Gabbana’s, but regardless the type, it all boiled down to a single reason: park seonghwa.

hwa would always buy you heels everytime he goes out for shopping with his bandmates. his poor and innocent friends thought that it was “nothing more than an act of love” but oh,, you knew for sure that it wasn’t. it was simple, really, he loved how you looked in them when you two were having a lil baby making session <3. so when he hastily kicked off his shoes and fumbled his way over to the bedroom at one in the morning where you were just about to tuck yourself to bed,, you weren’t surprise at all.

“jagiya, look hehe” he shook the huge shopping bag, smug look smeared all over his face. “let’s do it now” don’t get mistaken,, hwa had his priorities set straight so he didn’t care one bit when he carelessly tore the luxurious Louis Vuitton wrapping in half like a spoilt child. you barely uttered a reply but he was already holding both of your ankles, slipping on the wine red heels on your feet. it took a few moments for hwa to soak in the sight - you in his plain white tee with your lace panties coupled with the pair of high heels….god,, and when it finally came to him, hwa could only mumble “f-fuck…s’pretty….gonna ruin you princess” before instantly reaching for the buckles on his belt.

jeans and belt pooling around his knees with his veiny cock slapping against his abdomen, he set you up in a mating press, hooking both of your legs over his shoulder. gently kissing each side of your ankles, he aligned his girthy tip against your hole.

“hah…fuck…wanna breed you so bad…you’ll be such a pretty mommy f’me” *schlop!* in an instant, his hips slammed tightly against yours and his girthy base came into contact with your folds. that’s it. seven-inch all in at once. this was the feeling you’d never seemed to get used to no matter how many times the both of you did it, so it got you instantly gripping on hwa’s shoulder blades. “nnnggh….hwa…feels s’full…s’good...” tears were threatening to spill from your eyes, so he reached in for a sloppy kiss, a string of saliva connecting from both of your coated lips.

but,, of course you were wrong to think that it was the end because hwa was pussy-drunk. extremely drunk with the thought of you. all he desired was to pound that tight pussy loose and watch it seep with his cum. so he did exactly that. with sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead, he buried his head into your neck, deep groans casting vibrations against your skin. with every hard thrust, your nails dug deeper into his shoulders, whimpers turning a pitch higher. "h-hwa...gonna cum..."

"hold on for me princess, i wanna try something.." hwa instantly flipped you on your stomach - ass up, face down in a doggy-style position, and when he entered your sensitive hole again to continue his pounding ordeal, you swear you felt his cock reach in about an inch deeper. oh boy,, you were going to lose your mind very soon.

it took the both of you no more than half a minute to reach your highs and when it did, it felt straight out of a porn scene. with hwa's groans turned into nothing but an endless chant of curses and high-pitched whimpers, and your moans turned into broken sobs, he pressed his hip as deep as it could have gone against yours, releasing loads and loads of hot white cum, filling you up full. and when hwa finally pulled out, his cum was everywhere - seeping out of your hole, dripping down your thighs and heels, coating your wine-red heels in a layer of translucent fluid. he hate to admit it but the sight of you nearly got him hard again.

"fuck...princess, i love you so much, could do this everyday"

[mysumeow]

︵ ☆ [commission] trapped within the dream

ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: Afab body reader, smidge of biting kink, unprotected piv. ᓚᘏᗢ SUMMARY: Lilia's no stranger to downplaying his pain. You won't allow it to go on for long. ᓚᘏᗢ WORD COUNT: 2.6k ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: My first commission!? OMG. I didn't realize how much I itched to write yet another one-shot with a part in which reader takes care of peepaw T_T Poor old man. Yana, let him rest! | ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ . . . TWST MASTERLIST

The smudge of blood across his cheek, his heaved breaths despite the effort to keep an upright posture, the weariness present in his eyes…No matter how hard Lilia forced himself to play off his exhaustion and pain, the toll the dream had taken on his body was distinct. You couldn’t imagine how replaying, in vivid detail, the treacherous path he had to walk to hatch Malleus’s egg and the biting words of The Senate made him feel.

It took every ounce of effort to not run to him and give him a hug the moment he regained consciousness in his dream. Despite this being nothing more than some sort of dreamscape caused by Malleus’s magic, the experiences you went through felt real. The life-or-death situations, your meeting with the imposing Maleanor, coming face to face with a stage of Lilia’s life that was fierce yet vulnerable at the same time; it was more than a dream holding you captive.

Thus, the reason your grip on Silver’s hand faltered when Lilia insisted on you escaping without him. He’d be trapped within this spiteful phase of his timeline. Lilia could pretend, all he wanted, that this didn’t affect him—or that he had come to terms with it—you couldn’t find it in you the will to desert him.

Silver held your hand. It was time to go.

“To the person I met someday, to the person I will meet one day,” he chanted his unique magic, and you came to terms that, if you wanted to stay with Lilia, this was your cue to take action.

This was a rash decision. It didn’t, however, stop you from listening to your gut feeling.

Before he could finish the last sentence, you jerked your hand from his, your heart thrumming in your ears as you did. In a split second, you glimpsed your classmate’s panic upon realizing what had happened.

“Prefect!” Silver outstretched his hand in your direction.

It was futile. The Corridor of Dreams had dragged them inside of it.

You and Lilia looked at each other with varying degrees of bewilderment.

Malleus’s distant whisper of Lilia’s name was enough to force you out of that trance. Proper for a general, he reacted fast to stop the situation from escalating again. Words weren’t necessary to understand that it was time to flee the scene. His hand encountered your frigid one and dragged you with him.

Years of training made it easy for Lilia to dart from danger, regardless of his short stature. On your end, it was a challenge to keep up with his swiftness, diving into the complicated twists and turns of a capital you weren’t familiar with.

At some point, you stopped running. You rested your hands on the brick wall as you caught your breath, sweat dropping from your temple. In the meantime, Lilia looked for something, ignoring the obvious strain on his body.

“I don’t sense Malleus’s magic anymore,” Lilia said, panting. “I think he’s trying to figure out where Silver headed to.”

“Are we going to be okay?”

“We should be.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Prefect, what was that about?”

No amount of beating around the bush would save you from this one. You had to acknowledge your reckless decision.

“I’m sorry, Lilia, but after seeing everything that unfolded before my eyes, I just—” Your throat was dry, the weight of the situation heavy on your heart. “I couldn’t abandon you.”

He blinked twice, processing what you admitted.

“Oh, dear. You put yourself at risk for lil’ old me? If I hadn’t been certain I could handle this on my own, I wouldn’t have urged you to bolt out of this dream.”

Anger didn’t bubble up inside Lilia at your confession. How could he? Guilt did claw its way in. He was your senior; of course he would prioritize your safety.

“We witnessed those countless days you spent pursuing a way to hatch Malleus’s egg and how none of that mattered to The Senate.” It was impossible for you to not mutter their name between gritted teeth. “Seeing them berate you and treat you like you were nothing other than mud beneath their shoes…It was infuriating.”

Lilia wiped the tears that welled in your eyes, not allowing them to fall. His eyes found yours, with his hands firm on your shoulders.

“It’s been hundreds of years since that happened. It doesn’t matter anymore. I stopped caring about them the moment I held Malleus in my arms,” he whispered. “Come on now, it’s okay. If anything, this experience was more demanding for you than for me.”

Fed up with him trying to play off his pain, you didn’t stop yourself from throwing your arms around him. Lilia’s body became tense when you did, but he eased into your arms as seconds ticked by. He was slender, with just enough developed muscle to carry on with his duties as a general. You basked in his warmth, ignoring the slight discomfort of the beads adorning the side of his armor.

“For real, though. I wouldn’t put it past my general self to put you youngsters under a lot of stress,” he chuckled, his hands patting your back.

“Stop downplaying your feelings, Lilia.” It was your turn to grip his shoulders and retain eye contact despite the burn in your eyes. Even if taken aback, he listened. “I understand if you say it stopped bothering you years ago, but the baggage is still there. You’re not a dirty bat like those imbeciles said, and you were crucial in Malleus’s life.”

“I—”

“No, you’re going to listen.” You encased his cheeks with your palms. A glint of amusement ignited in his magenta irises, but he didn’t decline your sentiment. “You had reasons aplenty to turn down the request to hatch Malleus. But not only did you travel far and wide for its sake—you didn’t abandon him even after completing your pursuit. That’s proof of how nearsighted that Senate was. You’re so much more than the mud they wanted you to feel like. I could keep going on why they’re wrong.”

“You got your point across.” You could tell your heartfelt words affected him in a positive way. His gaze softened with gratitude. “Those ten years I spent in solitude, refusing to step near the castle, I came to the realization that I didn’t have the heart to turn my back to Malleus for any longer. Prefect…”

The sincere emotion with which he spoke forced you into noting your positions. There was a smidge of space between your bodies, and in the meantime you grasped his face, your faces were close enough for anyone to assume this was a couple’s intimate bit.

“Thank you. I’ll remember your words.” The appreciative expression morphed into his usual amused one. “You can stop squishing my cheeks now.”

Your face heated up.

“You’re very cute.” He laughed at the embarrassed way you tried to step away, apologizing for not heeding how hard you clasped your hands around his cheeks. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re trying to win my heart.”

It wasn’t the main reason…Although it was one of the reasons why you did this in the first place.

Lilia didn’t allow you to relax. He hugged your waist and pulled you closer to him.

“I’m going to use teleportation magic, so you better hold on tight this time,” he teased.

“Okay!”

You stuck to him and shut your eyes close.

You didn’t feel more than a weird shift in your surroundings.

“We’re here. You’re adamant on looking after me, but you’re weary yourself too.” He let go of you to open the door to his cottage. “I must warn you…I left in a haste, and it’s quite messy inside.”

“As long as there’s somewhere I can plop myself on, I don’t care.”

You stepped inside, and the first thing your eyes landed on was clothes thrown on the backrest of the chairs and piles of letters on the little hall table by the door. You had been in Lilia’s room in NRC, and it was in a state of disarray like it.

The sound of Lilia undoing the innumerable number of belts in his armor cut your thoughts short. He unbuckled the ones wrapped around his arms, followed by the one around his hips. There was some domesticity about being alone at home with him, seeing him get comfortable. Would he take off his ponytail and allow his hair to cascade down his back? You wouldn’t handle that. You registered other sounds coming from him, which you, at first, ignore.

“—lie down?”

“Ah.” You regained your senses. You focused on him. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Hehe.” Lilia didn’t bother hiding the fact he was entertained by your reaction. “I said that I’m going to tidy up the place a bit so you can lie down.”

Lilia inclined forward to reach the belt around his leg. A sting stopped him midway. His pained vocalization prompted you to hurry to his side to check if he was okay.

“Oh, I guess Malleus’s magic did land on me after all.” Lilia’s eyebrows went up as you push the fabric up to reveal his abdomen. “No need to fuss over me. I’ve endured worse.”

“You don’t happen to have a first aid kit, do you?”

“Mm, nope. I used to let stuff heal on its own with time or seek help from fairies to heal.”

You didn’t waste any more time and made your way to his kitchen, finding a cloth to dampen it with water. This would make do for the time being. It was important to clean the filth surrounding the cut.

You dabbed the cloth around the wound. It wasn’t deep to the point it would need stitches, but you wanted to give a hand.

Lilia wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of getting taken care of. That didn’t stop his chest from warming at the sight of you tending to his wounds. This was a mere hitch; he could take care of it himself, yet it felt…nice, for a change.

With extra caution, you wiped the blood on his cheek off. It had been bothering you ever since you spotted it in the capital.

Given the proximity, you were aware of Lilia’s undisturbed observation on your face. You couldn’t ignore it any longer. Every thought and feeling urged you to confront these sentiments.

“I can’t remember the last time anyone tended to my wounds.” His lips curled into a smile that, if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought it was innocent. “What are you trying to do? Is there something you are expecting from me?”

His fingers enclosed around your awaiting hand by his cheek.

“All I want is to comfort you.”

“Comfort me?” He repeated, expecting every other answer but that one. The sincerity with which you replied fueled a need to toy with you a peg. “I see.”

His gloved hand grazed your cheek, mirroring the tenderness you wiped the blood off from his face.

“What a thoughtful creature you are,” he whispered, a thumb placed under your bottom lip. “I should reward you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat when he tipped forward, your lips an inch from his. A tickling sensation fluttered in your body, and you closed your eyes.

Softness landed on the very corner of your mouth.

“What is it? Were you anticipating more to happen?”

That cheeky bastard.

Sensing your oncoming disappointment, Lilia feathered a kiss on your lips. Another one. On your cheek again. He didn’t pull away like the first ones. The kisses trailed south. They tickled your neck, your pulse point, your collarbones.

Your soft laughter from the tickling escaped you, regardless of your efforts. The mood was playful with him to the point you left your guard down, and by the time you took note that Lilia had backed you towards the couch, it was late. It didn’t take him much effort to nudge you to lie on it and get comfortable on top of you.

“A good general never forgets the arts of stealth,” Lilia reveled in your surprise.

“I won’t let you get away with something like that again.”

“We’ll see about that.”  

The feather-like kisses didn’t come back—these were with the intention to steal your breath. You squirmed under him, fighting to breathe in between each ravenous kiss. He maintained your hands in place at each side of your head, his hips flush against yours. With each roll, it provided the friction you needed, the temperature in your body skyrocketing.  Wrapping your legs around his hips came like second nature, and in face of your lust in crescendo, Lilia delivered you the pleasure you sought.

Lilia helps you discard your clothes; you made work of his in no time.

Then, proceeded to squeeze your sides lovingly, nosing at your neck.

“Eek!” You jolted.

Lilia had dug his fangs into you when you least expected it.

Your response made him chuckle, which didn’t deter him from leaving a new mark on your collarbone. You wanted to be mad at him for surprising you, but the feeling of his fingers trailing in the direction of your cunt made you forget about it. A shiver raked your spine when his fingers slipped inside, the way he curled them stroked the right places.

Your hold around him tightened, panting against his skin as he fingered you slowly, savoring you.

Savor you in more than one sense. Those deft fingers abandoned you in favor of his mouth, licking them clean. His half-lidded eyes locked with yours, not shying from the provocative look he sent you.

“I think you need more preparation,” he teased. The slick trickling your inner thighs was proof of the contrary, and he knew it.

“I don’t,” you huffed in result to his obvious attempt to taunt you. You tensed your legs around him, guiding him where you wanted him to be. The head of his cock prodded your hole when you did, and Lilia gripped the base to inch inside.

A sigh made its way past his lips, testing the waters with steady forward and backward movements. You, however, couldn’t unglue your sight from the scars littered across his chest, to which you didn’t hesitate to bring him closer to kiss them. When you did, you earned a gasp from him, taken aback by your affection.

“Hehe, aren’t you a cheeky one, too?” Lilia’s face became flushed.

“I’m not done.”

No single scar left unkissed, at least the ones you could reach. The tenderness of your actions further kindled Lilia’s desire, speeding his thrusts. Your body knocked back and forth from the strength of those restless hips, awarded to his sighs and groans of pleasure right next to your ear. Although in a faint manner, you registered his hands abandoning your hips in favor enveloping his arms around your waist, using the newfound position to latch you in place and take him.

Faster than you expected, your orgasm wrecked every fiber of your body—snatching every thought and you couldn’t do anything else other than tangle your hand in Lilia’s disheveled hair. At your tug, Lilia gave an appreciative grunt, followed by his own climax forcing him to a stop.

A quiet Lilia was a rare occurrence. Albeit this uncharacteristic silence was pleasant. Returning to his playful nature, Lilia feathered your shoulders with kisses, and you couldn’t hold from smiling.

Said smile dropped when his fingers sought a certain spot…

“Lilia—” you managed to blurt out. Lilia tilted his head in question. “You must be tired. Don’t you want to rest?”

“Me? Rest? This dream has provided me with the vitality I have lost,” his thumb circled your clit. “I’ve never felt this energized before, and I intend to take advantage of it.”

[mandarinmoons]

dad!spencer

DAD SPENCER SPENCER AS DAD

yknow that scene where JJ calls Will and Henry over the phone so she can read to Henry? or atleast I think she read to him it was so long ago that I watched 😭 anyway, what about that with Spencer and a toddler Bailey? he’s on a case but he still wants to make sure he’s present for his daughter even if he’s not physically there

<333

Your ears rang as Bailey’s cries echoed through the house. She had been fussy and inconsolable for days and you knew why, her dad was gone.

Spencer flew out to a case all the way in Nebraska leaving you to take care of Bailey all by yourself until he got back. You weren’t cross with him, you knew his schedule was hectic and that he tried his best to be a part of both of your lives.

For Bailey however it was a different story. The second her dad walked out the door she was upset and ran to the door to run after him. The only way she would fall asleep is by draping one of Spencer’s shirts over her, her breathing would calm down and a moment later she would be at ease.

It had been four days since Spencer left and there had only been limited text messages between you two. The case turned out to be more complicated than initially thought and it was taking up more of the team’s time.

You and Bailey were cuddling on the couch watching one of her favorite cartoons. Bailey had a crying fit and after some time she managed to calm down a bit and now here you were, caressing her back as her tear filled eyes were focused on the TV in front of her.

As you felt yourself doze off and your head leaned to the side, your phone rang which caused Bailey to get fuzzy.

“Shh there there,” you sat up and pulled Bailey into your lap as you dug your phone out of your pocket, seeing it was Spencer calling you sighed in relief and immediately put it on speaker.

“Hey Agent Daddy,” hearing your words made Spencer chuckle and Bailey’s eyes went big as she heard the laughter.

“Hey you two, how are my favorite girls doing?”

“We’re doing okay, Bailey misses you a lot.”

“She does?” Bailey immediately made grabby hands at the phone.

“C’mon, say hi to daddy.”

Bailey got the phone in her hands and chanted “daddy, daddy, daddy!” in an excited voice.

“Hi baby, do you miss me?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, daddy will be home soon, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Spence, do you think you could sing to her a bit?”

“Yes yes, daddy sing!”

Both you and Spencer laughed as Bailey grew excited over hearing her dad sing to her.

As Spencer sang along to the lullaby he recited to Bailey every night before bed, she nuzzled into your chest as her cheek was squished against you, her eyes fluttering shut as she relaxed.

You pried the phone from her hands gently and took it off from speaker mode, pressed it to your ear and quietly spoke as to not wake up your daughter.

“She’s finally asleep.”

“Has she really not slept these past few days?”

“Well only when she tires herself out from crying.”

Spencer chuckled lightly, “I feel bad now.”

“Hey it’s okay. You’ll be home soon so she’ll feel better in no time.”

“I hope so.”

Silence took over the line for a moment and you could hear Spencer trying to cover up a yawn, he was dead tired but still managed to make time to call you.

“You should go to sleep, I don’t want to keep you up for too long. You still have a lot of work to do.”

“Yeah,” Spencer yawned and rubbed his eyes as he looked at the time, 8:47 PM in the evening and yet it felt like it was 1 AM for him.

“Be safe, yeah? Think about how happy Bailey will be once you get home.”

Spencer smiled as he thought about his little girl running into his arms as soon as he walked through the front door.

“Give her a kiss from me please.”

“I will, good night.”

“Good night.”

As the call ended you looked down at Bailey and watched her sleep peacefully in your arms. Her hand was gripping your shirt and you chuckled as you remembered what you wore, the same shirt of Spencer’s that you draped on her as she slept.

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[sweetkpopmusings]

miserable (you & me) | h. jisung <3

a/n: jisung unlocks a part of me that is deeply emotional and romantic like ...... i love and cherish him so much :-( i really got in my feels with this one, and i hope you enjoy a glimpse into what i think being loved by jisung is like <3 also yes i gave him my favorite lyric of the song as a treat because his lyrics pull me apart and put me back together every time :,-) pics not mine~

content: angst, happy ending | wc: 1.3k | warnings: none really! | pairing: jisung x gn!reader | requests:open

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“i don’t wanna lose a part of me, you are my heart, you know?”

jisung couldn’t believe he was living out an overplayed scene in every book, movie, song, and tv show ever created. maybe some clichés were just universal experiences. if that were true, staring out blankly at flashing lights on the tarmac after the plane touches the ground must be a rite of passage for every modern human. his body barely registered the number of hours suspended in the air, as his mind only focused on one thing: you. if asked about the music he listened to during the flight, he wouldn’t know how to answer. truthfully, he didn’t listen to anything other than the internal chant of your name mixed with alternate beats of i’m sorry and i wish i said so sooner. 

jisung barely survived the past few weeks. existing with love and heartbreak in one body simultaneously sounds made-up, but that was jisung’s reality after he walked away that night. a reality he created and regretted more than anything.

it was classic. both of you were stressed from too many things going wrong in your lives, and the agitation bled into your conversations and actions. even your facial expressions were tinged with negative emotions not meant for each other. then, as it so often happened, one wrong sentence ruined everything. 

you knew jisung didn’t mean it when he said “if you’re so unhappy every time you see me, then why do you keep inviting me over?” 

but he said it, and you heard it, and it hurt. 

though jisung’s face fell at the sound of his words, all you could think to say was, “i think you should go. you have an early flight tomorrow.”

jisung stood there, mouth open, waiting for words–the right ones–to come out of his mouth. the silence hung in the air for too long. he saw your eyes glistening with tears, and he didn’t want his presence to be the reason the tears fell. again, out of exhaustion and fear of a fight, he said the wrong thing.

“okay, i’ll go.”

jisung’s heart broke when all you replied was, “safe travels.”

neither of you made a promise to see each other after jisung returned. both of you assumed you would see each other as soon as he was back, but both of you feared that the other person wouldn’t want to reunite. somehow words unsaid weighed on both of you more than the misspoken ones. but it felt too late. neither of you knew if continuing the conversation tonight was right, so neither of you said anything. jisung’s plane took him away the next morning, and you couldn’t find the courage to close the distance between you two any time soon.

that fear hung over jisung for the entire trip. it ate him up inside, yet he didn’t have the courage to face it. for weeks, he felt frozen. then, perhaps from the adrenaline of finally being in the same city as you again, he found the courage.

as soon as he unlocked his front door, jisung threw his bag on the floor, and, without a second thought, he turned on his heel and rushed to your place. he didn’t care if he had to wait at your doorstep all night and well into the morning. jisung could not, would not rest until he apologized to your face. you deserved that. if his words were what hurt you, then you deserved a million more kind words from him until you were healed. 

his heart was about to burst out of his chest during the seconds between his knock on your door and you pulling it open. you were so beautiful to jisung, and your beauty became more profound when he saw you again. he felt he could cry looking at you in your doorway. even he hadn’t realized how deeply he had missed you until you were within arms’ reach. 

everything had felt so far away for so long, but, with you, finally, jisung felt connected to everything around him. he felt like he could breathe for the first time when he heard your soft hello. he felt the world start spinning again when you said his name. he felt his heartbeat return to his chest, replacing the dull ache that had filled it since he turned his back to you that night. 

“i’m sorry.”

a small, instinctive smile flickered on your face at the sound of his voice, “come inside.”

jisung nodded, shaking from the desire to spill his heart out to you. thankfully, you sensed this, and you gave him the space to make things right again.

“i’m so, so sorry, y/n. i know i shouldn’t have left that night like that, and i know i should’ve apologized sooner. there are so many things to say to you, and you don’t owe it to me to listen. i just need you to know i’m sorry and i regret what i said and did that night. you didn’t deserve that.”

jisung paused. he held your gaze, eyes very clearly filling with tears. he waited for your permission to continue speaking, which you gave with a nod. he blinked, took a deep breath, and filled himself with equal parts courage and love for you.

“i also regret not saying anything, anything at all, sooner. i got in my head. i was so scared that saying ‘i’m sorry’ over text wasn’t enough, and i felt it was unfair to talk like normal when things clearly weren’t normal. i needed you to know how sorry i am. then, as the days passed, i realized a phone call wouldn’t be enough either. well, that, and i was so scared you wouldn’t answer my call. i would’ve deserved it, but a rejected phone call somehow felt more painful than a prolonged silence, so i didn’t call. i’m a coward, i know, and i am sorry for that too. that’s why i’m here.” 

jisung paused again, wiping his tears before gently holding your hands in his own, “you can kick me out as soon as i say my last word. i won’t fight you on it. i hate that i hurt you right before getting on the flight. i missed you so much that i lost my mind. i never want to feel that lost again. i never want to lose you. so i’m sorry. i will do everything you need me to, just so i can make things right again. you are my everything, and you deserve more than everything i can give you.”

tears fell from your eyes this time, which made jisung cry even more. the way you looked at him as you took in his apology gave him hope. he raised his hands to wipe your tears and then cradled your face softly. you were enveloped in his love and the relief that, despite the mistakes, he chose to come back to you. he kept his promise to choose you every time. that was more than enough proof that his apology was real.

your hands covered his, and you smiled despite sniffling, “i forgive you, jisung. thank you for apologizing, and thank you for coming here tonight.”

jisung felt as though he could sob and shout from the rooftops in joy. you forgave him. he hadn’t lost you. his heart would be complete again. 

“thank you, y/n. that means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

a comfortable, tender silence washed over you in your living room. you held each other, cherishing the distance disappearing. this was how things were meant to be. this was what you and jisung would always work for, no matter what got in the way, because the shared space between you was the strongest center of gravity you knew.

once all of the tears dried, jisung smiled brightly and confessed, “i really missed you so much. you are my heart, you know?”

familiar butterflies filled your stomach in response to jisung’s sweet, romantic words, “i missed you too, jisung. i’m so happy to have you back. more than you’ll ever know.”

the way jisung smiled at you made you think that maybe, just maybe, he knew exactly how happy you were.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[unhappy-last-resort]

Run Run Run (Yandere Sylus X GN Reader)

Warnings: Chase scene, is probably ooc

A/N: I know nothing about this man, just saw him on the feed and he gave me a brain worm which I cannot allow to stay.

My shoes skid across the wet gravel, struggling to find traction as my palms hit the ground and pull me forward. Each breath burns in my lungs as I keep my eyes trained forward. All I gotta do is weave through these alleyways and into the main shopping center and I'll be safe.

Even with the wind rushing past my ears, heart pounding in my chest so loudly I think anyone could hear it, and the loud crunch of my shoes on gravel, I can still hear him behind me, each sound of his dress shoes hitting the ground like a countdown to an invisible clock. I managed to put some distance between us, but not by much. If I just run a little harder, maybe I can lose him.

I can see my first turn coming up just ahead, I gotta make sure that I don't slip. Just as I'm about to turn the corner, I spot a small dry patch of gravel and plant my foot on it as I pivot, launching myself forward and down into yet another dark alleyway, my muscles screaming at me to stop. I'm almost there, as long I just keep going, I can make it out of this!

Just breath in, out, in, out, in, out. Steady breathes, steady feet, I can do this, I will make it home! Another turn, I grab onto a water spout on the corner to keep me from slipping, just two more turns! I push to run faster as I hear a cackle behind me.

“Go on, little rabbit! Keep running!” I can hear the grin in his voice, the pure joy in his voice. If only I hadn't stuck around in that hotel to see what was going on. Damn it, why didn't I wait before calling the police! Then I wouldn't be stuck in this stupid fucking situation.

I sniffle and blink my growing tears away, I can't cry, not yet, I have to run! Another turn, I feel the sole of my shoe lose grip for a moment and for a second I feel every fiber of being come alive as a fresh feeling of panic surges in my veins, time slowing down as it feels like I'm watching myself through a window and I can hear steady footsteps approach from behind like a drum getting louder and louder with each step. The white hair, the blood red eyes. For a moment I imagine him turning into a demon, wings sprouting behind his back, knees cracking backwards into hooves, a big, toothy grin filled with pointed teeth and yellowed eyeballs filled with malicious glee at having found its new human to torture and feast on-

My shoe catches friction and I keep running. I have to make it, I have to make it, I have to make it. Just one more, just one more, just one more. I chant it in my head over and over, probably a hundred times within a minute. There it is! The last turn! I just gotta run through there and then I'll be surrounded by people and safe-

My heart drops as I see the puddle around it. My soul sinking into the ground with it.

No! I can't lose hope! I just gotta keep going, keep running, and be mindful. That's it! As I approach the turn at a breakneck speed, I feel part of myself reeling, waiting for the moment that I slip and fall. The second I do, the second I mess up even once, it's over for me.

My foot hits the puddle, water soaking through the material of my sneakers and wetting my socks and my heel digs into the mud. I can see it, the lights, the people, the stores, the cars. It feels like seeing heaven for the first time, but I'm not at heaven yet. My other foot hits the gravel and I can feel a new feeling take over my veins. Hope.

The end of nightmare is just a few steps away, just a few more. I've reached to where the light touches the walls beside me, it's gold and pink, giving a new sense of warmth to cold, blue alley. I stretch out my hand, tears stinging my eyes as I reach to grab the light and-

A feather?

The breath is knocked out of my lungs as I hit the ground with a thud. Small, stabbing little pains shoot throughout my back and press on my skull. My vision is blurry, but I can make out a shadow above me.

“I gotta admit,” The voice, it echoes in my head and turns into an internal mockery of my failure. “That was getting tough. Unfortunately, for you...”

He leans down toward me and his eyes glow red. Red, red, red.

“I have some questions I'd like to ask.”

[captainpetebradshaw]

so i watched 2x22 "the wire" for the first time today and it was a near religious experience so you're getting my thoughts on it under the cut

I love how comfortable they've gotten with each other; talking books? disagreeing about books? garak asking if julian can't just use his status as a doctor to get them to skip the line?

"perfect health, huh??" julian is so offended by garak lying to him about his condition lol

"i'm a doctor, not a botanist" is this some kind of star trek tradition?

"why can't he just tell me what's going on?" "it sounds like you're taking this personally" "i suppose I am... It's just that garak and I have been having lunch together once a week for more than a year now" once a week?! for more than a year?!

and then julian angrily stabbing dax's plant in frustration. let it out.

unsure if quark called julian to come get the absolutely hammered garak from his bar because he's the doctor or because julian is literally the only social contact quark could think of for garak???

"i prefer to drink somewhere quiet" "quiet? excellent idea... we'll go to my quarters" "whatever you want. but first i must make a stop at the infirmary" guess garak wasn't drunk enough for that little trick

but he was drunk enough to not notice the bottle hand-off to quark

"make it stop, make it stop..." aww no, poor baby!

julian using his doctor credentials to basically break into garak's. guess they ended up in his quarters after all

"if i was ever tortured, [the implant] was designed to stimulate the pleasure centers of my brain to trigger the production of vast amounts of natural endorphins" i gotta say, that has some freaky fucked up potential for fanfics and i can't wait to see how often it has been appropriated in the last 30 years

"living on this station is torture for me, doctor. the temperature is always too cold. the lights are always too bright. every bajoran on the station looks at me with loathing and contempt" ah yes, the autism experience

"why don't you just shut the damn thing off?" julian, do they teach nothing about addiction in med school?

i had to rewind this scene a couple times because i was chanting "kiss! kiss! kiss!" in my living room and didn't listen to a word they said. the 4:3 aspect ratio is also doing its thing

"has it ever occured to you that i might be getting exactly what i deserve?" "no one deserves this" julian going from all that taunting and appealing to garak's pride to this???? unexpected softness incoming

garak telling this story about how he is responsible for so many people dying and julian just saying right now he's just concerned for his health and won't let him die??? "you need to turn that implant off and whatever withdrawal symptoms or side effects you may experience, i promise i'll help you through them" like this is insane. i assumed people shipped them for a reason (and lower decks made them "canon" for a reason) but i was LIVING watching this.

it also has to be said that andrew robinson is acting the ever living shit out of these scenes - fantastic

even odo can't get past protector mode chief medical officer doctor bashir

staying by his bedside? for hours???

shoulder touch denied!!!

it's wild, garak must be suffering so much in that moment but he's still spinning up some new potential backstory. maybe this time it's not a lie but we just don't know.

"and so they exiled you" "that's right! and left me to live out my days with nothing to look forward to but having lunch with you." "i'm sorry you feel that way. i thought you enjoyed my company." "oh i did! and that's the worst part. i can't belive that i actually enjoyed eating mediocre food and staring into your smug sanctimonious face. i hate this place and i hate you." "ok, garak." addicts do get just absolutely hateful so this sounds pretty spot on to me.

on a side note, i don't think i could have done lunch every week with julian. he is smug and he has a big ego and i relate to the other senior officers who were sometimes a little condescending in their reactions when he was boasting about something or other. but that's ok, i don't have to. garak enjoyed it, it seems.

garak: you still have to learn the truth julian: heart eyes motherfucker

"why are you telling me this, garak?" "so that you can forgive me. why else? i need to know that someone forgives me"

"i forgive you. for whatever it is you did" "thank you, doctor. that's most kind"

so julian goes and finds the guy who's kind of responsible for garak having that implant in the first place. it's also i think the first time julian acknowledges they are friends?

"how sick is garak?" "he's dying" "and you're trying to save him?" "that's right" "strange... i thought you were his friend?" "i suppose i am" "then you should let him die. after all, for garak, a life in exile is no life at all"

"thank you" "don't thank me. i'm not doing garak any favors. he doesn't deserve a quick death. on the contrary. i want him to live a long, miserable life. i want him to grow old on that station surrounded by people who hate him, knowing that he'll never come home again. "what a lovely sentiment" "and it's from the heart, i assure you" <- that made me laugh

we learn garak's first name!

he's well again! back to the regularly scheduled lunch date!

and he's got a new book recommendation for julian, how nice

"what i want to know out of all the stories you told me, which ones were true and which ones weren't" "my dear doctor, they were all true" "even the lies?"

"especially the lies"

smiley boys!

this ended up being more of a collection of my favorite quotes from the episode but that's fine with me. it's my post.

[americanwh0rerstory]

jack off [Tate Langdon]

summery: Y/N isn’t around so tate jacks off thinking about them

content warning: Masturbation, use of Y/N, f!reader, cumming on a photograph, poorly described masturbation in an attempt for me to learn how to write

A/N: just a quick scenario, not the greatest but it’s something

NSFW MDNI: CONSUMPTION IS OWN FAULT

“f-fuck” he groans, his grip tightening around his shaft as he pumps his hand up and down it repeatedly, occasionally looking at how his foreskin rolls over his tip with every up stroke. he lay on your bed with his legs spread, dick standing at attention, and his shirt hitched up slightly exposing his midriff. Soft whines and gasps escaped from between his slightly parted lips when he sped up, his breath coming in quick and desperate pants from the increase in speed

“Y/N, don’t stop” he whines, his voice needy and desperate like it always was when he was around you, he craved your touch yet that was the downside of being dead: he had to wait for you to be ready, to have free time. he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind momentarily though and began daydreaming about your hands wrapping around his cock, how your tongue looks giving small kitten licks to his slit when beads of precum formed, how your boobs bounced with every exaggerated movement, the soft skin on your thighs… fuck he needed you

his daydreams got him bucking into his hand even faster and with more desperation if that was even possible. his hand moving at lightning speed, rubbing vigorously up and down his shaft. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, please Y/N” he whined, chanting your name like it was a ritual to summon you but much to his dismay it didn’t. he just kept daydreaming whilst sliding his hand over his cock before he noticed the photo on your nightstand

he retrieved the photo with his free hand, it was a photo of you and your friends. it wasn’t a lot but it was good enough for him. he stared at the photo, only at you though, his movements faster now that he had a visual representation of you. he imagined undressing you, removing you from the clothes in the photo, kissing down your torso, tasting your nectar…

“Y/N- fuck-“ he moans loudly, his body trembling as his orgasm rippled through him. he watched as his cum spilled over the photo, coating your smiling face in a glossy sheen of tate.

once he caught his breath, he replaced the photo and pulled his shirt off. he knew you liked to wear his clothes so he left his shirt folded on your bed for you, and also as a sign that he had been in there whilst you was out. he left the shirt on your pillow and the cum-covered photo on your nightstand before leaving the room, going back to waiting for you

A/N: how the fuck does one write cumming scenes. how am i meant to describe how it feels. i think this is the only downside to my smut

[bruciemilf]

No Capes! AU where Bruce and everyone else is an actor.

Famous Hollywood moguls Thomas and Martha would've rather died in real life than make Bruce a child actor so he didn't start till he was 24

It's an ongoing gag that Thomas always tweets "On my way to die again! As if you didn't know" with every Gray Ghost remake

The Waynes are always just. So chaotic

Bruce and Selina constantly bring stray cats on set; Bruce just hides them under his black shirt famously known as a void with no end.

Behind the Scenes cuts have images of this man pulling 10 cats from under there and the director is convinced he has a cryptid on set

They have to edit so much footage because Bruce always says "sorry" after "punching" someone. "Bruce, they have padding, they're fine!" "And no health Insurance. Do something about that."

Sometimes he forgets to take off the costume after filming. The record set for how many Subways he sent into a panic is infinite

That being said, Bruce's kids aren't afraid of him at all, and WILL run up to him everytime they visit to chant "dork! Dork! Dork!" While flocking around him. He cries from happiness

But he cries all the time, so it's hard to tell for what

The movie's soundtrack is just Bruce's middle school playlist, " They said they needed something rotten and terrible, like, -- poison for the ears. If you listen to it you get sick."

Bruce's biggest "diva moment" was refusing to give up the eyeliner and he still sends apology cards to the cast and crew for his " horrible behavior"

"He just kinda said no a bit loud and ran out of the studio while sobbing quietly."

Literally every villain on set is a sweetheart. Selina does her own make-up as well as Bruce's and Oz's and you can see Carmine lurking like a little gobling behind them just to scare her

There's this joke that none of Selina's streams ever go well because the crew is her curse. She's trying to talk about how to steal on set, meanwhile, Bruce next to her, "Did you know cats have no collarbone. Also, the electric chair was invented by a dentist."

You'd think everyone's favorite duo would be Bruce and Selina, and you wouldn't be wrong, but the public can't wait for Bruce and Carmine to have a press conference or interview together

Mostly because Carmine obviously dealt some shady cards in his past and Bruce is so clueless . " Have I ever tried coke...No, I like Pepsi." While Carmine is trying not to laugh behind him

Edward is just as bad. He's trying to tell the director that's not how bombs are made, and someone's head exploding wouldn't look like that, and Bruce is like :O Eddie, I didn't know you were a gamer

Edward is a menace on set and Bruce stays blind to it because he like him. There's rows of videos of Bruce stopping mid scene, going " Eddie," before jumping on the guy like the kitten he's NOT

Alfred still brings Bruce lunch and snacks and he throws down with Oz for no reason. He always brings the kids (read; they sneak in) and it's very clear they're not getting any shooting done that day

Dick, age 10, impatiently asks why Gray Ghost can't have a sidekick. In the last moments of the movie Dick runs in, improvises a scene with Bruce, and the fans love him too much not to include him after

You just leave Bruce alone when his babies are on set; Damian is strapped to his chest cause he's so small that everyone almost steps on him, Jason is giving the writers tip, Tim is taking pics of everyone, and Bruce smothers them with kisses constantly

[the-universal-sun]

stan putting off regressing when he needed to and having a meltdown with fidds and/or ford helping? ❤️

Hey guys! Sorry it's been a few days. I've been a little sick these past few days, so I've been away from my computer for the most part. But I'm feeling much better now! This takes place in the 80s, an AU where Stan and Fiddleford got Ford back after a couple of years!

There is a scene wherein Stan briefly hits his head with his hands, starting at "When that doesn't work..." and ending at the end of that small paragraph.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky with hues of pink and orange. In the house, the soft hum of the evening felt insistent, like the ticking of a clock that grew louder with each passing minute. Stan sat in the living room, surrounded by the comforting chaos of his brother’s ramshackle house. The creaking floorboards seemed to echo his thoughts. He could feel that familiar pull, that soft haze and gentle fuzzy feeling tugging at the back of his mind-an urge he’s learned to resist being tempted by. Though there were the reassurances of both Stanford and Fiddleford that there was nothing wrong with him, that how his head gets sometimes is completely okay, that they loved taking care of him. Stan got up and paced the cluttered floor, his mind racing as he tried to drown out the world around him. He felt the familiar tug at his mind—the sensation that he kept trying to ignore all day. All week, really. Doodles lay scattered across the floor, evidence of his battle with the sensations that enveloped him. Every time he absentmindedly started coloring or drawing, he felt a wave of anxiety choke him, leading him to tear the paper into shreds and toss them into the trashcan.

     It's not that Stan doesn't like it, the fuzzy feeling he gets, but it's embarrassing, he's a grown man approaching 30, dammit! He shouldn't be carrying around a stuffed bear, coloring, and playing with blocks while two other grown men flutter around and coo at him! Sometimes when he's in town, he can feel people's eyes on him, like they know what happens-like they're judging him, like he's a freak. He can feel the need crawl around and itch under his skin. But he can't! He needs to prove to himself that he's capable of acting and being an adult! That he is an adult!

     "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" Stan chants, frustrated by his own harried thoughts, wanting his mind to calm down and let him be, to escape the fuzzy haze creeping up on him. For all these thoughts to leave his head. He brings his hands up and pulls on his hair, hoping the pain can bring some clarity to his mind. When that doesn't work, he switches to hitting his hand with his palms, muttering "stop it, stop it, stop it..." with each hit until he feels six-fingered hands grab his wrists and pull them down with a-

     "Stanley, stop!" It's Ford who's grabbing his hands, his face drawn. He doesn't look angry, he looks upset-distraught-but not angry. Stan thinks he wants him to be angry, to yell and fight him and treat him like a damn adult. "What are you doing? What's happened?"

     "Nothin' happened. I'm fine." Stan bites out, trying to pull his hands back from his brother's iron grip to no avail. "Let go of me, Stanford. I need-I need to go" He pulls harder, almost wrenching his shoulders out before he feels another pair of hands come up and gently but firmly grasp his shoulders. Why do they have to be so gentle with him? Even when he's acting normal, when they get into arguments or small fights, there's no hitting or punching-nothing beyond the play fighting Ford and Stan will do sometimes. Stan's not used to it, not after violence has been his life for almost a decade.

     "What ya' need to do is calm down and talk to us, Stanley. Let Ford and I help, we're worried about you." He hears Fidds' voice in his ear behind him, his hands on his shoulders. Ford's hands firmly but gently held his wrists. Stan wants too badly to sink into that haze, to let them coddle him and hug and rock him, but he can't. He doesn't even know why anymore, why he hasn't let himself indulge.

     "Well stop worrying about me-I'm a grown-ass man and I can deal with myself." He can see Ford's eyes shift to look behind him, a silent conversation with Fidds. Usually, that would bother him, but right now he just wants to get out from their grasp, go to his room, and hide away from them-and the world-until he can get his head on straight.

     "I think I'm starting to understand what the problem is here. Stanley, it's been approximately 10 days since you've gone down-" that's what they call it when Stan's head gets fuzzy and he acts like a kid-"and after months of the same routine, your mind and body are used to going down at least twice a week. It's safe to say you're just in need of-"

     "No! I'm not in need of anything 'cept you letting go of! Me!" He tries to wrench himself to the side but crashes to his knees with a stilted sob as Fidds' arms wrap around his body from behind just as he makes his move. Why did they have to push this? To have his body so used to these feelings that he now needs it to function? Why did they have to care for him. He doesn't sob, he refuses to say he did. Stan just brings his hands up-Ford let go when Stan made his move-and presses his face into them so hard he can see stars bursting out from the darkness. "I can't do this," he muttered piteously into his hands, his voice warbling and throat feeling thick. " 'M not a kid, I don't need this. I shouldn't need this. I need to grow up." He wants to cry, he wants to go under, he wants Poindexter. Stan just wants to noise in his head to stop. He whines, feeling Ford kneel and bring an arm around him, Fidds laying his head down and Stan's shoulder and nuzzling it, shushing and humming.

     "Stanley...It's alright to feel like you do, and it's alright to feel frustrated by it. You've lived a hard life, and we both know comfort like this was a rarity in our home. But you can be safe here," Ford sits down next to Stan, his knees aching from the kneeling. "Fiddleford and I would never judge you, Lee. We love taking care of you."

     "But why? Why do you like taking care of me when I act like that-like a kid? Why do you care about me?" Stan's voice breaks on his last word, tears bubbling up to the surface and spilling down his cheeks, dripping and staining Stan's sweats.

     "What's not to care about, Stan?" It's Fiddleford who answers this time, Ford seemingly at a loss for words at Stan's questions. "You're such a kind-hearted and warm fella. You care so deeply about your friends and family, I know you'd go to the ends of the earth and then some for 'em. And you're funny as all get out. Real hoot, I'd say. Caring for you is like a breath of fresh air, Stanley. It soothes m' soul. So you can be tiny if you need to, Bubs." Fiddleford's words get a small laugh/scoff out of Stan, the kind words bringing some warmth to his heart. But he looks towards Ford, needing to hear him say something, anything. A confirmation that he does care for Stan. And his words hit like a gut punch.

     "I love you, Stanley. You're my twin, my best friend from birth. You never judged me for my hands, for my curiosities and obsessions. You protected me from bullies and my own thoughts. You came at my darkest hour to help me, even after we were estranged for a decade. You made a life and job for yourself here, you paid off my loans and debt. You brought in F and helped him stop his memory gun usage. Stanley, you worked tirelessly for two years to bring me back after the portal incident. You're my hero, you always have been. And I can't possibly describe how much joy it brings me to see you unwind and relax, to look so happy, to be so happy. I love caring for you, truly, from the bottom of my heart, to be someone you can trust to protect you. I love you." And that does it, Stan's sobbing into his arms, into Ford's arms, his heart feels like it's bursting, and he can feel himself plummet down. His mind calming as his fuzzy haze washes over it, his mind losing the battle as soon as Ford finishes speaking, the confirmation that he is so loved is what he needed, he realized. That he wasn't some weird burden on them when this happens, that he didn't have to be an adult all the time. He hasn't felt this loved in forever and hasn't ever been cared for as he is now.

     He's still sobbing into Ford's arms as he's led up the stairs into his room, a pair of hands changing him into his softest sweater-it's got footballs all over it-and wrapping him up in his Teddy Bear blankie. He blinks and sniffles as he feels cold wetness swipe across his face, Fidds had wet a wash cloth and was wiping the tears from his eyes. Stan smiled at him, giggling when Fidds smiles back with a goofy grin. Sixer helps him lay down in bed and tucks Poindexter in his arms-still cocooned in his blankie-brushing his hair back and away from his forehead, like Ma' used to do when they were really young.

     "There we go, Lee, feeling nice and comfortable and cozy? Is Poindexter tucked in enough?" Fidds asked, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, tucking the quilt under Stan's legs even tighter, knowing how much he liked that feeling. He nods and mumbles, not feeling up to speaking. He just wants to lie there with Poindexter, Sixer, and Fidds and stay in this hazy feeling forever, his body aches now that he's relaxing, he was so tense for days. "That's good. I've gotcha here a book to listen to, is that alright?" That's more than alright to Stan, who just nods and hopes Fidds does the voices for the book, he loves it when they do voices for the people in his books.

     "Here, Lee, let's not chew on your friend's ear. I've got you something better." His brother says, guiding Poindexter's ear out of Stan's mouth. He didn't even realize he was chewing on it. He gives his stuffy an apologetic pat as Ford guides Stan's pacifier into his mouth. It's got a car on it that's made to look like "The Stanley Mobile". It's so cool. Ford made it as a surprise for Stan a few weeks ago. He snuffles behind it, leaning his cocooned and burritoed body into Ford's as he settles down beside him, an arm reaching over and cuddling Stan as close to his body as possible. Stan just snuggles into his shoulder, feeling his breathing and matching it, leaching his brother's warmth and hearing his matching heartbeat.

     "There was once a Velveteen Rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid..." Stan just relaxes into his brother's warmth as he finds himself enraptured in Fidds' storytelling. His mind finally calmed and his heart sated and happy.

[sigmalaussene]

Top ten weird ways Oswald Cobbepot gets called in Gotham

As I was rewatching Gotham, I decided to write down every name that people in the show canonically call Oswald Cobblepot aka the Penguin. It was a wild ride. Please enjoy

10. "Funny looking fellow"

(season one)

We start with a simple one. This isn't even an insult, it's just a fact. He is, indeed, a funny looking fellow. I'm pretty sure they say it more than once too.

9. "The Dapper Gangland Kingpin"

(season two)

This one it's just silly, especially since it was written on a newspaper. Just... that's weird ? Idk it's silly it makes me chuckle

8. "Yellow rat snitch"

(season one)

We start getting a little weirder. Why a rat? And, more importantly, why yellow???

7. "Stupid lame birdbrain"

(season four)

Just so mean. Especially since this scene it's his dumb husband making a room full of people chant it

6. "Golden goose"

(season one)

Right back to season one and it's incredible dialogue. This one is particularly amazing thanks to Oswald's reply to it, which was, of course: "Honk honk". I can't even start to describe that scene. It's a classic.

5. "Beaky nosed freak"

(season five)

Definitely the best nickname the last season had to offer. Like, you know that moment when a guy kills your bestfriend/girlfriend and you call him the silliest name you can think of? This is one of those times.

4. "Scaley faced bitch"

(season one)

This is the first one in the show, directly from the first episode. I am a firm supporter of calling men bitches when they deserve it, and he did, so I wholeheartedly approve this message. Adding the scaley face part just makes it more poetic.

3. "Sad little breadhead"

(season two)

This one from never fails. Imagine it delivered with the most condicending tone in the world. Just amazing. Makes me laugh every time.

2. "Fruitcake leprechaun"

(season two)

This. This is the one that started it all. It was thinking about this one that I decided that this rewatch I was gonna write down all the nicknames. I dont know if it has something to do with english not being my first language, so I don't have the background of the word "fruitcake" used as an homophobic remark, but this name is one of the funniest things I have ever heard in my life.

1. "Limping little chickenbutt second banana"

(season one)

This couldn't not be on the first place. I am obsessed with the writers of this show, i want to get inside their brains. Because like what does it mean? How did they come up with this? I need to know every thought that crossed their mind for them to write this. This is art. This is poetry. Incredible. Amazing. Absolutely insane. Kudos to the actor who played Maroni because if they gave me that line I wouldn't be able to say it with a straight face.

Bonus:

(For the fans, he is also called "the only thing Nygma cares about". Just... you know, in case you forgot)

Some recurrent nicknames are: "Pengy", "Ozzie", "freak", "cockroach", "punk", bird related names (bird/birdman, feathered friend, chicken, turkey...) and "little"/"tiny" followed by almost anything (man, friend, dirtbag, bastard, creep, twerp, freak, weasel...)

Edit: i realize i didn't mention "Major Crumblepot" and that's on me sorry guys

His haircut is described as "disco vampire hair" at one point (another classic)

He is also called "specimen", which is really funny, and "dewdropper"?? for some reason I don't remember but it was in my notes and I couldn't ignore it lmao

[hughiecampbelle]

Autopsy (Will Graham Oneshot)

Character/s: Will, Hannibal mention

Word Count: 1,363

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: Heavily inspired by the freezing temperatures that have come on suddenly :) I just love the winter and the snow. Something about it makes me feel alive lol. Anyways, I am having so much fun with these fics!!! I was really afraid I wouldn't be able to stick with it, and ik it's only the second day, but I have a good feeling. I have a lot more to watch lol bc I want to write for Hannibal too, I just feel like I can write Will better, if that makes sense? I know him better. Idk lol. I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤

WRITING EVENT 🔪🩸

I still think of you. The words come to his mind as they have constantly, consistently, since the day you died. Not dead, he corrects, but murdered. The day you were murdered. Taken from him with violence, with cruelty, without remorse. Small things. Big things, too. Reminders. Lately, the change of the season, autumn to winter. The long, dark nights he searches in the linen closet for an extra blanket. The way the stars seem a little brighter. How the leaves, what remains of them, shudder in the wind. The hot water he shivers under, trying to warm himself up. The air is sharp, nipping and biting at his skin as he stands in the yard, in the road, in the woods. Shivering. The frost in the grass, on the pavement, sparkles, threatening to melt in the sunlight. The apples of his cheeks growing rosy, his face shielded by the collar of his coat, by the frame of his glasses, by the knit hat he wears that belonged to you. 

I still think of you, he chants. A quiet, naive, foolish part of him hopes you know. I Hope you can see him, feel him. He doesn’t bow to a higher being. He does not break his back and contort his spine in a manner of prayer. He does not step forward between the doors of a church, a temple, a house of holiness. This is as close as he’ll get to believing, to worshipping. Standing here, the temperatures dropping, the sky a watercolor painting of pinks and oranges, purples and blues, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. He can crawl into the minds of killers, of degenerates, of the insane. That is easy. The crime scenes spell it out for him in a language no one else seems to speak, to read, to understand. He can watch as they stab and slice and suffocate without flinching. A witness to the filth of humanity. What he cannot do, what he cannot understand, is your perspective. He has studied the autopsy reports. He has memorized every inflicted wound, every mark of self-defense. He has touched the objects, the weapons, that were used against you. But when he tries to get into your head, your mindset, there is a blankness that mimics untouched snow. 

Were you scared? Did you beg for your life? Did the infinity that is death creep up on you while you slipped away or was it thrust upon you like a white hot pain? Did you cry? Call out for your mother, your father, for him? They found you in the snow. A shallow grave dug before a storm, a blizzard. It made things harder. Slowed decomposition. You were missing for two weeks. That’s all. Fourteen days. He smiles despite himself. The absurdity of it all. He should have fought harder. He should have threatened until he got his way. Of course he had a bad feeling. They all did. But he wasn’t prepared for this. You didn’t come home. Your side of the bed sat empty, undisturbed. Your boots, your coat and hat and gloves hung with care by the front door, left on the mat so you wouldn’t track in slush and snow. The books you were reading, the case files you were analyzing, all waited on the coffee table, expecting you home at any time. Even the dogs, unaware of the situation, slept soundly. They knew where you lived. They stalked you for weeks on end. It was their pattern, their modus operandi. They wanted you. They loved you. And that is why they had to kill you. 

Killed because of him. His therapist disagrees. It wasn’t anything he did. It wasn’t anything he could have prevented. That’s a lie, he thinks, but doesn’t vocalize. A nervous habit: bringing your engagement ring to his lips, holding it there, before dropping it back on the chain around his neck. He waited a long time to get it back. Finally, Jack agreed. He hasn’t taken it off since. He tucks it under his shirt, the cold of the ring against his skin. You haven’t been sleeping, Hannibal states, and Will has no choice but to agree. Bruise-like circles painted beneath his eyes. How can he? How can he when the bed is so large and there is a gaping wound where you used to lie? How can he rest when he knows how you’ve suffered? The instruments used to hurt, to kill. He ends up downstairs, on the couch, his eyelids heavy. The image of your body on that metal slab. You must’ve been cold, that much he knows. You ran out without shoes, your socks, mismatched with silly patterns, thick with frozen mud. Without your jacket, without insulation, your thin shirt torn and ripped. Cut open. They were in your house. They watched you. How can he sleep when he sees a pair of eyes, bright in the dark, staring him down. Watching him. Waiting. 

It should have been me. The thought never leaves him. He can shun it away for a few fleeting moments. Between sips of coffee, tea. Before and after he spits his toothpaste in the sink. As he cleans his glasses on the hem of his shirt. Should, Hannibal points out, is a dangerous word. He nods, but does not comprehend, does not care for. The killer learned your routines. They knew when he would be out, when you were alone, when you were at your most vulnerable. He never should have. But how could? Don’t. This is my fault. The idea is sickening and, strangely, comforting. He ruminates. He sits for hours in the morning, at night, in the time between lectures and crime scenes. He goes over what he could put together. The house, your home, littered with investigators, with yellow tape and analysts. Collecting hair, fur, fingerprints. He has nowhere to go. Him and the dogs staying with Hannibal. Just until they’re done, he assured him, but he didn’t mind. When the time came to unlock the front door, to walk through and re-enter the life he’d put on hold, he couldn’t do it. Backed away from it like it was wielding a knife. Just recently has he been able to face it. It was as if nothing had ever happened. Your things right where you left them. Even the dishes, a glass, a mug, a plate, exactly as before, nestled in the sink. Dirty. Unwashed. Begging to be scrubbed clean.  They wouldn’t come after him, that he was painfully aware of. They got what they wanted. He was of no use to them. Not anymore. He could bloody his hands and knees, begging and pleading, but they are gone. Looking for their next victim. Their prey. If they’re not going to hurt him, hunt him down as they had done to you, he will punish himself instead. He will stand in the cold, the frozen temperatures, and wait. He will watch his own breath until it’s too dark, until the night takes over and the sky, inky black, mocks him. Another day you have not seen, experienced, lived. He will shed everything until the thinnest layer. He will put himself in your place, laying in the snow, waiting for his skin to grow numb. If he could he would bury himself. Dig his own grave. But the ground is too thick, too hard, and so he must wait. He must imagine. He must be patient. When it’s become too much, when he is sure he can no longer feel his limbs, he will drag himself back to the house, the dogs, the lonely bed. And he will try again the next night, thankful the winter lasts as long as she does. Dreading the days the sun waits to set and the snow melts, when the wildflowers bloom and the cold dissipates. It’s only been a year and yet, it’s felt like a lifetime. How much longer can he carry on without you? How much longer can he live this life where he cannot sleep, he cannot eat, he cannot find your killer? I don’t know, he shrugs. I don’t know.

[kayfabe-is-king]

Highlights from my very first AEW live show (spoiler free):

Justin Roberts finding out it’s my first show, coming over to chat with me and then giving me both a high five and fist bump.

Fangirling over Bryce Remsburg and him offering to take a picture with me (he was insanely kind).

Staring Ricochet in the eyes and screaming that he was bad at his job (it got such a rise from him, I did it the whole match).

My husband going, “Oh that’s why the lady in line had all that toilet paper. I was worried she knew something about the restroom situation that no one else did.”

The kid next to me swearing like a fifth generation sailor and throwing out top tier insults at the heels.

Literally everything about Will Ospreay - from chanting his name at the top of my lungs to him chatting with fans post match.

Getting to see Brody King’s entrance live and barking my head off for him.

Chatting with other fans around me (everyone in our section was fun and friendly) and exchanging theories. Most of them agreed John has been regularly referencing both the Old and New Testament. One thinks the PPV title “world’s end” will have more meaning in the scheme of the Death Riders angle.

Orange Cassidy taking the time to do selfies with everyone who stayed after taping ended. He truly gives back to the fans and jumped the railing to pose with a fan in a wheelchair. I cannot say enough good things about him and Will.

MxM Collection - I finally get the hype. They were a blast live.

My husband asking me if OC was cosplaying as Johnny Cage.

Yelling out “you deserve better” to Kip Sabian and him laughing. He is somehow even hotter in person.

Chanting “shots, shots, shots, shots” with every single person in the ballroom (including some staff).

All the love for Big Bill and his dance moves.

Kyle chewing every piece of scenery in sight while putting on a damn fine match.

Speaking of chewing scenery, the hubs was positively giddy about every single women’s match. Not just for the brawling (although he was amazed at how brutal they can be) but also for their high caliber scene chewing.

Slapping hands with: Toni Storm, Thunder Rosa, Private Party (and Marq letting us touch his tag belt), Danny Garcia, Alex Abrahantes and Komander.

Beast Mortos standing right next to me and roaring. Seriously I could have touched him but refrained.

My husband being concerned about PAC going outside (it was very cold) with wet hair. “He’ll catch his death from pneumonia.”

Accidentally touching Jon Moxley’s head (and apologizing profusely to Cheesecake for doing it only for him to hug me and say it’s fine).

How we all collectively decided to chuck our inhibitions out the window and chanted like nobody’s watching.

Seeing first hand how much fun all of the wrestlers were having too. Especially when the cameras were off.

Last but not least, the hubs taking most of the photos and videos so I could simply enjoy the show.

[badly-drawn-doflamingo]

This is one of my favorite scenes because of its layers and I’d like to share it with everyone!

The symbolism for every character here is rough.

The tangerine trees and flag weep as Nami and Chopper stand around Brook and Carrot.

Bellemere, with her beloved trees, and the pirate flag Hiriluk loved so fondly; they cry for they died in a similar way, and now they’ve lost another.

Brook. Has lost another. Carrot, lost a brother.

She doesn’t move, drawn in on herself as she knows the news and is handling it the best way she can as a child, however Brook does something very, very different.

He THROWS himself violently to the floor, and in a rage we NEVER see him in, not like this, he curses himself, and apologizes to the air about him, a mantra of sorts.

I don’t think it’s just an apology to Pedro, no, but to the Rumbars he failed in the EXACT same way.

To Brook, who was acting captain, those men died due to a mistake on his part, an error he didn’t think about or prepare for, and they were butchered, one after another like ants under a stronger man’s boot. The left overs and rotten remains hung about him for 50 years, and he knew he failed Yorki entirely.

He believes in this moment, that he, after being given power by Luffy, has failed Pedro ALONE entirely, just like he did before.

“If only I.”

Chopper was there with him. It was a we if anything but no, not to Brook.

“If only I was stronger,”

A chant he probably already has said before many, many times during the nights and days and hoary mornings and fantasy moments of the dusk alone and with others; if only he had been stronger, maybe those men would have made it to live like he’s been blessed to now.

Jinbe speaks up, giving advice just like Fisher would have, and now we see TWO Vice-captains, one disabled, throwing his beloved hair into the dirt, forgetting his own promise to a little boy who waits beside an aging tired man, and a man who’s lead strong since his mentor died. Brook is the embodiment of sticking to grief while as Jinbe is the tide that carries you forward. He is the helmsman who leads them through the storm, and it is a grand scene of his actions.

It’s such a wonderful scene of morals, and reactions, and grief and loss and even PTSD.

Oh Brook,, it’s not your fault. Never was, but, will he ever forgive himself?

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Thinking of a modern frat Harringroveson au with chubby!Billy, because he’s my favorite, and a scenario that’s similar to that one tumblr(?) post about the girl who lost her keys at a frat party, if anyone knows what I’m talking about.

Specifically the part where she wanders around the house looking the morning after, and no one is particularly helpful until she runs into a guy who sends a text to the group chat with a description of the keys, and suddenly like twenty of them spring into action like soldiers and find her keys in less than a minute?

It’s peak boys will be boys and I love it so much.

So I’m thinking about Billy, Eddie, and Steve being in a frat. Particularly one of the larger ones, so the house is roomy and kind of daunting when first stepping into the foyer.

Steve is taking an exam and he, very miserably, let it be known that he would be gone for most of the afternoon, seeing as his next couple classes were nearly back to back after his test. So, he’s out of the house all day, and Eddie takes the opportunity to have a scary movie marathon with Billy.

Because they might as well do something other than sit around and wait for him to come home, and why not watch something creepy? Steve hates scary movies, so it only makes sense.

The house isn’t buzzing with activity at two in the afternoon on a weekday, so the couple settle into the living room. Have some popcorn, get comfy on the sofa, light a fall-scented candle to match the cooling temperature outside, and it’s perfect.

Until Tommy (I’m picking on him this time, sorry) meanders in about halfway through The Fly.

Maybe it’s a running bit in the house, something born of affection, that it’s acceptable to poke fun at Billy for his size. He’s one of the bigger guys, in every sense, and he gets easily flustered, so he’s teased a lot. They chant his name when he does keg chugs at parties, and they even call him The Tank.

Partly because he can put a lot away, and partly because he’ll do some serious damage if he decides to throw down.

Maybe Tommy takes the joke too far. Instead of giving Billy a pat on the back and calling him big guy, be calls him lardass. Maybe he comments a little too much on Billy’s eating habits, trying to get some kind of rise out of him.

While Billy used to get pissed, used to get in his face and promise to kick his ass before someone intervened, he just gets… uncomfortable now. Usually whenever Tommy enters a room, before he even opens his mouth.

Like right now.

Eddie has his arm around Billy’s shoulders, cradling him against his side, fingers tip-tapping against the blond’s bicep as he noses a kiss into his hair.

“This sweater’s real cute on you,” he murmurs. Billy hums appreciatively, and Eddie smiles as he digs his hand into the bowl of popcorn in his lap. “My cute little muncher.”

A door closes in the close distance, and suddenly Billy goes a bit rigid where he leans against Eddie’s shoulder.

Tommy pads into the room, hands on his hips as he glances between the tv and the couple sitting on the couch. Spreads an amused little smirk, eyes tracing up and down the scene.

“No Steve today?” he wonders. Eddie shakes his head and turns his focus back to the movie. “And did you just call him little?”

The freckled brunet snorts, and Eddie huffs a groan and lolls his head back.

“Can you leave, please? Crawl back into whatever hole you spawned from?”

“Hey, this is the communal living room, I can come in here if I want.” Tommy plops down in the recliner and cocks his head to the side. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Eddie lifts his head again, brows drawn together as he shifts to fish his phone out of his pocket after he pauses the movie. He rubs up and down Billy’s arm where his hand is still resting, and taps on his screen.

“I’m trying to watch a movie with my boyfriend, Hagan. He’s never seen The Fly, and we’re on kind of a schedule ‘cause we have to finish both movies before Stevie gets home,” Eddie says. “I’d say I wouldn’t mind if you watched and just kept your trap shut, but I’d really rather you just leave.”

“So you’re saying I can’t come into the living room in my own house? What would El Presidente think of that?”

Tommy clicks his tongue. Billy shifts when his eyes fix on him.

“I’m saying you make my boyfriend uncomfortable, and I’m saying you should fuck off about it.”

“I make him uncomfortable? I can hardly go anywhere in this place without seeing some kind of perverse display.”

Eddie quirks a brow.

“Perverse display?”

“Well, yeah.” Tommy crosses his arms, and it’s remarkably bratty. “You guys are always feeling him up, or sucking face, and he’s always pigging out. You don’t see how that could be disturbing?”

There’s a beat of silence. Eddie’s mouth pinches into a line when he notices the tinge of red in Billy’s expression. Notices how he leans closer, making himself smaller, and how out of character that is.

Eddie wants to rattle off an insult about how Tommy’s hair is always a mess, his room is filthy, and point out that his girlfriend has been cheating on him since the dawn of time. He wants to tell him how fragile he is if he thinks that two people sharing a kiss is obscene, or that snacking on popcorn is pigging out.

Eddie wants to say all of it so bad, but instead, he types briefly, and hits send.

Instantly, both Billy and Tommy’s phones buzz, and they both pull them out of their pockets. To Tommy’s horror, it’s a notification from the group chat. A voice note with a text attached to it.

Trying to watch a movie and this fuckhead Hagan can’t decide between being fatphobic or homophobic. I think we’ll start looking for an apartment so we can watch movies in peace.

It takes merely seconds for messages to start rolling in. Everything varying from what the fuck to hell no to questioning if the text is genuine, and if Eddie is serious about moving out. Eddie grins, and briefly hopes that Steve remembered to silence his phone before his exam.

Then, Tommy’s phone starts vibrating with a call. His eyes go wide, and he swallows before answering.

Eddie bites back on a laugh, knowing that only one person besides Steve has yet to have texted back.

“Hello?” Tommy answers.

He cringes briefly, and nods to himself as he pulls his phone away from his ear, and taps the screen.

“Am I on speaker, dipshit?” Jason asks.

“Yes.”

Tommy’s voice is suddenly timid, face hot with shame, and Eddie presses his lips together when a laugh threatens to sputter out.

Over the phone, Jason sighs.

“Hey, Bill? Edd? Can you guys hear me?”

Eddie clears his throat and exhales a calming sigh.

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Good.” There’s some static and some shuffling over the line. “You okay, Billy?”

For a moment, the blond is quiet, but he relaxes a bit when Eddie gives him a soft squeeze.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says.

“Cool. I’m kinda caught between classes right now or I’d deal with it myself, but I promise it’ll still be handled. I’m really sorry you guys had to put up with this, so I’ll have a couple pizzas sent to the house.”

Eddie nods in approval.

“We appreciate you, boss man,” he says.

“Alright, I’ll let you guys get back to your movie. Hagan, I hope you have street clothes on.”

Then, Jason hangs up. Things are quiet for a moment. Anticipation is thick in the air, and then there’s a new message in the group chat from El Presidente.

Hagan is excommunicado, effective immediately.

Eddie snorts when not a single text rolls through after that, but there’s the sound of movement upstairs.

“John Wick,” Billy murmurs, nodding. “Nice.”

There’s footsteps. Heavy scraping. Tommy stands up from his seat, ready to bolt upstairs to see what the commotion is, but he doesn’t make it further than the base of the stairs before the noise and voices get louder.

Then, things come flying down the steps, and Tommy barely jumps out of the way.

Armfuls of clothes, shoes, a backpack. Tommy’s eyes blow so wide Eddie thinks they might pop out of his head.

The mattress is next, with the sheets still on, and then figures come into view. Argyle and Jonathan carrying a dresser down the stairs in nothing but their socks and underwear, full drawers threatening to slide out and spill clothes everywhere. Patrick is right behind them with a nightstand in his grasp, alarm clock and bong still resting on top. More voices follow, and more and more comes tumbling down the stairs.

Nothing is moved carefully. Wooden legs are skidded across the floor, corners are banged against the guard rail and doorframe, and Tommy’s laptop is thrown like a frisbee out onto the concrete walkway.

It’s beautiful, Eddie thinks, how fast the pile of trash and other belongings accumulates, and how he counts probably fifteen heads as the guys dump everything out into the front yard. They wail at Tommy as they pass, booing and poking and some even pinching him before the guys all disperse like roaches when the light flicks on.

A few pass by the sofa, offering condolences like they’re at a funeral, and Argyle even tousles Billy’s hair before he disappears.

Tommy is left standing there, staring through the open doorway at his entire existence spread out on the ground in front of him. Eddie snorts when he sees the tiny Tommy Hagan has been removed from group notice appear in the bottom of the chat, followed by a plethora of saluting emojis.

He ropes Billy closer into his side and kisses his hair, shutting his phone off.

“You gonna be hungry for pizza?” he murmurs.

Billy tilts his head up to look at him, eyes glassy, and chews his lip.

“Mhmm,” he hums. “You think Stevie’s gonna be stressed when he checks his phone?”

He closes his eyes when Eddie squeezes him and presses a kiss to his forehead. Relaxes into the embrace when the front door shuts.

“I’ll send him a picture when the pizza gets here so he knows you’re okay.”

“Why wait ‘til the pizza gets here?” Billy muses.

He hums a laugh and turns further into Eddie, tucking his face in the crook of his neck and smoothing his hand over his chest. The brunet sighs comfortably as he feels around his lap for the remote, and traces shapes against Billy’s bicep with his free hand.

“‘Cause the only thing cuter than you in your comfy sweater is you having a snack in your comfy sweater.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm. Don’t want him to miss out on it.”

Eddie smiles as he presses play, and Billy chuckles into his neck.

“Me neither.”

[pedrospatch]

Lonely Too Long l (To Hell and Back Drabble)

Series Masterlist

Summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ only, minors DNI. Flashback of implied SA, but no descriptions. Soft Joel, Joel sings to reader. *If you happen to be reading the series, I recommend reading this one because it starts setting up Joel and reader’s relationship. This is also the last flashback she’s going to have since it’s a heavier one than the last two.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Dust to Dust is one of my favorite songs by The Civil Wars. I know the song did not come out until like 2013, but we’re just going to pretend. Also, I know that the gif is video game Joel, but god I love him just as much and it fits this scene so we are gonna roll with it. I know this might not be everyone’s cup of tea but I wanted to write it so I did. 🤌🏼 I am still organizing the taglist for this series, it will be start with the next chapter. This was mostly for me but hopefully some people out there enjoy it too. 🤍

You couldn’t scream.

You’re trying to cry out, but you can’t.

Chest tight, your lungs won’t expand.

You couldn’t breathe. 

One hand around your neck, the other is fumbling with the zipper of your jeans.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he grinned, his fingers roughly scraping against the skin of your lower stomach.

In the corner, your cellmate is curled into a little ball in the floor, hands covering her ears and her eyes squeezed shut.

She’s probably praying she won’t be next.

She’s seventeen so even in the midst of your own chaos, you can’t help but pray she isn’t next too.

You thrashed around underneath him. It’s futile, but all you can think about is getting him off you.

Grin fading, he let out a heavy, irritated sigh. His hand left the waistband of your jeans. He reached behind him and pulled out his gun, bringing it up to into your view—it caused you to cease any and all movements. “Listen to me,” he said, pressing the barrel of the pistol against your temple. “It’s simple, really. Keep squirming and I’ll blow your fucking brains out. Do you understand, dollface?”

When he received no response, he dug the barrel deeper into your skin, his finger on the trigger.

“Do you understand?” He repeated, his tone low.

Nearly paralyzed, all you could do was nod. 

“Good.” He roughly flipped you over.

The sound of his belt buckle clanking rang loudly in your ears. As he yanked your jeans down to the middle of your thighs, you closed your eyes.

Both your mind and your body went numb.

A light, late night rainstorm came out of nowhere, sweeping over the town. The soft, pitter pattering sound of raindrops on the window above your bed had almost lulled you into slumber.

Almost.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

The words blended into a steady but silent chant.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

You’re fucking safe.

Slapping the palm of your hand to your forehead, you exhaled a long, heavy sigh and stared up into the the darkness of the bedroom.

You couldn’t be certain as to what time it was, but it had to be well into the middle of the night. You’d been tossing and turning for a couple of hours but somehow it felt like a hell of a lot longer than that.

You were fucking exhausted. You nearly ached for some sleep, but every damn time that you closed your eyes, vivid images of the past came creeping in and chased it further and further away.

Your brain just couldn’t seem to wrap itself around the fact that this place wasn’t dangerous.

That you didn’t have to sleep with one eye open.

That nobody was going to hurt you.

That you were safe in a soft bed in a real house.

You weren’t lying on a dirty cot in a human cage.

Sighing again, you thought about Joel who was in his bedroom down the hallway, sleeping.

It brought you comfort knowing he was close. But for some reason you couldn’t quite explain, part of you couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t close enough.

You. The same woman who vowed never to trust another human being ever again—you wanted him fucking closer. Actually, it wasn’t a want so much as it was a need.

You needed him to be closer.

Sitting up, you tossed the sheets back and swung your legs over the edge of the mattress, your bare feet meeting the cold, hardwood floors. You stood and quietly padded out of the bedroom and down the hallway towards Joel’s.

“You know where to find me if you need anythin’,” he’d assured you before he had gone off to bed.

You stopped in front of his door and lifted a curled first, knocking lightly. About a minute or two went by, and just when you started to realize that you’d made a mistake and whirled around to make a run for it back to your own room where you could hop back into bed and pretend that the thought of this hadn’t ever even crossed your mind, he opened up his bedroom door.

“Thought I heard a knock,” Joel mumbled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes with one of his hands. He wore nothing but his sweatpants, his hair looking about ten times more disheveled than usual. “Everythin’ alright?”

You swallowed dryly, trying your hardest not to let your eyes wander away from his face—it proved to be almost too difficult to keep from staring. Joel’s shoulders were broad, his chest was wide, and his stomach was soft; his sweatpants hung on the low side on his hips and revealed the trail of dark curls that started at his lower belly and descended until it disappeared underneath the elastic waistband.

You caught yourself before they could go lower.

“Somethin’ the matter, darlin’?” he asked, stifling a yawn. Thankfully he hasn’t seemed to notice you gawking at him. He rubbed at his eyes once again and then observed you, trying to figure out what it was that had brought you to his room at this hour. “You need somethin’? Are you cold? Did you need an extra blanket?”

You lightly shook your head in response. No.

He tried again. “Are you still hungry?” he asked as he gestured towards the stairs. “I can make you another sandwich if you want—”

He was cut off by another shake of your head that told him that wasn’t it.

“You just can’t sleep,” Joel realized after a minute. He frowned—he could see how tired you were and for as much as he didn’t want to think about it, he had a feeling that he knew what it was that was on your mind and keeping you awake. “What can I do to help, sweetness?”

You blinked, standing there almost dumbfounded.

Clearly, you hadn’t thought this through.

You would knock on Joel’s door and then what?

You would talk to him about what’s on your mind?

Letting out a tiny frustrated huff that was directed at yourself, you waved a dismissive hand in the air.

Forget it. There’s nothing you can do.

As you turned around to leave, Joel reached out to take your arm. He curled his fingers lightly around your elbow. “Well now, hold on a minute. You’re at my door for a reason,” he said. He watched as your eyes flickered to his hand around your arm, but he couldn’t be sure if his touch had bothered you. He dropped it, not wanting to risk pushing you too far or crossing a line, not when he had made progress with you, progress he didn’t want to lose. “You not bein’ able to sleep—it have anythin’ to do with you still not feelin’ safe?”

You hesitated.

“It’s alright, darlin’. You can be honest with me.”

The sheepish expression on your face said it all.

No, I can’t sleep because I don’t feel safe.

“Would it help if you slept with me?”

You raised your eyebrows at him, eyes widening at his proposal. At least, the way he’d said it.

Excuse me?

Realizing how it had sounded, Joel flushed. “What I mean is, would it help if you slept in my bed?” He winced. That hadn’t sounded all that much better. “You sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep on the floor,” he sputtered out quickly. “That’s what I meant. That way I’m right next to you and you ain’t alone.”

Gnawing nervously on your bottom lip, you took a minute to think it over.

If you wanted him closer, this was your chance.

But why? Why did you want him to be closer? Why did you need to have him at your side?

You’d been on your own for an entire fucking year.

And it had been by choice.

You didn’t want to be around other people, sure as hell didn’t need to be around other people.

And then Joel Miller makes his appearance and all of a sudden, you’re at his door in the middle of the damn night because you feel the need to have him at your side?

Finally, you nodded your head. Okay.

“Come in.” He stepped aside, allowing you in. Not wanting you to feel trapped in his room, he left the door open. “And you’re free to go on back to your own room whenever you feel like it.”

Joel picked up his discarded tee shirt from earlier, a small labored grunt escaping him as he brought himself back into an upright position, the bones in his lower back crackling with protest. Turning over his shirt right side out, he tugged it on as you took a look around his bedroom, a larger space dimly lit by the small lamp on his nightstand.

That’s when you saw it.

Perched on a stand, it was nestled in the corner.

A guitar.

Curiously, you walked over and knelt in front of it.

You reached out and softly ran your fingers across the strings, smiling to yourself at the sound it had made.

“Found that while out on patrol with Tommy a few weeks ago,” Joel stated as he came up behind you slowly. “Gibson. Little worse for wear, but in damn good condition all things considerin’. Woulda been a crime to leave it out there,” he chuckled. “I know Ellie’s been wantin’ to learn, it’s the main reason it came back home with me. I haven’t shown her yet since I still gotta clean and polish her up.” He took a brief pause. “You know how to play?”

You ran your fingers across the strings once more, and a loud, terrible noise that wasn’t even close to music caused him to wince. You then looked up at him over your shoulder with an amused grin.

Does it sound like I know how to play?

Joel couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll take that as a no, then.” He leaned over and picked up the guitar. He walked over and took a seat on the side of his bed, patting the seat beside him. “C’mere, sweetness.”

Getting up to your feet, you wrapped Joel’s flannel closer around your body as you padded over to his bed, perching yourself next to him.

Head down and focused, he began to strum a few notes. You couldn’t help but to be mesmerized by how his large hands moved on the instrument, the way his long, thick fingers—

Swallowing dryly, you cut the thought short.

Curiously, you put a hand on his shoulder.

Joel paused the tune. “What is it, darlin’?”

With your opposite hand, you touched your throat and then pointed at him. Can you sing?

He gave a half hearted shrug. “I do like to sing,” he admitted almost bashfully. “Always been fond of it ever since I was a kid.” He chuckled. “Before goin’ into construction, I wanted to be a musician. But I knew it would never pay the bills.”

You squeezed Joel’s shoulder and gestured to the guitar, then to his throat again. Will you sing me a song?

Joel felt the back of his neck burn and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Normally, I would probably say no,” he admitted. “But, seein’ as you saved my life and all, I’d be a real asshole if I said no to you.”

Lifting your chin, you shot him a smug look. That is very true. So go on then, Johnny Cash. Play me a song.

“Alright. Any requests?”

You nudged him lightly. Very funny.

“Okay, um. Gimme a minute to think of a song.”

Withdrawing your hand from his shoulder, you sat back against his pillows and pulled your legs up to your chest, hugging your knees.

Nervously, Joel inhaled and exhaled a deep breath and began strumming the guitar. Chills shot down your spinal cord as a hauntingly beautiful melody filled his bedroom. He turned and angled his body towards to you as he began to sing.

“You’ve held your head up,

you’ve fought the fight

you bear the scars, you’ve done your time

listen to me, you’ve been lonely too long…”

Your mouth fell open slightly.

“Let me in the walls you’ve built around

we can light a match and burn them down…”

The rich baritone of his voice caused goosebumps to eruprt all over your flesh. Furiously, you rubbed at your bare legs, but it was useless.

With every note Joel sang to you, more appeared.

With every note Joel sang to you, the harder you found it to breathe steady.

With every note Joel sang to you, the more beats your heart seemed to be skipping.

“Let me hold your hand

and dance ‘round and ‘round the flames

in front of us, dust to dust…”

Joel glanced up, his dark brown eyes holding your gaze as he sang the final verse of the song.

“You’re like a mirror, reflectin’ me

takes one to know one, so take it from me

you’ve been lonely

you’ve been lonely too long.”

Even if you could speak to him, you would’ve been left speechless—all that you could do was stare at him in complete awe.

Joel set the guitar down. “I’m alright,” he said with a sheepish little laugh. “My voice ain’t nowhere as nice as yours.”

You stiffened slightly.

What are you talking about?

“Don’t look at me like that. I know it was you who I heard singin’ back at that cabin when I was comin’ back around.” He gave you a crooked grin. “Earlier I was just playin’ dumb, but I know it was you. You have a gorgeous voice, and I’d love to hear it again someday.”

Hugging your legs closer to yourself, you dropped your head down onto your knees, embarrassed.

What was the matter with you?

Here was a man who had taken you in, offered you a warm bed under his own roof—gave you clothes and fed you, even offered to give up his own damn bed and sleep on the cold hard floor beside you to make you feel safe enough to sleep.

And you still couldn’t say a fucking word to him.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Forcing your head up, your gaze met his.

“It’s alright, darlin’,” Joel assured you. “It’s just like I told you downstairs. We’re gonna take it one step at a time.” Lifting one of his hands, he reached out holding it out to you, his palm face upwards. “And I swear, once you find your voice, I’m gonna do all that I can do to make sure you never lose it again.”

Biting your lower lip, you placed your hand in his.

Joel have it a gentle squeeze. “Atta girl.”

Much sooner than you would have liked, he let go of your hand and stood up.

“We should get some sleep. You’re gonna need all the rest you can get before you meet my kid. Ellie. She’ll be here first thing and I should warn you she can be, uh, she can be a lot to process.” He let out an amused snort and reached for a pillow, tossing it onto the floor. “You can have all the blankets, I’ll just take this throw here—”

As Joel reached past you for a green flannel throw blanket, you grabbed his arm to stop him. His face was just inches from yours.

Close.

But again somehow still not close enough.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, softly.

Warm and laced with mint from the toothpaste he had used to brush his teeth before bed, his breath tickled the tip of of your nose, sending a pleasant shiver up your spine.

Your eyes looked right into his as you scooter over to the other side of his bed—it was firm, cold. Like no one had ever occupied that space before. But it was foolish to think that a man like Joel Miller had never had another woman share his bed before.

You patted the spot beside you.

Sleep up here.

“You sure about this, darlin’?”

You patted the empty spot again. Yes I’m sure.

Joel squinted at you. “You ain’t gonna strangle me in my sleep, are you now?”

His half serious joke was met with a glare.

Keep it up with wise cracks and I just might.

He held his hands up in defense. “Just checkin.”

As you crawled underneath his dark green sheets, Joel slid into bed beside you, making sure to leave a good three foot gap between the both of you; he murmured a quiet goodnight and switched off the lamp on his nightstand before rolling over onto his stomach—not even two minutes later and his soft snores filled the room.

You turned onto your side, facing him. Through a beam of moonlight steaming in through a crack in the curtains, you could just make out the outlines of his facial features. He’d fallen asleep facing you.

Closing your eyes, your body sank further into the mattress, heavy with exhaustion.

Taut, tense muscles finally relaxed.

Tight jaw finally unclenched.

You’re safe.

You slowly started drifting off to sleep.

With Joel beside you, no nightmares came to visit.