#fan fic challenge

[bbgoffic]

Please don't shoot me for this...

But Echo's "Hey kid, and... Other kids."

Has almost the same cadence as Freddy Prince Jr's

"Hey dawg, and uh... Dog,"

From the live action Scooby Doo movie and now I can't help but imagine Echo saying all th-

*nifty little gunshot wound*

[thevioletcaptain]

i genuinely don't care how good a piece of ai generated art or writing looks on the surface. i don't care if it emulates brush strokes and metaphor in a way indistinguishable from those created by a person.

it is not the product of thoughtful creation. it offers no insights into the creator's life or viewpoint. it has no connection to a moment in time or a place or an attitude. it has no perspective. it has no value.

it's empty, it's hollow, and it exists only to generate clicks (and by extension, ad revenue.)

it's just another revolting symptom of the disease that is late stage capitalism, and it fucking sucks.

[ekingston]

also on ao3.

Lena smiles to herself as she watches Kara zip through National City’s most exclusive luxury mall. She’s like a honey-drunk bumblebee, bouncing from aisle to aisle, descending on some random item every five seconds just to mutter hmm and dart off again.

Lena is moving at a more civilized pace. She has long since stopped trying to keep up, both with her best friend’s not-quite-incriminating measure of super speed and her unfathomable decision-making process.

“Lena help,” Kara pouts, suddenly back, familiar and warm at Lena’s side. “Do fifteen-year-olds like anything?”

Lena doesn’t take her eyes off the art books she’s been perusing, but she also doesn’t stop herself from leaning in, her shoulder resting briefly against Kara’s, their hips grazing. A friendly gesture. A welcome back. “You remember Ruby, right?” she teases. “Cute? Bright? Probably six feet tall by next Wednesday?”

Kara huffs. “Yes, but she's—you know. Cool now.” She makes a gesture that’s somewhere between jazz hands and a bomb exploding. “What do cool teenagers like?”

Lena sends her a self-deprecating smile. “Do consider who it is you’re asking.”

Kara’s gaze tumbles from Lena’s face to her chest to her hands, and then she nods. Lena feels like she should be insulted by Kara’s quick acquiescence, but all thought leaves her mind when Kara steps closer, reaching across Lena’s body to play with the head of a fat round brush. Lena watches the fine bristles spread wide around the pads of Kara’s ring and middle finger, and tells herself that she isn’t affected by the situation at all.

“You know,” she breezes, veering away from the wisp of Kara’s breath against her temple, “Ruby’s been sketching a lot more, lately.”

Kara, immediately revived, follows Lena over to a glass case marked with Holbein’s logo. But when she glances up at the price tags, she goes pale. “Seven hundred dollars?” she yelps. “For colored pencils?”

Lena hums. “They’re pastels,” she explains, flipping the case open with a pleasing wood-on-metal snick. “High-grade pigments, no fillers.” She runs her fingers down a length of cobalt blue, watching Kara’s throat bob when she reaches the gold lettering along its side. “I hear they lay down incredibly soft,” Lena hears herself say, her voice low in the narrow space left between them. “Rich and easy. Just a hint of pressure is enough to achieve whatever effect you desire.”

Kara looks up, her glossy pink lips now inches away from Lena’s own. “Since when do you know about art materials?” she rasps.

Lena breaks into a light sweat at the question. “Well, you know,” she stammers, straightening. “It’s. No secret that I’m a patron—” She gestures helplessly, trying to step away again but finding herself trapped between the display case and Kara’s body. “That I—I���ve always had a thing—”

Kara’s eyebrows twitch as she waits for Lena to finally finish a sentence, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth when Lena fails to do so. Her amusement at Lena’s floundering should embarrass her, but combined with the close heat of Kara’s body and her cocky smirk, Lena finds it alarmingly arousing.

“I have literally never heard you talk about art before,” Kara smarms. “Oh wait! Actually I specifically remember you canceling on Bruce Wayne’s charity gala when you realized he was having it at the Museum of Modern Arts, two years ago.”

“Kara—” She’s still so close. Lena is beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

“You were already in Gotham,” Kara points out.

“Listen,” Lena flusters. “I am a well-rounded—”

Kara’s eyes are dark and sparkling. “You were his date.”

“...I was his friend,” Lena corrects. “Bruce and I were never—not like—” She gestures between Kara’s body and her own, the movement greatly inhibited by their closeness, and ceasing entirely when she realizes where her argument is headed.

Kara bites down on what Lena is sure would otherwise be a maddeningly self-satisfied grin. “My birthday’s coming up, too,” Kara says. And then, her voice gentle, “But you already knew that, didn't you?”

Lena huffs out a breath. Of course she knows that. Kara is her best friend. It’s completely natural that Lena would spend night after sleepless night poring over catalogues and browsing the dark web, trying to find her the perfect gift.

“You got me these?” Kara grins, picking up a viridian green pencil and twirling it between two of her fingers. She looks so pretty and pleased that Lena nods, instantly resolved to trash the one-of-a-kind mini-anti-life-equation she’d managed to place the winning bid on, and gift Kara Holbein’s entire collection, as originally intended.

Kara still hasn’t moved. “Lena,” she says. “You know you didn’t need to spend all that money on me.”

Lena huffs out a humorless laugh. If Kara thinks the pencils are pricey, ditching the anti-life-equation is definitely the right call. It’s a shame—apparently it’s super effective against fruit flies and fungus gnats, both of which Kara has been unsuccessfully battling in her kitchen for the past couple of months. “You know me,” Lena says, something bitter twisting at the corners of her mouth. “Always going overboard.”

“No,” Kara tells her. The surety of her tone draws Lena’s gaze back up to those ludicrously blue eyes. “I do know you,” Kara says. “And you always get it exactly right.”

The silence that ensues stretches taut between them, stretches thin, fraying Lena’s nerves along with it. She should get Kara some canvases too, Lena decides. In fact, why not make it a set? Add some new brushes, and oil paints, maybe a new easel—oh!

“Mechanical erasers,” she blurts, and darts away.

Kara isn’t quite as quick on the uptake this time, taking long seconds to rejoin her on the other side of the aisle.

“Not like what?” Kara asks.

Lena blinks at her, puzzled by the non-sequitur. Kara’s eyebrows twitch together again, but this time they stay there, a tiny divot in the skin between them. Lena doesn’t know what to do with—well, any of it, quite frankly. “Since the secret’s out,” she says, pointedly looking away from the curious expression on her best friend’s face and gesturing at the collection of erasers, “do you prefer the—”

The feeling of Kara’s hand at her waist is highly unlikely and profoundly baffling. But when Lena looks down, trailing off, there it is; Kara’s thumb, settling against Lena's hip bone, her fingers sliding—sure and steady—into the gap of Lena’s open coat.

“You said you and Bruce were not like you and me,” Kara says. “What are we like?”

Lena’s heart is slamming in her chest like Kara is playing tennis with it. She’s so frustrated that Kara won’t just let it slide and allow Lena to escape with her pride intact; she’s so enamored with the way Kara looks at her, open and curious, as if she honestly doesn’t know what Lena is trying her best not to say for fear it will ruin their friendship.

The situation is so impossible that Lena doesn’t register the movement of Kara’s other hand until she’s slipped it around the back of her neck. It rests there—joining the other in its exploration of formerly firmly out-of-the-way places—with just the barest hint of pressure, her fingertips settling warm against the vulnerable skin of Lena’s nape.

Lena flusters, suddenly forced to address Kara’s question in a far more certain shade than she’s allowed them both to get away with over the years. If Lena opts for “the kind of friends I thought I’d never have”—a bitter, but familiar favorite—will Kara still help her blend the outline between the soft tones of their friendship and the vivid hues of what Lena is pretty certain is their mutual desire?

She swallows, watching the quick flash of Kara’s tongue as she wets her lip, reveling in the sight of it up close, struggling to maintain her solid form beneath the feeling of Kara’s hands on her body.

“There’s…” Kara whispers, swaying closer, “...probably a couple of things we really should talk about.” Her nose brushes Lena’s cheek before resting there, her eyes falling closed, their foreheads just barely touching. “But do you think it would be okay if—just for now—” She’s muttering the words almost directly into Lena’s mouth. “If I kissed you, first? Before, I mean, the rest of—”

Lena tugs herself up by the lapels of Kara’s jacket before Kara even finishes her question, the darkness behind her closed eyelids sparking into bright technicolor at the soft press of Kara’s lips against her own. They’re warm, and yielding, and slightly sticky—probably from the fresh-baked cinnamon roll she’d scarfed down before entering the store. Just before they pull apart, Lena catches the slightest hint of sweetness with the tip of her tongue.

Lena hums.

Kara is right. They really should be talking about this, and not necking in the middle of Eulalia Literature & Arts like a couple of boarding school kids on a school trip. But Kara is looking at her as if Lena is a wonderful secret freshly revealed, so Lena really can’t be expected to keep herself from being pulled back into Kara’s orbit. Can’t be blamed, even, for doing it lips-parted, so eager for another taste of what feels like the one bright spark of undiluted joy she’s ever felt she actually deserved that she shamelessly licks into Kara’s mouth, her entire body lighting up in oversaturated iridescence when Kara meets her with similarly unselfconscious sincerity.

Kara doesn’t let her go, even when they pause for air, both of her hands twitching against Lena’s body, as if keeping herself from pulling Lena back in is a tremendous effort. “Can we just stay here for a minute?” she hushes, her breath mingling with Lena’s own.

Lena smiles. “I think the security guard may have a couple of things to say about that,” she tells Kara, flashing an embarrassed glance over her shoulder at the woman in question.

“Oh, shoot.” Kara flinches, flushing an irresistible shade of pink Lena doubts even Holbein’s pigments could emulate. She rarely wears her glasses anymore, but Lena watches her reach for them out of habit, her movements jittery and raw.

“It’s alright, darling,” Lena soothes her, thrilling privately at the endearment as it falls off her lips. “I’m sure all will be forgiven when the cashier runs my credit card.”

And she’s right; when they exit, the guard gives them a nod that may even signal some mild approval. Whether that’s about the fortune Lena just spent on art supplies or their impromptu public exhibit, Lena isn’t sure.

Later, after weeks of conversations, after numerous tiny discoveries and world-shattering revelations—one of which has Kara confessing to once helping a fifth-dimensional imp create a half-dozen miserable alternate realities in which the full, vibrant spectrum of their love for each other went unacknowledged, and never led to a kiss—Kara blows out thirty-one colorful candles, and unwraps first (in the company of all of their friends) her gifts; and then (in the company of only her lover) Lena’s wrap-around A-line dress.

Lena’s legs are already trembling when Kara finally glides her fingers to the seam of her thigh, the pad of her thumb nudging gently at the patch of darkening cotton between Lena’s legs. “Could I try something new?” she asks, and Lena, who has discovered that Kara’s ideas only ever fall into one of two categories, one being complete absurdity and the other unmitigated brilliance, sighs.

“I want to paint you,” Kara says.

It so figures, Lena thinks. All of these new toys, and Kara can't decide which one she wants to play with first.

“Okay,” Lena says, driven to impatient acquiescence by Kara’s thumb, now moving in gentle, tiny circles against her.

“Okay?” Kara confirms, hand stilling, sitting up.

Lena clasps Kara’s teasing fingers and presses them down hard where she needs them, her back arching into the touch of their joined hands. “After,” she demands.

This was written for the multi fandom (and original!) flash fiction challenge, using the prompts ‘vignette/slice of life’, ‘shopping for a gift’, ‘friends to lovers’ and ‘colored pencils’. You should give it a whirl!

[mitternacht]

Hi I spend way too much time thinking about Fuuta Kajiyama and really wanted an excuse to throw out a full breakdown of his character and why I think he’s so well written.

The long and short of it is that Fuuta’s character was built to represent social isolation and the effects it has on the psyche. And the direction his character has taken in T3 was always going to be the natural progression of his character, especially based on his T1 verdict and the consequences of that, it did not come out of nowhere and is not a questionable writing decision.

(The rest under the cut for really long winded meta and dissection of Fuuta’s character and how we got here)

To start, I want to talk about Fuuta’s life before Milgram.

He’s a 20 year old university student, with no strong ties to family and no real group of friends or social circle to speak of. Already, he’s very isolated and has shown that he’s quite directionless. He doesn’t have any dreams or aspirations, because he thinks things like that are “childish” and “worthless”. He’s also never felt a real sense of protection or authority from the adult figures in his life, based on the way he talks about his parents. I’m inclined to believe they weren’t really present while he was growing up as well based on what we know of them, which caused further isolation and left him devoid of a sense of purpose. (Getting slightly ahead of myself here, but guess which type of people are most susceptible to falling into cults?)

So, what does he have to cling to? What does he have to keep him going? We all have a deep innate need for human connection and community, so where can he get that?

Online, of course.

So, he turns to the internet. He finds a community of people who enjoy the same things he does that he can connect with, and this serves as a lifeline for him. Now, he’s also been shown to have a strong sense of justice, which is perhaps one of the only other defining characteristics he can claim for himself and one of the only things he believes in. He feels a sense of empowerment and pride when he’s “carrying out justice” in his eyes, and it gives him a sense of purpose and duty that he’s lacking elsewhere in his life. It also brings him validation from his community, who further enable him and fan the flames, so to speak. He’s part of a group, he’s part of something for the first time in his life, and he has no way of stopping at this point. And then, it goes too far.

(I don’t feel like I should need to say this, but for the sake of posterity, yes, what Fuuta did was very, very bad and should never be condoned or excused. But again, it’s a very real problem and is caused by social isolation which is very common in today’s world and is worth having a discussion about. Fuuta’s character is an excellent showcase of how easily this can lead people to do terrible things by turning to online validation and praise for their sole source of connection with others.)

Now Fuuta is a person that doesn’t know how to deal with heavy negative emotions. He’s not very mentally strong, and being so isolated for most of his life with no real sense of purpose has left him with not a lot of ways to properly process or cope. When we first meet him in Milgram, he’s leaning very heavily on denial. He’s convinced himself that he did nothing wrong, and can’t even entertain the thought that his actions had killed someone. He’s also the type of person that can’t stand showing any signs of weakness. He acts big, and angry, and tough, because that’s the easiest way to deflect from any other “weak” emotions he may be feeling.

But, the side effect of this inability to process his negative emotions and acting out like this, is that he can’t make any real connections with the other prisoners in Milgram. (I’m not counting minigram as canon in this breakdown as an fyi, I’m basing this solely on interactions from timelines and voice dramas)

He’s lost the only community he had, completely cut off from it, and is experiencing the social isolation that drove him to this in the first place all over again. He sees the older prisoners as unreliable and not anyone he can lean on in this situation, and at this point doesn’t seem to have any particular feelings about the other prisoners. He mentions looking out for Haruka in particular, but (as much as it pains me to say this since I do love the 0103 dynamic) it’s unlikely that this was a significant enough connection to keep him from feeling socially isolated in Milgram. He states that he’s not looking to make friends with the other prisoners, but that was likely just big talk and hiding the fact that he couldn’t make that connection with anyone.

With all of these negative emotions he can’t process or cope with, the fear and uncertainty of his environment, the loss of community he once had, and without anybody or anything to rely on for guidance or protection, it’s already a recipe for a shattered mental state.

Now let’s throw a guilty verdict, some horrible physical trauma, voices that you can’t escape, heavy sleep deprivation and paranoid hypervigilance into the mix!

(I also want to point out… Fuuta’s second voice drama is titled “Baptism of Fire”. Yes, it’s a turn of phrase involving fire because that’s Fuuta’s motif, but knowing what we do now this was completely intentional foreshadowing)

The attack Fuuta sustained from Kotoko would be traumatic for anyone, and I feel that the effect this attack had on him is frequently dismissed because he wasn’t on the brink of death like Mahiru was. In Shidou’s T2 voice drama, he lists Fuuta’s injuries as: an orbital floor fracture, traumatic retinal detachment, bruising, lacerations, and a partial fracture of the thorax. This is going to cause some very severe chronic pain for him, particularly in his head and chest, especially considering they don’t have access to proper treatment and from what Fuuta has said they likely don’t have access to any sort of painkillers either. Even the act of just breathing is going to exacerbate his pain, and there’s just nothing that can be done for it. Speaking as someone with chronic pain myself, it definitely has a severe impact on your mental state and ability to do quite literally anything.

Regarding the “voices and eyes” of the audience, Fuuta has always been a special case, because out of the characters that have mentioned the voices in particular he has been the most severely and negatively affected by them. He states that he can’t sleep because he feels that he’s being watched, and he’s mentioned several times how badly the voices affect him and how badly he wants them to stop. And this sleep deprivation just aggravates quite literally everything else that he’s currently dealing with, physically and mentally, making everything worse by tenfold.

The fact that he even admits to being scared and shows weakness to Es, considering the fact that he has an innate need to hide any sort of weakness, should be very telling. We are also told so many times during T2 that Fuuta is at his breaking point and is a complete mess.

Although it’s not directly stated in canon, Fuuta very heavily showcases symptoms of psychosis that have seemed to become progressively worse through and after T2. (I made a post about this not too long ago, trying not to repeat too much here but I broke this down a little more in that other post)

And what’s a common symptom of psychosis? Religious delusion.

To start with, Fuuta's character even before entering Milgram is a prime example of someone who is extremely susceptible to falling in with a cult. Someone who is socially isolated, craves human connection and belonging, and who is searching for a sense of purpose/duty. You add onto that his murder and the need for someone to forgive him for it, the desperation for something to cling to, the worsening symptoms of psychosis and need for something to cure his pain? How in the world was he supposed to do anything but turn to religious delusion? If he hadn’t, it’s very likely the only other possible option he saw for himself was to end his life, which he mentions doing in Backdraft (and passively in his T2 voice drama).

There was a glimmer of hope when Fuuta mentions that he was grateful to Kazui and Shidou in the aftermath of Kotoko attacking him and what they did to help him, but it’s likely that he saw himself not able to continue relying on them considering Shidou had been so busy with Mahiru and Kazui may not have continued to be as present as Fuuta would have preferred. Which is heartbreaking, considering Fuuta seems to so desperately need an authority/protective adult figure to look up to. Mind you, 20 is not that old and especially if he never had that growing up, it’s natural to still want that at this age.

I would like to reiterate again that Amane did not “brainwash” nor “indoctrinate” Fuuta, she just ended up being the outlet for the only thing Fuuta has become convinced will save him. And now they’re stuck in a very sad cycle of enabling each other through their trauma.

All in all, looking at the pieces of Fuuta’s character I feel that this was always the plan, even from the beginning of T1. We were conditioned from the start to view Fuuta as guilty: by making his character theme red, by introducing him as foul mouthed, angry, arrogant, and unapologetic, and even from Jackalope’s comments in Es’ voice drama. We were conditioned to dislike him from the start, and since that guilty verdict in T1 was made Fuuta’s fate was sealed and this was always going to be the natural progression of his character. It was a slow build up, but was very well thought out and didn’t come out of nowhere.

This is the fulfillment of what happens when you put a socially isolated person through extreme stress and trauma with nothing to hold on to, and again is an excellent showcase of what it can look like to fall in with a cult even with no religious background. And how it’s even easier with individuals who have pre-existing mental illnesses/disorders.

We’ve come full circle and I’m very interested to see where his character goes from here.

[coolgrl111]

bf!hamzah x reader social media

a/n: like i promised, here’s a little something for hamzah!!! hopefully the slushies will take me in with open arms… and challengers babies, don’t worry i’m still here, just multitasking 😈

part 1

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Roadside

Summary: On your way back from a long weekend that you got to spent with Joel, his car breaks down. While you both waited for Tommy to get there to help, Joel has some ideas on how to spend the time waiting.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 792

Rating: T

Warnings: roadtrips, falling in love but slowly, car trouble, implied smut, kissing, flirting, feelings, teasing, kinda secret dating, fourteen year age gap

A/N: I'm missing references to three pics I think, but it doesn't get better than this lol (technically I am not here, because I am on a writing break) The moodboard screamed road trip to me, so this is what I did. This is for @iamasaddie 24 hour writing challenge and I hope it does not suck 🙃

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

„What are you gonna tell him when he gets here?“ You hummed, looking up at Joel. He gave you a small smile before he stepped closer, his big, strong hands coming down to part your legs for him, stepping between them so he was towering over you, the sun slowly setting on the horizon.

You had almost made it home. 

After a long weekend of having Joel to yourself without the fear of running into someone you both knew (if you left your hotel room at all) that you had spend in a tiny town in close to Dallas, you were on your way back, just an hour out of Austin when his truck made a very sad noise until the engine went out and the car stopped on the side of the road. 

He had tried to get it to work before, with a long groan, he told you he had to call Tommy cause the something something needed a something so he could fix it. He had kept his eyes on you the whole times as he made the call, looking beyond sexy in the shirt you bought him, with his too long getting hair that you had spent all night running your fingers through as he made you cum over and over again until you both passed out. 

You had met Tommy before. You just hadn’t met him as Joel’s girlfriend.

Things between you and Joel had been… slow until they weren’t.

You’ve known each other for almost two years due to you working as an interior designer occasionally with his company. But it was six months ago that you had gotten closer as you worked on a very time consuming project where the client brought you both to the verge of insanity with how often they were changing the plans. 

He had finally asked you out one night and the rest as they say, was history. 

„Guess I’m finally gonna introduce my controversially young girlfriend to him,“ Joel smiled before he kissed you softly. You gasped in mock offence, before tilting your chin up to meet his lips with a smile, your hands running up his broad back until your fingers slipped into his hair on the back of his neck. 

„Not that controversial,“ you grinned and he chuckled before his lips kissed down your neck. 

„Fourteen years is a lot,“ he mumbled against your neck and you sighed, letting your head fall to the side to give him more access. One of his hands slowly drifted up your thighs, his fingers pushing the fabric of your skirt up. 

„Only if you care what other people think. Last time I checked, we’re both very consenting adults,“ you said and he playfully bit into your neck making your shriek. 

„How consenting are we talking about here exactly?“ He asked and you looked up at him as one of his hands slipped between your legs, his fingers brushing over your damp panties. 

You could feel your nipples harden against the fabric of the shirt you had put on this morning and Joel seemed to notice too, his other hand coming up to cup one of your tits, his thumb playing with your nipple.

Looking around you realised that you were pretty much in the middle of nowhere. You couldn’t even remember when you had seen a car drive by the last time. 

„Consenting enough to let you fuck me in the middle of nowhere until your brother gets here,“ you whispered against his ear and he groaned, letting his forehead fall against yours. 

„Atta girl,“ he grinned, before he kissed you again while his hands made quick work of your underwear. 

You could still feel him dripping out of you, your legs a little weak, when you jumped of the back of the truck, Joel taking your hand as the door of the car that had parked behind his opened and a man jumped out, looking between the two of you. 

The sun had set by now, the cold air making you shiver and Joel let go of your hand, to put an arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him, the warmth of his body helping instantly. 

„So this is how I get to find out the mysterious woman that makes my brother grin like a teenager with a crush when he looks at his phone is you?“ Tommy Miller approached with a wide grin. You could practically hear Joel roll his eyes and you smiled at his brother. 

„You got a crush on me, Miller?“ You teased and looked up at him. 

„Brat,“ he sighed, fighting a smile.

„You love it,“ you winked, feeling him pull you closer. 

„Yeah, I really do,“ he hummed before he kissed you softly. 

[pugh-bug]

Flashing Lights

Art Donaldson x reader

If people like this I’ll write a part 2 and possibly some sub Art fics in the future. Challengers is all I can think about at the moment and this blonde man is living rent free in my brain.

——————————————————————

‘Come on come on, they can never have too many pictures taken of them!’

Your friend dragged you and your mediocre camera, quite forcefully, to Tashi Duncan’s party. It wasn’t just that you hadn’t been invited and that you weren’t remotely a tennis player it was that Ashley’s lame excuse of ‘they need more photographers’ was patently untrue. Everywhere you looked there were photographers with cameras that cost more than your yearly rent.

‘I’ll get us a drink wait here.’

You watched her confidently insert herself into the queue for the bar, in between endless posters of Tashi Duncan hoodies and Tashi Duncan headbands. If you hadn’t been such a feminist you might have felt a little sick from all the masturbatory self promotion.

In your idleness you decided to people watch. There were no less than a hundred people there already, all dressed elegantly with hair and makeup that no doubt took longer to do than the night would even last. You pulled at your tight dress. Flattering? Definitely. Comfortable? Absolutely not. Ashley had the tennis body, the Tashi Duncan confidence and skill but without the praise or queue of fans. You had your camera.

You hadn’t touched a tennis racket since you were ten years old. These people weren’t your peers they were your betters, including the snobby photographers and perhaps even including Ashely. At least she knew what ‘down the line’ meant.

‘Can we go?’ Your voice sounded bitter as Ashley handed you a cocktail. ‘I’ve got two photoshoots to edit for tomorrow and I don’t even like tennis! Why am I even here?’ As your friend defended her plan to ‘sleep with as many rich tennis players as possible’ your eyes wandered once again, this time landing on a man who needed no introduction.

‘Is that … Art Donaldson?’

It was him, smoking a cigarette by Patrick Zweig dressed for Summer. Fire and ice in the flesh. You suddenly felt the need to readjust your dress, your hair, your earrings. To fidget. To fidget and prepare for the chance he might look in your direction and see what he wanted.

‘Fuck me it’s Zweig.’

As Ashley launched into a thesis on why Patrick was the hottest man she’d ever seen, your eyes bored into the side of Art’s head. His curls fell so perfectly on his forehead but all you could find yourself imagining was messing them up. As your staring breached the line of too far, Ashley tapped your arm. ‘Think I should go talk to him? Flirt a bit? He’s a bit of a man whore, I’m pretty sure I could get him.’ Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the recipient of your staring began to move closer.

It only took a few moments for Art to reach yours and Ashley’s corner of refuge but his eyes never strayed from you. Zweig had followed him like a puppy and whilst you couldn’t have cared less where the brunette chose to stand, you could practically feel Ashley screaming in her head.

‘Aaliyah right? You basically murdered my friend out there yesterday.’ As Ashley corrected Patrick’s memory, you forced your eyes to look at anything that wasn’t Art’s knowing smirk in your direction. It didn’t work, in fact your refusal to make eye contact with the future star had made your feelings glaringly obvious.

You’d watched him play many times, instead of doing your own work, and although you found tennis a little boring the man had you riveted. The ease at which he hit the ball with such force, the little hand movements he’d do during a tie break and his cruel habit of taking his shirt off on hot days … you were hooked.

As he eyed your dress you wondered if he’d seen you, made note of just how many matches you’d been front and centre at. Maybe he knew you were an amateur photographer and perhaps his smirk was intended as a mockery of your being there. Art knew you didn’t belong at thee Tashi Duncan’s after party. You both knew it. He looked at you, finally as you’d lifted your gaze, and cocked his head slightly to the side.

‘So, you don’t like tennis?’

Shit.

‘Oh. You heard that.’

‘Yep.’

His voice was glazed with amusement as he sipped his cold beer, daring you to defend yourself.

‘Ashley was invited,’ you lied with little ease. ‘I’m here as her friend- well I guess also photographer but you all seem to have that covered.’ Both yours and Art’s eyes glanced at the gang of professionals taking Tashi’s photo. She was holding the shimmering trophy as if it was nothing of real value, she had the humble but proud smile down. Art clocked your jealous expression and raised an eyebrow. ‘Tashi not your favourite?’

‘She’s pretty amazing and she looks fucking beautiful tonight I can’t lie. I just, I guess I wish I was that talented.’

Despite her successful flirting to Patrick, Ashley heard your little, sad admission. Mentally you scolded yourself for letting Art see your vulnerable side. Instead of judgement he smiled.

‘Are you not the best at getting front row seats?’

He left off ‘at my matches’ but the point had been made loud and clear. You chose not to react and to ignore him completely. ‘Ashley?’ But when you turned your head to your friend you saw her mouth was occupied. Oh.

Art laughed at his best friend. ‘Seriously? You couldn’t go one night?’ No, Patrick couldn’t and he couldn’t find it in his horny heart to feel guilty for stealing your one friend and escape route from you. The pair, still connected by their lips, hurried away from the party and to some poor fucker’s bedroom. You were alone with Art Donaldson and the party that engulfed the two of you had began to die down.

‘I should go too-‘

‘Wanna go down to the beach with me?’

You couldn’t help but scoff audibly at his request. ‘You don’t even know my name.’

Art’s eyes practically gleamed with cheekiness as he moved towards you. ‘Then tell me.’

‘It’s Y/N.’

With a charming smile he repeated his offer. ‘Y/N… wanna go down to the beach with me?’

If a mind reader had been in attendance you’d have been mortified as your first thought was: Oh god have I even shaved?

The decision to take your heels off had been an impulsive one and an instant regret as you felt the brittle sand rub against your toes. Avoiding the broken glass, you walked into Art’s shoulder and quickly apologised. ‘You’re like a baby deer.’

You perched on the rock overlooking the water that moonlight reached. Art’s eyes were transfixed on you as your hair blew from your shoulders. Surely he was just bored and flirting for fun. But you hadn’t seen him speak to anyone except Patrick before approaching you.

‘What is it about photography?’ Art gestured to the camera you almost forgot you were still wearing around your neck.

‘What is it about tennis?’

Art lit his second cigarette, took a drag and smirked.

‘I’ll let you answer that.’

Much to his elation, your dress had begun to ride up but you hadn’t noticed. You simply dug your toes in the sand and smiled coyly at the blonde. But how to best handle this?

‘Watching you play tennis isn’t like watching other people play tennis.’

Art grinned, only for a moment, but you caught the ego boost in real time. He moved backwards in his chair, outstretching his long legs and looking up at you with keen interest and quiet amusement. ‘Go on.’

Your mind flashed back to his most recent match. His opponent had purposefully coughed every time it was Art’s turn to serve and instead of letting it distract him or doing it back Art had fired the ball, with force, by his head. It had been a warning, not a greatly subtle one but certainly great to watch. The shock on the boys face as he narrowly missed receiving a black eye had made you laugh and you suddenly remembered Art had beamed at you when you had.

‘You’re just really good at it.’

‘Try again.’

He wasn’t making this easy for you but that didn’t mean you had to shower him in compliments, not when he hadn’t so much as asked you your name until prompted. You watched him, completely settled and comfortable in Tashi Duncan’s deck hair and wondered if someone this confident and talented (and knew as much) could possibly be single… unless?

‘Are you and Patrick just friends?’

He twitched ever so slightly at your question before covering his shock with a chuckle.

‘Umm.. yes. Sorry to disappoint.’

You smiled, suddenly feeling more confident now that you’d put him on the spot for the first time that night.

‘Not disappointed.’

Seeing you at ease, seemingly with any answer he had to offer, Art relaxed into his chair again. A moment of silence passed as the two of you listened to the very end of the party above and the seas tumbling waves. The water was just beginning to reach the rock you’d been safely perching on. A sign to leave.

‘I think I should go back to my ho-AAA!’

You’d barely taken two steps before buried broken glass assaulted your feet.

‘Jesus fuck!’

‘Y/N!’

The pain shot through you from toe to head, it settled in between your eyebrows as you frowned, trying not to scream. Art’s face was a picture of panic. He couldn’t help but notice how much pain you were in from putting weight on your foot, which had just begun to bleed as a thought entered his head.

‘I’ll carry you.’

‘I think I can walk.’

You took a hesitant step further but your foot ,in an act of betrayal, buckled under the pain. Giving Art a look of defeat you sighed. ‘Yeah, I think you’re gonna have to.’

You thought it would feel strange, the man whom you’d been watching almost obsessively for months play a sport you despised carrying you to safety. It didn’t. It felt right. His strong arms flexed under your weight as he took confident but cautious steps to Tashi’s party. There wasn’t much left of it. In fact the only people still there were two photographers packing up their lighting equipment and they didn’t give you so much as a second glance.

‘Any chance you secretly are friends with Tashi?’ Art asked, his voice hopeful, hoping he could drop you off to safety. He pursed his lips when you shook your head. Another moment of silence passed through the two of you but this one was different. You craned your neck out to gage the distance before suggesting:

‘My hotel really isn’t far. A mile at most.’

Art smirked for a moment, forgetting what the actual circumstances were. Your foot had stopped bleeding but you didn’t feel like walking. In fact you were rather enjoying Art Donaldson: the knight in shining armour. It was a good look on him.

‘Uber?’

‘Think of it as a workout.’

It wasn’t the recreational workout Art had been hoping for that night but he did it. He carried you and your shoes to your hotel room. The receptionist barely reacted to your new person but of course what did she care? She was probably only concerned with what mess you’d leave the cleaners.

‘67, this is it.’

Art put you down, keeping his arm around your waist for support. He was a little flushed from the exertion and you were flushed from the pain, or perhaps just his wandering hand.

‘Do you want me to st-‘

‘I want you to stay.’ You interrupted him hurriedly, desperate for him to stay. In that moment you didn’t mind if he stayed to read the complimentary bible next to you or if he wanted to fuck you mercilessly in front of the bathroom mirror. You just wanted him close.

At your eagerness, Art smiled following you in. Your hotel room was not too messy for visitors but it certainly hadn’t been expecting any. For a moment you wondered how Ashley was getting on in her room down the hall and if she too had embarrassed herself in front of her favourite tennis player. Somewhat likely.

‘I think seeing as you’ve carried me bleeding you can see me in pyjamas. Give me one se-‘

You gestured to the bathroom and your dress, looking forward to getting out of it but Art shook his head. You froze. His face was one of sheer determination and unwavering confidence, not unlike the look he gave cocky opponents who needed humbling. He closed the gap between you until his chest was inches from yours but blocked by your camera. You took it off, not breaking eye contact, and placed it slowly on the desk behind you.

Just as you thought the only way to break the silence would be with a kiss, Art broke eye contact. ‘Do you have any antiseptic wipes? Anything to clean it?’ You felt your stomach unclench. ‘Yeah.’ Limping slightly, you fetched a packet from the bathroom sink and placed them in Art’s open palm. He gestured to the bed.

‘Sit.’

His order was polite but you felt compelled. Sitting on your own bed as if it was alien, you looked up at him waiting for the next.

‘Foot.’

Art got down on his knees. Your stomach flipped. With careful hands, he held your injured foot and inspected it. You’d never felt so exposed before, the way his eyes engaged with your wound as if it were more fascinating than any match he’d won. There was an unspoken rule for neither of you to speak as he cleaned you. It stung like a bitch but you only let out minor hisses in pain, barely audible to Art but not unnoticeable.

As he took out a plaster, seemingly from thin air, and applied it to your foot he said: ‘Before tonight,’ Ouch. You winced from the pressure he applied. ‘I’d seen you watching me.’ He didn’t look at you, only concentrating on his handiwork and causing you as little pain as possible.

‘Yeah I gathered from all the teasing.’

His voice grew suddenly lower. ‘I’m not talking about tennis matches.’

You were suddenly reminded of a not so distant memory. Ashley had stood you up for lunch, she’d found a better hot date, and you had been in the cafeteria alone. Art had been queuing in front of you, waiting for Patrick and you’d been in awe. What you hadn’t noticed was that he’d sensed your eyes burning holes into the back of his head long before he turned around. He had given you a passing look of recognition and slight amusement before finding his seat next to Patrick.

You imagined alongside that memory were hundreds others. Hundreds of days you’d stared at Art, watched how he span his apples before eating them and the line of his jaw when he drank water in oppressive heat. All the time he had known, you just hadn’t been as subtle as you thought.

‘Oh.’

Art gave you your foot back and sat on the bed beside you. For a moment you couldn’t bare to look at him, incase he disappeared and decided it was funnier to leave you hanging. Your foot was the least of your worries. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d really kissed someone, with feverish need, but you wanted to.

Noticing your inward battle, Art raised his hands almost in defeat. ‘I can leave.’ He meant it, there was no judgement. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his clouded with lust, and recognised that this was a man who needed to be wanted. He wanted to give and receive pleasure, not out of boredom but out of a clawing need for it. If you wanted him to leave then he’d leave but if you wanted him to stay then he’d make the most of it.

Your hand settled atop of his.

‘Don’t.’

Part 2

Masterlist

Resources 🇸🇩🇨🇩🇵🇸

[esilher]

Dear @paraphwrites, here is my @klainesecretsanta2024 for you!

Thank you for your wishlist, I tried my best to make fit in « one » drawing: New York, Vogue, reluctantly-friends-turned-lovers and starting with klaine meeting.

I hope this little story makes you smile.

And I wish you Happy Holidays! 

And it’s on AO3!! (wow….it feels cool…)

[the-fab-fox]

Atten: Interest Check

Okay so. It's almost March! Which means stores and places are gonna be getting all that green, leprechaun-y, shamrock-y stuff going.

So I thought. You know what else is green and shamrock-y?

A very special young man named Trey <Middle Name> Clover.

Aw look how cute. 🥹

Anyway. So here's the pitch:

A month long fic and writing challenge featured around Trey Clover. For the month of March. (I know it's short notice but that's why I'm doing the interest check.)

I'll be real. A big part of this is due to the absolutely uncalled for hatred he has received for his dream. Y'all literally married in your mind to would be murders but Trey's dream where he wanted everyone happy is crossing a line? Like okay. Sure, Jan.

So if you're one of them, get off this post and probably unfollow me. My Trey love is too massive and insurmountable to contain. Especially this month.

But also, since Sebek's bday will be on Saint Patty's Day you'll have some prompts that feature him as well.

Okay so my thought on how it would go down:

Each week will have specific prompts that you can pick from. There will also be some free days peppered in. Lastly if you absolutely hate the prompts one week, you can absolutely just go free day. Id much rather you enjoy yourself rather than try to force a prompt you're not vibing with.

And ofc, this challenge will be for all of you. If you aren't feeling a week or get behind, no worries. This is your baby once I get it to you guys.

We just really need more Trey love in this fandom okay.

So first, things first?

Now. I'd like to hear from you guys who are interested in the replies:

Do y'all want more thematic/poetic type prompts, ship prompts, etc? And how many prompts y'all want for each week? My initial thought was two but three could be good too. Lmk.

Alright, I can't think of anything else.

Please reblog to get the word out.

[kneworder]

need more challengers fics where they actually are at least half as toxic as they are in the movie. tashi told art she would leave him if he lost a tennis match and refused to say i love you and cheated on him twice. art got right in the middle of patrick and tashi's relationship didn't speak to patrick for years after and then told him he wasn't even a peer and didn't matter when they finally saw each other again. patrick decided he was going to fuck with both of them by sleeping with tashi and then basically announced this to art mid tennis match. like i know these people would not deal with any of this or any of their other baggage before entering a relationship. can you imagine trying to hardlaunch a throuple that toxic. it's delicious. why do i keep seeing challengers triad fluff. as if art wouldn't think neither of them actually love or even care about him once he retires but would still do anything to keep them from leaving him and patrick wouldn't be insanely dickish and mean because he's desperate to prove he's not just the washed-up tagalong to his situationship's eight-year failmarriage that should have been his and tashi wouldn't be furious with them both for not being happy instantly when she feels like she's given them all she can give and furious with herself for having both of them and it still not being enough. please. these people are HOT but more importantly they are UNWELL.

[beefrobeefcal]

The Glandolorian November Prompt Challenge

In honor of the newest P-boy joining the roster, let's ignore him and give Mr. Djarin Din some time to shine - with The Glandolorian!

We are opening it up to non-fic submissions, too! Want to participate? Post your Mando in the Colosseum submission by November 30th with the hashtag #the glandolorian 2024 and tag me - @beefrobeefcal.You can also send me the link to your submissions via direct msg or in my inbox.

VISUAL ARTS SUBMISSIONS MUST INCLUDE:

Mando in a gladiator role of sorts

The following wording: I saw what you did there, and that was NOT the way.

Dieter Bravo (or reference to) must be incorporated somehow

IF MANDO/DIN/MR>DJARIN IS NOT YOUR BAG, YOU CAN SWAP OUT FOR AN ALTERNATE: Late 1990's Xerox Commercial Pedro

FIC SUBMISSIONS MUST INCLUDE:

Mando in a gladiator role of sorts

The following wording: I saw what you did there, and that was NOT the way.

Dieter Bravo must be mentioned or referenced at least once.

IF MANDO/DIN/MR.DJARIN IS NOT YOUR BAG, YOU CAN SWAP OUT FOR AN ALTERNATE: Late 1990's Xerox Commercial Pedro

Let the games begin,

Beefro👌🥩💜

[ekingston]

also on ao3.

“Would you stop fondling my boobs?” Lena hisses, watching as a man nearly wanders into traffic staring at what looks like Lena Luthor, elbow-deep in her own cleavage. He swerves, promptly face-planting into a lamp post when he sees Supergirl herself slap Lena’s hand away. “We’re in public,” Lena reminds her.

“Ouch,” Kara yelps. “Gentle!”

“Sorry,” Lena says. But she only feels a little bad, because at least Kara is now cradling her arm instead of getting Lena arrested for indecent exposure.

Kara is still squirming when Lena checks them in, the receptionist beaming at her in a way Lena has never been beamed at before. Dr. Sattler’s ready for them. Kara gives Lena a last, panicked look, and then she takes the therapist’s offered hand and introduces herself.

“Lena Luthor,” Kara tells Dr. Sattler with a lopsided grin. “Good to meet you.”

“And Supergirl,” Dr. Sattler says, turning to Lena, her gaze briefly flitting down at the S on Lena’s chest. “How wonderful you managed to finally come in.”

Kara flops down onto the couch with a grateful sigh, the skirt of her dress gapping immodestly as she kicks off Lena’s heels. Lena nudges her legs to close them, annoyed. The injustice of Kara getting to act as if she wants to be here. As if she hasn’t been avoiding this visit for months.

(Do we really need to do this? Kara had asked Lena just this morning. Kara’s gaze had been a cross-eyed, sparkling green as Lena applied her eyeliner with a trembling, freckled hand.

Lena had growled in response, knowing even the barest bit of unintentional pressure could blind her for life. We’re not going to cancel just because we’re wearing each other’s bodies, Kara. Hold still.

I bet you’d look good with an eyepatch, Kara had breathed, after which Lena had given up on the endeavor altogether.)

“Your work must keep you busy,” the therapist says magnanimously.

Lena huffs out a laugh. “You can say that again.” And when the Dr. looks at her, curious, “Being a superhero and all that. Always off saving the world!”

“That goes for both of us,” Kara points out. “You—I—don’t even make it to bed, most nights.” And then, softer, “Even when you tell me you’ll wait up.”

“I wish I wouldn’t.” Lena turns to the therapist and explains, “I eat when I’m bored. She comes home to a bed full of crumbs. Who wants to have sex when the sheets are littered with bits of Captain Crunch?”

Dr. Sattler opens her mouth to answer, but Kara doesn’t give her the chance. “Maybe I could make an effort not to be such a neat freak,” she pouts.

Lena’s eyes flash. “Maybe I could make an effort to wash my hands after I use the bathroom,” she snaps back.

Kara sits up. “You do!” she shouts. “You’re just quick about it!”

Lena sighs. “The laws of nature don’t work that way, darling.”

Kara makes a face Lena vows never to make again if she ever gets her body back. “I leave my hair in the shower.”

Lena snorts. “I wash it down the drain. That’s worse.”

“But you fix it!” Kara looks at her with Lena's own wide, pleading eyes. “That’s how—how you show love. By fixing things.”

“Wrong,” Lena flings back. “I break them, so I can feel needed.”

Kara blinks at her, looking hurt.

“That’s.” Dr. Sattler pauses for a moment. “Some very impressive self-reflection,” she decides.

Lena smiles at her, glad they’re getting somewhere.

Kara looks from the therapist to Lena, her blood red lips—easier than eyeliner—pinching together with uncanny chagrin. “I faked my own kidnapping to get out of her family’s Thanksgiving,” she accuses darkly.

Lena sniffs. “I have a codependent relationship with my sister.”

Kara gasps. Dr. Sattler’s eyes widen. Lena arches an eyebrow with considerable effort.

“Oh yeah?” Kara sputters. “Well,” she flails, her nostrils flaring. “You—" she takes a deep breath. "I have mommy issues.”

Oh, fuck no. That's too far. “You do not,” Lena squawks.

"No?" Kara cocks her jaw in a way that makes Lena feel, for the first time, a little sorry for the men she���s similarly stared down. “Let’s find out,” Kara says with the smallest of smirks, and then she retrieves, horribly, from Lena’s purse, Lena’s phone.

“You wouldn’t,” Lena whispers, her heart stopping.

Kara jumps up with surprising agility, dancing out of Lena’s reach. “This’ll just take a second,” she promises Dr. Sattler. “Hello? Mother?”

Lena scrambles over to the other end of the couch, practically throwing herself across the room in an effort to get to Kara.

“No reason,” Kara croons into the phone, grinning as she maneuvers herself away from Lena’s grasp. An elaborately painted and unfortunately placed vase isn’t so lucky. “Just calling to say hey,” Kara says. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Lena really should have taken Kara up on her offer to help Lena master her power of flight. “Don’t make me hurt you,” she yells.

“It is!” Kara sing-songs. “Still going strong, yup. Which is why I called! We were wondering—”

“Don’t you dare,” Lena hisses, clawing for Kara’s shoulder and exploding a couch cushion instead.

“—how would you feel about coming to our wedding?”

Lena freezes, flecks of stuffing falling around them like snow.

“Excellent!” Kara chirps. “We'll see you there.”

Dr. Sattler clears her throat. “I don’t think you two have anything to worry about,” she says. “Your communication style is—unique, but obviously effective.”

Kara beams at her as they're leaving, wearing a deeply pleased expression Lena didn’t even think her face was capable of making. “You really should start wearing more comfortable bras,” she says, rolling her shoulders. “Also maybe take up yoga.”

Lena hums. “You’ve never had any complaints before.”

Kara stops and stares at her, aghast. "Is that what I look like when I'm coming on to you?"

Lena grins at her. "Why do you think I'm marrying you?"

Kara giggles.

- - -

This was written for the multi fandom (and original!) flash fiction challenge, using the prompts ‘established relationship’, ‘at a therapist’s office’, ‘body swap’ and ‘an eyepatch’. You should give it a whirl!

[flemuer]

Little art Donaldson smut never hurt anyone 😩

Imagine…

Kissing art is a head-spinning experience, he’s gentle but so needy, quickly slow small groans of pleasure come from his mouth, they were enough to make your pussy slick, after a moment of a gentle and kind make-out, you decide you needed more so licking arts lips to permit you to stick your tongue down his throat was the step that you needed and the one he would never deny you, it was getting more intense, teeth clashing whines instead of groans were coming out of his pretty mouth, you were getting so lost in it you almost missed his other hand awkwardly moving along your curves (he don't know what to do with all that🤭) he just needed a little direction so you grabbed his free hand and placed it on my tit, he immediately started massaging it, toying with your nipples you started kissing back harder, he pushed you back against the wall right next to your dorm room, but you both didn’t care if you were practically humping each other in the public corridor. The realisation of— you probably both can’t breathe comes to mind, needing a breath you pulled back art protested quickly and tried to link your lips again.

[viveela]

The Princess has been kidnapped!

Drew this for a fic I've been tryna make for ages, it's finally seeing the light

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

swift revenge

Summary: Taking out a threat of a big group of raiders one of Jackson Patrol groups had spotted the day before, leaves Joel finding someone form his past he thought had been dead for over twenty years.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 3.2k

Rating: M

Warnings: post outbreak, raiders, holding people in cages, sexual trafficking, implied sexual abuse, angst, dark themes, reunion, protective Joel, feral Joel taking immediate revenge when he finds out what had been done to reader, reader is Joel's pre outbreak fiancé, blood, little bit of gore

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

"Who did this to you" Drabbles

There were many, many things he could be doing right now. 

He could be at home. He could be sitting in front of his fire place, in the warmth, reading a book or enjoying a glass of shitty whiskey. 

He could try to talk to Ellie again, maybe talk her into playing the guitar with him again. 

Hell, he’d rather be working in the kitchens, enduring the trash talk of the kitchen staff, than riding through this fucking snow storm with a group of the patrol men and women, riding towards the outer parts to a small town where another patrol group had spotted raiders the day before. 

He knew that if they had been sent out through this weather, these raiders must be a real threat. 

And while he knew he was one of the most trusted and capable patrol group members, he was getting tired. 

The last two years in Jackson had made him grew comfortable. Maybe even a little lazy at times. He wasn’t getting any younger.

Sometimes he wondered how his life would be right now, if the outbreak hadn’t happened.

If he would still be living in his house in Austin. Maybe he would have got into Sarah’s pleas and put a pool in the backyard. 

Maybe his baby girl would have found someone and gotten married. Hell, maybe he’d be a grandpa by now. 

And you… maybe he would have gotten to marry you. Make a home with you. Have another kid or two….

He shook his head, his eyes blinking back into reality. 

„Approach with caution. Will and Emma spotted at least six people before they retreated. They chose the big school that we cleared some months ago as their shelter. There might be more people inside. We gonna meet up with the second patrol group in the woods behind the school and then decide how we carry on,“ Tommy instructed the group of eight people Joel was part of. 

Joel took a deep breath before he rode forwards, next to his brother. 

„How bad do you think it is?“ He asked, hearing Tommy sigh. 

„William said they saw how three men dragged a woman from inside and… you can imagine. Dunno what else is waiting inside. I don’t like it. But they got to close to Jackson. Gotta take care of them,“ he said. 

„Think we could get into the school through the barricaded basement?“ Joel asked, hearing Tommy hum. 

„Possibly. Let’s check in with the other group. They have been watching them for the last four hours,“ Tommy said. Joel nodded. 

„Hey uh… You okay? You seem… dunno quieter today,“ Tommy said, looking up at Joel from where he was riding next to him. 

Joel released a long breath.

„It’s her birthday today,“ he said quietly and Tommy raised his eyebrows before a sad smile came to his lips. 

„You gonna be okay?“ Tommy asked and Joel gave him a half smile. 

„Don’t have another choice, huh?“ He shrugged and Tommy pressed his lips together in a tight smile. 

„We should get a drink after. To celebrate her,“ Tommy said. 

Joel nodded. 

„I’d like that.“

There were definitely more than six people inside this school. Thankfully the basement entrance had still been barricaded, so they could enter the school quietly without alerting anyone inside.

But what they encountered once they made their way upstairs was unlike he had ever seen.

These people must have been here for a while.

And they were monsters. 

Cages were set up, women chained inside, with only either their head or their legs sticking out and Joel could only imagine what these monsters had been doing to them. 

He was still trying to form a plan when the first shot rang out. 

The following minutes where a blur. He had lost count of the amount of men he had killed as he made his way towards the other side of the room, still keeping an eye on the patrol group and his brother who was right beside him, taking the threats out until only three of the raiders were left, now tied up to a pole close to the staircase, William, one of the first patrol men, keeping an eye on them, gun pointed at them. 

Joel closed his eyes, his gun still in his hand as he searched for his brother who was already walking towards him. 

„How many?“ Joel asked. 

„Counted around 20 including the three that are still alive,“ he said, bending down to clean his knife from blood using the shirt of one of the dead men laying on the ground. 

Joel sighed. 

„I don’t like this,“ he said.

„Me neither. Might need some help with getting some answers out of the rest. Wanna know if there are more and how they found this place,“ Tommy said and Joel nodded. 

„What about…?“ Joel gestured around them, counting six cages. He hadn’t looked closer at who was inside. 

Tommy rubbed his fingers over his nose in deep thought. 

„Offer them to join Jackson. Don’t think they gonna trust us though. Can only imagine what these monsters put them through. Might need to send for some women from Jackson. We only have Emma here to talk to them and you know they probably do not trust men. I wouldn’t either,“ Tommy said.

Joel sighed, letting his gaze drift through the room that must have been the cafeteria before the outbreak. 

He would never understand just how much the outbreak changed people. Or more like… let them live their true self without having to think of the aftermath of their actions. 

„We gonna search the rooms on this level first and the rest of the building for more people and then I’m gonna send three people back to Jackson to get some more people and horses over here,“ Tommy said and Joel nodded. Tommy gave him a tired smile before he turned away from him and walked towards some patrol member to instruct them about what to do

Joel walked towards the first dead person laying on the ground, searching through his clothes. He hated this part, but it was important. More than once the stuff people had on them had given him clues to other threats that were around.

He was checking the third person when he heard Tommy call out for him. 

Joel grabbed the ammo he had found and walked towards his brother who was standing at one of the more closed caged. They were build rather amateurish with some wood and some barbed wire on the top. He tried to school his face into a neutral one when he approached, pointedly ignoring the filthy line of what could only be dried cum dripping down what looked like a improvised flap in the door, next to where Tommy was standing in the opened door to the cage. 

Tommy looked at Joel with an expression he had never seen before. Fear, surprise, pity?

„What’s going on?“ Joel asked and he saw Tommy send two of the patrol men away who had been standing next to him. 

Joel joined Tommy at the opened door, Tommy’s lips opening and closing without any words coming out before he finally just nodded his head towards the cage where Joel could see a woman sit in the corner, her back towards them. 

She was hiding, making herself as small as possible.

Her hair was long and matted, laying over her shoulder, almost reaching down to the ground.

„Tommy…“ Joel began, wanting to ask what the fuck was going on when the woman turned her head towards them, bright wide eyes looking directly at them.

It was like his body knew, before his brain did. 

His heart rate going up, his hands clenching into fists. His breathing quickened and he only realised he had lost his balance when he felt Tommy’s arm behind his back, holding him up.

He knew those eyes. 

He saw them in his dreams during good nights when he woke up in his old home, in his old bed, in her arms.

He saw them in his nightmares during bad nights when he imagined the million ways she had possibly died. 

He whispered your name and could see your head tilting, your eyes still on him. He didn’t know how long you just stared at each other before something in your face changed, your bottom lip trembling.

„Joel?“

Through the fog inside your brain, it took a while to realise that the man standing in the opened door of what had been your prison for weeks (or months) was not your in your imagination. 

He looked older, and for a small moment you were angry that even after more than twenty years and a whole fucking apocalypse Joel Miller still looked like he stepped straight out of a wet dream. 

You hugged yourself tighter, still cowering in the corner furthest from the door, your feelings overwhelming you. 

You mourned him. 

All this time you had mourned him.

You had been at his parents ranch near Nashville to prepare the birthday party of his mother the following week, Joel, Sarah and Tommy due to arrive the day after Joel’s birthday.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine waking up during the night having to kill both your future mother and father in law, both of them infected. 

For days after you were in shock, hiding in the old bunker under the barn, thankful for Joel’s dad being a little bit of a prepper.

You eventually, after waiting for weeks, made your way to a QZ, not knowing that only days after Joel would have made his way to his childhood home in the hope of finding you. 

You learned quickly that the QZ was your personal hell and you took the first real chance of something better to get out. 

And life was good for a while after that. You joined a community near Denver. You even made your way back to Austin, spending more time than you probably should have searching for even the smallest sign that Joel and Sarah had survived. But you found your old home abandoned. The cabinets picked over.

You had locked yourself into your old bedroom, allowing yourself to cry over the things you lost, before you took some pieces to take with you. 

One of Joel’s shirts and his aftershave that was still halfway full.

A picture of you, Joel and Sarah that had been taken on the day he had asked you to marry him. 

Once you got back to the community life moved on. 

But your luck had to run out sooner or later and after you community fell, you had been taken hostage and deemed to be left alive to… entertain the raiders who had burned down your home. 

You didn’t even know how long you had been with them. 

You didn’t know how long it had been since they had taken you. It could be months or years. 

You grew numb after a while. It was the only way to endure their abuse on your mind and body. 

The only way to survive was to flee into your imagination. 

And Joel was always there. 

You jumped when he took a step forward, his hands outstretched in a calming manner.

„Joel?“ You whispered again, tears filling your eyes. 

„It’s me Darlin’. Can I come over to you?“ He asked, and hearing his voice made the first tears escape. 

You slowly shook your head and he stopped, looking at you with concern. 

„I’m… Are you really here?“ You whispered. You could see him gulp, his eyes closing for a moment before he nodded. 

„I’m here. I’m really here. I…“ he shook his head, looking around before he looked back at you and slowly took his coat off. 

„It’s cold and you’re…. Can I put this on you?“ He asked, holding out his coat. 

You shook your head. 

„I’m filthy and I… You don’t…“ you were overwhelmed, not knowing what to do. 

„I don’t care about that Darlin’. I just want you to be comf…. I don’t want you to be cold,“ he said, approaching you slowly, like he would a frightened deer. As if you would jump away if he moved to quickly. 

„Okay,“ you whispered and he let out a relieved breath before he got closer to you.

„Let me help you,“ he whispered and you took a deep breath, closing your eyes as you turned towards him, your muscles spasming as you moved them, letting him slowly help you into his coat. You heard his sharp inhale the moment he saw what they did to you, the many many scars covering your whole chest, your whole body really, his breath stuttering for a moment before he slowly zipped up his coat and you couldn’t stop yourself as you let yourself fall against his chest. His arms pulling you against him immediately. 

You cried against his chest until you had no more tears left. 

When you finally looked up at him he was already looking at you.

Those big brown eyes you had fallen in love with looking at you with concern and wonder.

He reached out slowly, giving you time to turn away before his fingers slowly brushed over your cheek, the palm of his hand slowly coming to rest against your cheek and you leaned into his touch. 

„Sweetheart,“ he whispered and you closed your eyes. 

„Who did this to you?“ He asked and you released a shaky breath, opening your eyes again. 

„Who… Who hurt you like that? Who…. Who did this to you? Please tell me,“ he was almost begging, and you could see how he was restraining himself to keep calm. There was something lingering in his eyes that should scare you, but instead you found comfort in it. 

„Everyone. They all…“ you stopped yourself, one of your hands coming up to press against your chest, a move that you used to calm yourself down. 

You felt something drop down on your hand, looking up to find a tear drip down Joel’s cheek. 

„Tommy,“ he said and you were confused for a moment before someone else walked into your cell, and there was Tommy Miller, who you had not realised had been there before.

„Hi,“ he smiled warmly at you and you awkwardly smiled back, not having used these muscles in a long time. 

„Tommy is gonna stay with you,“ Joel said and you looked at Joel with wide eyes, your fingers digging into his arms, not wanting him to leave. 

„No… No… No you need to stay…. I need you to….“ You panicked. 

„Shhh…. Sweetheart. I’ll be right back. I just need…. I just need to punch one of these people in the face before I….“ You could feel him shaking beneath you in barely contained fury. 

„Joel,“ you whispered, and he finally looked at you. 

„Can you…. Can you take me away form here?“ You asked, voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

He took a deep calming breath before he looked at Tommy. 

„I’m okay to go back home?“ He asked. Tommy nodded. 

„Okay. Okay….“ He said, more to himself before he looked back at you. 

„I’m gonna take you home,“ he said.

When you slowly made your way towards the exit he picked two blankets, pulling them around your shoulders. You looked around the room, finding so many of the men who had made your life a living hell for so long lying dead on the floor. 

But it were the very alive bright blue eyes of one of the men, Gabriel, who had loved to use his knife on you most, that were looking at you that made you shrink back against Joel, your steps faltering. 

„Ah I see how it is. Kill all of my men and then steal the tightest pussy right under my nose. Fucking assholes,“ he spat and you turned away from him, hiding against Joel.

„Tommy,“ he hissed under his breath and you found yourself in the other mans arms the next moment. You looked after Joel, internally already panicking about seeing him walk away from you, before he picked up one of the axes that had been used for firewood. 

„So you just pick up women and rape them because you feel like it huh?“ Joel asked as he walked towards him. 

„I mean Yeah,“ Gabriel shrugged.

Joel nodded, coming to a stop right in front of him. 

„And I’m gonna continue to fucking do it once I get out of here,“ he said and Joel chuckled.

„You think you’re getting out of here? Really?“ Joel asked, the handle of the axe now resting on top of his shoulder. 

„Had worse odds. Some of our guys are still out, scavenging. They gonna be back and then we gonna kill you. And then we gonna get to your little community and take over…“ he said, confidence pouring out of every pore of this disgustingly excuse of a human. 

„Oh yeah? What makes you think we haven’t killed all 27 of them already?“ Joel asked and Gabriel’s smile slowly disappeared. 

„Huh? Not so sure you gonna get out of here now? You think we’re amateurs? The rest of your men are right outside. Dead,“ Joel mocked.

„Please I….“

„Tell you what. I’ll let you go,“ Joel said and you stilled. You could still feel Tommy with his arm around you, keeping you close.

Gabriel didn’t say anything, just looking up at Joel. 

„Under one condition though,“ Joel’s lips twitched into a frightening smile. 

„What is it?“ Gabriel asked and Joel called for another man, whispering something in his ear, the other man nodding. 

„You really should look away now,“ Tommy said to you and you looked up at him. 

„Why?“ You asked. Tommy only shook his head but you looked back to Joel anyway just in time when Gabriel started yelling. 

The man Joel had whispered to was pulling at Gabriels pants until he was naked from the waist down. Two other men came and grabbed Gabriel who was now screaming. They pulled him up, carrying him over to a table where he then stood against it, Joel following them, the axe now swinging and you slowly connected the dots of what was about to happen. 

„I’m letting you go,“ Joel said, before he brought the axe down, Gabriel’s bloodcurdling scream filling the room that let you hide against Tommy, taking deep breaths against him. 

Everything that happened after was a blur, but the next thing you could remember was that you were on top of a horse, Joel holding you against him, your body tucked into the blankets against his chest.

„Thank you,“ you whispered, feeling his arms tighten around you, his lips finding your temple.

„Always,“ he whispered.

[strawwritesfic]

Kelvin!Spock x Female!Human!Reader: Mr. Right

Summary: When one door closes, another opens—perhaps the door you were meant to enter all along.

Warnings/Tags: Starship Enterprise; post-Star Trek Beyond; friends to lovers; breakup; almost kiss; counselor!reader; Star Trek: The Original Series references; Star Trek: The Next Generation references

Relationships: Spock/Reader; Spock & Nyota Uhura; past!Spock/Nyota Uhura; past!Kevin Riley/Reader

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Requester: @lovemesomeescapism

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: For once, this is not a repost for this challenge…technically. I did write a response to the prompt "Mr. Right" ages ago, but when I was reposting, I decided that the Now You See Me one shot I wrote really wasn't worth keeping. Someone on Tumblr asked me for a Spock one shot, so I slipped him in as a replacement.

It's been a really long time since I finished something new. I realize that I am rusty. This is actually several drafts into attempts to write this one shot. For the first time ever, I actually cannibalized previous drafts while trying to get the meandering dialogue and point back on track. It still doesn't feel quite "right" to me, but it's probably going to take some time before I get back in the swing of things, and I'm ready to let this one go.

Mr. Right

Throughout Terra's history, human beings had sought the comfort of white noise. Quiet droning sounds proved beneficial for many aspects of mental health in the species. As a counselor on board the U.S.S. Enterprise, you'd recommended listening to white noise to dozens of fellow crewmates and patients alike. The best way to do this in the deep space you'd all been exploring for nearly five years was to turn everything in one's quarters down until the low hum of the ship's warp drive became audible. Many of those crewmates and patients reported back to you with decreased stress levels, improved mood, and a distinct uptick in ability to concentrate. Almost all of them said they got better sleep.

Now you learned that every single one of them had lied to you.

You'd spent the better part of the evening-adjacent hours lying face-down on your sofa, trying and failing to take a nap. The scratchy, standard-issue pillow beneath your face was soaked with tears. Your chest ached. Worst of all, any attempt on your part to get your mind off what upset you just ended with you crying harder. All the while, that awful rumble went on and on and on and on relentlessly, allowing you no respite long enough to drift off and forget your current predicament.

A chime cut through your misery. You paused without so much as lifting your head. As of three hours prior, you were officially off duty for the day. Nothing required you to answer the door unless an order came down from a superior officer, and they would call first. Probably it was only Uhura coming by to check on you. Having been through her own breakup during this voyage, surely she would understand when you didn't let her inside.

The chime sounded again, and with it came a surge of possibilities flooding your mind. What if your visitor was dealing with a crisis? Cases of PTSD had been on the rise since the events on Altamid. You could hardly ignore that in favor of your own small, personal crisis. Off duty or not, your role as a ship's counselor would not allow you to wallow in self-pity when someone might need your help.

As your boots hit the floor, you pressed one sleeve of your rumpled blue uniform to the corner of each eye. The gesture wouldn't do much to disguise what you'd been doing over the course of your time off, but you felt a little steadier afterward. Breathing deeply in and out helped too—until you hiccuped. But you could prepare yourself no more. Squaring your shoulders, you stood, walked over to the door leading to the corridor, and opened it.

Just outside stood the familiar, lanky figure of the ship's science officer. The second you spotted him, you wiped your sleeve across your face with greater urgency.

"You're not one of my patients," you said, "or Uhura."

"A very astute observation, Lieutenant [L Name]," Spock replied.

A long moment elapsed during which the two of you stared at one another. Several fellow crewmates in various uniform colors threw curious looks at his back as they passed by on their ways to wherever they were headed. Your friend, meanwhile, allowed a single dark eyebrow to drift toward his hairline. He clearly had no intention of moving on.

"What are you doing here?" you sighed at last.

The wayward eyebrow rejoined its brother. "Lieutenant Commander Uhura informed me that you left your office this afternoon in distress. I note that her assessment was an accurate one. If anything, you appear to be in more distress now than she described to me then."

You couldn't lie to Spock, not when you looked the way you looked after a crying jag like the one you'd just had. So you didn't bother to try. "Fine. I'm in distress. But really, Spock, it's not the kind of distress you can help with. I'm sure Captain Kirk will need you on a landing party any minute now, so if you'll excuse me—"

"Lieutenant Commander Uhura also informed me of the cause of your distress."

"Of course she did." Sometimes you wished your two friends were a little lighter on the "amicable" part of "amicable exes." "Let me guess: You came by to tell me that you told me so."

"As a Vulcan, I have no reason to rub my correct prediction in your face, if you will forgive the Terra colloquial."

You let out a wet laugh despite yourself. "You're pardoned."

"What I have done is stopped by the mess hall. If I am not much mistaken, ice cream is a traditional consolation food in these types of situations."

He produced from behind his back a number of different colored tapes. So startled were you that you found yourself unable to say anything. Never in a million years would you have imagined Spock of all people standing in front of you and offering you junk food of all things. Your silence went on for so long that he had to prompt you to speak:

"Was I incorrect in my understanding of how to handle Terran breakups?"

"No," you said, then, "I just didn't want you to find out about the breakup until I could pull myself together."

"I surmised as much, given that Lieutenant Commander Uhura found out about your circumstances before I did, although you and I are closer friends. It would have been more logical for you to contact me for assistance than her."

Vulcans as a whole were difficult to read. Even factoring in your education and training, as well as your friendship with Spock that had gone on for several years now, you could only guess his feelings the majority of the time. Not so then. Something about his tone made him sound hurt. Maybe you could chalk that up to projecting your own feelings onto him, but you couldn't risk that assumption.

"It's just that you warned me against dating Kevin," you explained. "As ship's counselor, I should have seen the end coming a kiloparsec away."

"Perhaps. But one might also say that your extensive proximity to the crew's emotions might cause some loss in objectivity on your part."

"So you're not here to make me feel worse?"

"I came for consolation purposes. That is all."

"Well, all right, then."

You stepped away from the doorway. Spock followed you in. He paused only long enough to press the button to close the door before he came to join you in your sitting room. A crate sat on the floor along his path, and he looked at you questioningly as he walked by it.

"Those are Kevin's things," you said.

"Expedient," he observed.

Normally, you might have tried to go for a little more decorum around him, but that day you didn't have the energy to do more than flop back onto your couch. At least you were upright. Spock, on the other hand, claimed a dignified perch at the end of your chair. The two of you certainly made an odd pair.

"He had so many hair products!" you burst out when the awkward silence turned unbearable. "I should have known we wouldn't work out. Who brings that much hair spray into deep space?"

"Humanity can hardly be expected to iron out all its flaws when you all cling so hard to your baser emotions."

"Do you mean Kevin's desire to look nice, or my need to be in a relationship?"

Spock blinked, then smoothly said, "In this case, I refer to your former beau's preoccupation with personal grooming."

"Right. Either way, I'm about ready to get rid of all my own baser emotions. Not feeling them would be a blessing." You got back to your feet and thrust one hand in Spock's direction. "Ice cream tape, please."

He offered one to you.

"Spock," you said warningly.

"I do not believe that heartbreak is an excuse to overeat. I only brought so many because I was unsure which flavor you would select."

The glare you leveled at him seemed to make him think better of lecturing you on the dangers of gluttony—as well it should have. This was the same glare that you gave Dr. McCoy when you were tired of listening to him. Unlike with Dr. McCoy, you smiled once Spock dropped the rest of the tapes into your outstretched hand.

"Thank you." You headed for your in-quarters food producer, then turned your head to ask over your shoulder, "What flavor do you want?"

"I do not require ice cream."

"Come on, Spock. If you're going to spend the evening commiserating with me, you have to have some ice cream, too. That's a critical part of the Terran breakup process."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll have pistachio, then."

You fed the yellow-green tape into the slot. A quiet beeping noise covered the hum of the warp drive as the computer worked. While you waited, you flipped through the remainder of the flavors until you found the one you wanted.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to give up emotions," Spock said.

"Huh?" Frowning at him, you replaced his tape with yours. "Aren't you the guy that's been talking about doing the Kolinahr when we get back to Earth?"

"That's different. I am a Vulcan."

"Half Vulcan."

"Vulcan enough."

A shriller beep put an end to this potentially sticky subject. The ice creams were ready. You dumped the rest of the tapes in a basket next to the food producer, picked up the bowls, and brought them back to the living room. Spock took his with a grateful nod, though he waited until you sat down again before taking a bite.

"Maybe I'd be a better counselor if I didn't have emotions," you mused. "If I wasn't blinded by my own feelings, I could help the crew more with theirs. I shouldn't have the same problems as they do after all the studying I've done."

"While that may indeed make sense, it is hardly realistic. Besides, if you did not have your human emotions, you would no longer be the [Name] that I know, and I believe that I would miss her."

You couldn't help but smile around the spoon in your mouth. Popping that out, you said, "I bet you say that to all the Terrans you like."

"Hardly. In fact, that captain may benefit from an hour or two without his usual emotions."

"I appreciate you saying that, Spock."

"I am only speaking the truth. I have no intention of bolstering your ego artificially, even if doing so is a part of the Terran breakup process."

"I know." You slowly lowered your spoon back to the bowl, staring off into space. Something was dawning on you—something that might have dawned on you sooner had you not been so enthralled with your own feelings. "You know what else I appreciate? You coming here to help me today. Not every first officer would go out of their way for a ship's counselor like that."

Spock fixed you with an unblinking gaze as he said, "You mean a great deal more to me than most ship's counselors mean to their first officers."

"I don't care what Captain Kirk says. You sure know how to make a woman blush."

"I have had some practice with the activity."

"Remind me to thank Uhura later."

"Thank her for what?" Spock asked.

Maybe you were reading the signs wrong. Maybe you were just desperate. If he had to ask, you had to be wrong. But you took a deep breath anyway, and said, "Helping me realize that maybe the guy I've been looking for this whole time has been my best friend all along."

How could it have taken you this long to work it out? No one else spent as much time with you as Spock did, not outside of your office hours. It didn't matter if you were in the mess hall asking for a round of Fizzbin after dinner or you wanted a quiet night in your quarters. He always seemed to be there. You felt comfortable around him. Maybe you didn't always understand Spock; maybe Spock didn't always understand. But you didn't enjoy anyone's company the way you did his. And you had to wonder when your eyes met just then if he felt the same way, and if this coming-to-see-you-with-ice-cream thing was his way of showing you that.

"Well," he moistened his lips before going on, "I certainly feel that our relationship is founded more steadily upon mutual interests and desires than it is upon a passion for hair products."

You leaned forward. "You know, that sort of relationship sounds really appealing right about now."

"It does?" Spock shifted closer to you.

"I think it's about time that I dated someone whose first thought in the morning isn't beating me to the sonic shower, don't you?"

By that time, you both had come so close that it wouldn't have taken much more movement on either of your parts to touch lips. Your heart gave a painful leap inside your chest. Was this too much too fast? Even if you had just realized you'd had a thing for Spock for a while now, you had only just broken up with your last boyfriend that morning. Treating Spock as a rebound was the last thing you wanted to do. He didn't seem to mind, though. His mouth drew closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath on your face.

The communicator in your room chirped. You jumped. Spock paused before sitting back up in his chair. Then you rose wordlessly, stepped over to the panel, cleared your throat, and pushed the button.

"[L Name]," you said.

"[Name]?" Uhura did not remark on how breathless you sounded, thankfully. "I need to talk to Spock."

"It's for you," you said unnecessarily. Spock had already reset his face into its typical blank mask and made his way to the communicator himself.

"Spock here. What is it, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Captain Kirk needs you on the bridge. We have a situation up here."

"What kind of a situation?"

"There's a former United States President floating outside the ship. He says he needs our help."

"I will be there right away."

A second chirp signaled that communications between your room and the bridge had ceased. Spock turned back to you.

"My presence is needed on the bridge," he said.

"So I heard."

"I apologize. I believe we were in the middle of something."

"It's all right."

He didn't move.

"Spock, go. Don't you want to know why a deceased historical figure has asked for the Enterprise's help?"

"I'd prefer to stay here," Spock said. "But you are correct. I must leave. Will you still be here later tonight?"

"Yeah." You surprised yourself with the eagerness of your answer. "Yeah, I will. I promise I won't run off with any other lieutenants while you're away. I'll save the rest of the ice cream. We can share it when you get back."

There it was: The slight curl to Spock's mouth that told you that you weren't making up the mutual attraction between you both after all. "To use another Terran phrase, it's a date."

He hesitated another moment longer before he quickly exited your quarter. You grinned as the door slid shut behind him and the white noise returned full force. As you sunk into your couch and pillow this time, you found you didn't mind the hum as much. In fact, the sound did exactly what it was supposed to do: Relax you. Kevin and his excuses from that morning felt farther away than your own home planet. Maybe you owed him a thank you, too, because if you were still with him, you wouldn't have slept as well as you did that night knowing that Spock would be back soon.