#he gets in a tonne more fights

[thegoldenavenger]

An alternate mer!lqg design!! I always envision him as a fancy white-scaled fish but I default to sailfish when I usually draw him haha. Decided to try out the angel/flying fish design tho

[zvaigzdelasas]

[BBC is UK State Media]

Truong My Lan is charged with taking out $44bn (£35bn) in loans from the Saigon Commercial Bank. Prosecutors say $27bn may never be recovered.[...]

The evidence is in 104 boxes weighing a total of six tonnes [!!!]. Eighty-five defendants are on trial with Truong My Lan, who denies the charges. She and 13 others face a possible death sentence.

"There has never been a show trial [sic] like this, I think, in the communist era," says David Brown, a retired US state department official with long experience in Vietnam. "There has certainly been nothing on this scale."

The trial is the most dramatic chapter so far in the "Blazing Furnaces" anti-corruption campaign led by the Communist Party Secretary-General, Nguyen Phu Trong.

A conservative [sic] ideologue [sic] steeped in Marxist theory, Nguyen Phu Trong believes that popular anger over untamed corruption poses an existential threat to the Communist Party's monopoly on power. He began the campaign in earnest in 2016 after out-manoeuvring the then pro-business prime minister to retain the top job in the party.

The campaign has seen two presidents and two deputy prime ministers forced to resign, and hundreds of officials disciplined or jailed. Now one of the country's richest women could join their ranks.[...]

Although Vietnam is best known outside the country for its fast-growing manufacturing sector, as an alternative supply chain to China, most wealthy Vietnamese made their money developing and speculating in property.

All land is officially state-owned. Getting access to it often relies on personal relationships with state officials. Corruption escalated as the economy grew, and became endemic.

By 2011, Truong My Lan was a well-known business figure in Ho Chi Minh City, and she was allowed to arrange the merger of three smaller, cash-strapped banks into a larger entity: Saigon Commercial Bank.

Vietnamese law prohibits any individual from holding more than 5% of the shares in any bank. But prosecutors say that through hundreds of shell companies and people acting as her proxies, Truong My Lan actually owned more than 90% [!!!] of Saigon Commercial.

They accuse her of using that power to appoint her own people as managers, and then ordering them to approve hundreds of loans to the network of shell companies she controlled.

The amounts taken out are staggering. Her loans made up 93% [!!!] of all the bank's lending.

According to prosecutors, over a period of three years from February 2019, she ordered her driver to withdraw 108 trillion Vietnamese dong, more than $4bn (£2.3bn) in cash from the bank, and store it in her basement.

That much cash, even if all of it was in Vietnam's largest denomination banknotes, would weigh two tonnes.[!!!!!][...]

David Brown believes she was protected by powerful figures who have dominated business and politics in Ho Chi Minh City for decades. And he sees a bigger factor in play in the way this trial is being run: a bid to reassert the authority of the Communist Party over the free-wheeling business culture of the south.

"What Nguyen Phu Trong and his allies in the party are trying to do is to regain control of Saigon, or at least stop it from slipping away.[...]

faster growth in Vietnam almost inevitably means more corruption [sic]. Fight corruption too much [sic], and you risk extinguishing a lot of economic activity.

10 Apr 24

[princessbrunette]

okok so rafe wouldn’t be a line cook or anything persay, but i could d e f i n i t e l y see him as a boxer. big mean and scary boxer rafe who goes home with a busted lip and bruises forming on his abdomen to his little docile and pretty housewife reader. he gets his ass beat daily (more or less does the ass beating) to keep his pretty girl at home plump with a baby and one already on her hip, not having to worry her pretty little head about a damn thing

im feral. i am feral.

perfect way to work out his rage, aside from when he’s in your guts of course. reader is just too sweet, he doesn’t want her to come to any of his fights because he knows she’ll just get so upset and worried :( “dont you worry ‘bout all that baby. a girl like you shouldn’t be in there, too pretty for all that.” he drawls, and who are you to argue?

when he first started out he was fresh faced, floppy curtain bangs still hanging over his head, purely there to work out his rage in a ‘healthier’ way, coming home each week with a new black eye or busted lip. but soon the black eyes got less frequent, he got bigger, broader, shaved his head, started to look a whole lot more intimidating, more manly, and of course it just had you salivating.

it makes him good money, he brings in a big audience— known for his ruthless ways in the ring, and he spends almost every penny on you and the baby, whatever cute outfit you had your eye on or the best quality toys for your 6 month old baby. he gives you the world because you deserve it, sticking by him through everything, so soft and docile, patching him up after lost fights and then drooling on his cock to cheer him up, twisting both hands around him, telling him that he’s just so handsome and you missed him so much today.

he takes a month off from fighting, and you’re over the moon, assuming he just did it to heal up and look after himself, having made a fuck tonne of money and not having to fight for a bit. he was happy to spend more time with you and his little boy, but the truth was he got sanctioned by the fight organisers, pretty much forcing him out for a month as a punishment for not stopping beating on his opponent even when the ref told him to. he usually could get a handle on his anger, control himself and follow the rules — but his opponent had made some comment about his ‘pretty girlfriend’ before the fight, and well — he must have been some kind of masochist because rafe did not hold back.

despite being a little pissed at his punishment, he was happy to be home — spending his month off treating you, and fucking you into the bed remorselessly with all that extra energy he usually spent in the ring, making sure to fill you up with another baby, cumming inside you every single day until he was sure it took.

[ravenna-reid]

Pretty Pretty Eyes

JASONTODD x FEM!VIGILANTE!READER

Summary - Jason had seen you around for months now but never managed to get to talk to you for more than a few seconds. Telling himself he had to investigate what the hell you were doing for Gotham's safety (yep, ok Jason) he makes a plan to stop you from disappearing one night. (Part of the scene inspired by the image in the middle) Enjoy!!

Warnings - Swearing and some violence, maybe like one suggestive line

Jason didn’t know why he felt this way, but he was intrigued by your reactions to everything. Or more accurately, your lack of. He was used to others narrowing their eyes at him, cussing him out, or even trying to throw a punch whenever he said something out of line. But that never happened with you. He was lucky to even get a puzzled frown and “Mm” from you. Then after that, you would disappear before he could even ask you any questions. 

Slick as a whistle and as silent as a ghost. You seemed to always be where trouble followed, and when Jason got to the scene, you weren’t exactly helping the bad guys, but you weren’t exactly stopping them either. Were you a villain? A threat? Were you an ally? He didn’t know, because no matter how hard Jason tried, he could never find a trace on you either. And he’d be damned if he asked Bruce or Dick for help. It ate away at him if he was being honest. 

However, tonight would be the night Jason would finally get his answers. Because he’d found you where he’d least expected to find you. On the top floor of a large building that displayed and sold art. What were you doing? He had no idea. All he knew was that he had to get you this time. 

Once you’d heard his “subtle” footsteps and caught the gleam of his helmet from the corner of the room, you were on the move. Your speciality was slipping away unnoticed, and it worked every time. But Jason came prepared. Gun already raised, he shot something he’d spent weeks making in the Batcave, much to Bruce’s curiosity. A small, vibrant thing shot across the room like lightning and hit you right in the back. You stumbled, then quickly stopped to look behind you. You didn’t feel the agonising pain that came from a bullet wound. And when you looked down, you just couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Bright, neon yellow dust all over the back of your shirt. Now you had no chance of disappearing into the shadows. This man was actually ridiculous. But it was all he had since he’d run out of trackers. Much to your dismay, all you could do was shake your head at the situation and sprint. 

As you threw the door closest to you open, you ran across the roof of the tall building. The cool breeze whipped against your skin. It ran through your hair as you leapt over ladders maintenance men had left behind and roof turbines. Jason followed close behind. And as he grew closer, he grabbed small metal gadgets with his gloved hand from his belt and threw them. Small explosions went off as they hit the ground, releasing thick smoke in front of you. You went to run to the side until you realised you were at the edge. Fuck.

Jason’s arm grabbed at your waist as he tried to pull you back, but you smacked him with your elbow. Using the momentum and grabbing hold of one of his arms, you then swung around behind him and swiftly uncurled the rope that was attached to your belt. Wrapping it around his legs caught Jason off guard given how quickly you moved, and soon Jason dropped down on one knee. You moved the rope up from his leg to around his neck and pulled back. But he managed to escape, grabbing the rope from your grip and tossing it off the building. Once Jason turned to you he paused, breath heavy, and waited for you to give up. Waited for you to realise he just wanted to talk. But you weren’t one to pause during a fight. “Now listen.” He said, hands raised. 

Using a manoeuvre you learnt in Krav Maga many moons ago, you swiftly got the Red Hood on his back, and he had hit the ground like a tonne of bricks. Whilst he was down, you slipped one of your favourite daggers into the palm of your hand and closed the space between you two. Pinning one of his freakishly large arms down with your knee, you now had the dagger at his throat. Jason instantly came to a halt as the cool blade sat comfortably on his skin. A single jarring movement would draw blood, and all he could do was look up at you through his helmet. Both of your chests rose and fell with heavy breaths. The black mask he always saw you in covered your nose down to your chin, but Jason could see that focused glint pass through your eyes.

First the rope, now a blade at his throat?

“You have a thing for necks, huh?” He joked.

You ignored what he’d said. Like always. 

Really, you were just trying to ignore the soft, musky scent that made its way to your nose…

The night went on around you as you tightened your hold on Jason. Being pinned to the ground so easily made him feel overwhelmingly agitated. Pissed off.

Impressed?

Leaning over him - both of your masked faces so close - you were about to say something (scold the living shit out of him) until you heard a click. 

Your head instinctively looked down. Given you had one of his arms pinned, you didn’t think of the other one, hoping the knife to the throat and him being beneath you would be enough to restrain the Red Hood. But now as you looked down to where the sound came from, you saw one of Jason’s loaded glocks, the cool steel gently pressed against the skin on your waist. Your body stilled as a simmering anger washed over you. What a compromising position. 

“And you were so close to getting away, weren’t you?” Jason murmured, a hidden smirk plastered across his face.

You dragged your eyes back to him, and although your mask was covering half of your face he could still see the  foul expression you were giving him. Hell, it was as though he could feel it.

“Why won’t you just give up?” You asked, voice muffled.

Jason was stunned. It was the first time he’d heard your voice. It was warm. Smooth. So…

What the hell was he thinking?

“It’s my job to make sure this city is safe, Princess. Gotta keep track of those that are running around in masks –”

“What? You think I’m some bastard who’s conspiring with drug lords or something?” You asked cooly. 

“If you’re not guilty, why do you keep running away?”

“Why do you care?” 

Jason could feel your muscles tensen. The dagger that still sat at his throat shifted closer. He quickly reminded you of the gun that was still pointed to your waist. 

“Easy now.” The words fell from his lips as though they were a lull. 

Silence settled over you both as you stared at each other. A faint beating thrummed in your heart. Jason’s blood was rushing. You leant down even closer, and Jason swore he could feel your breath on his skin.

“You ruined my shirt.” 

He smiled.

“Well, I guess I’m going to have to make it up to you, aren’t I? Once you tell me who you are.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Mm.”

Then, as you moved your arm back so that your elbow could knock the black cylinder from your opened pouch, the canister dropped to the floor and rolled over beside Jason’s head before exploding. Quickly dragging your body off of him, you slipped your dagger back in its place and leapt down onto a balcony beside the building you were on. As you fled the scene, your head reeled from the events of the night. 

So much for a ruthless vigilante you thought to yourself, a warm smile forcing its way onto your face.

Getting to his feet and wiping the soot like substance from his helmet, he searched for you across the rooftop. But he knew better. You were nowhere to be found. A defeated sigh left Jason as his shoulders dropped, but even with his loss, all Jason could think about were your eyes. Those pretty pretty eyes.

“Until next time.” 

[wizzdot]

Sunshine

Description: just an idea I had. Might make it a series. Might not. Reader’s callsign is “Ray”. TW - Reader is depressed and has been through some shit.

Not decided who I’m going to make the main love interest, if anyone at all. Hell, not even decided if it’s worth continuing. Hit me up with ideas if you like what you read…

The rain hammers against the living room window. The window of your shitty, little rented flat in a dodgy, shitty area. It was cheap though. And it was a roof -albeit a temperamental, leaky one - over your head.

It was your decision, after all. You could still be slaving away as a soldier. Giving your all, with no reward. What had you even been fighting for, anyway? Oh yeah! Arrogant men wanting to play a game of chess with your life. Nah. You’d choose your shit flat and shit job, thanks.

The bottle of cheap wine looks real nice right about now, what with the rain not letting up. But you hadn’t done a food shop for two weeks, and you’d used your last packet of instant noodles last night. Shit.

Your jacket is still damp from this morning, you notice, feeling regretful for not hanging it up over the radiator as you zip it up. It’s not as if you allow yourself the expense of using the central heating anyway. You tuck the stray bits of hair, that were poking out, underneath the hood and brace yourself.

“Once more into the void” you tut lamely to yourself, before stepping into the rain, on the hunt for dinner. ‘Goin’ fuckin’ mad, talking to myself now’ you roll your eyes at the voice in your head, sick to the back teeth of your failing life.

The familiar, chipped door of the local corner shop jingles as you enter. You stamp the wet off of your boots on the dirty mat at the door, not that it made a jot of difference to the trail of wet you left in your wake.

“Hello you!” Ravi, the (overly) cheery, elderly shopkeeper shouts. I nod, sending a tight lipped smile in response to his greeting. “This rain, eh! It’s pouring down! Madness out there!” his accented voice says chattily, as you try to disappear behind a shelving unit stacked with tinned soups.

“Yeah, mad” you grit out, monotonously.

“Chatty as always, eh?” - “yep” good god, please stop talking to me! Not in the mood..

You grab two tins of soup, and three 29p noodle packets and head back to the counter to pay. Ravi scans your selection through and looks up at you with a raised eyebrow, awaiting something else. You sigh. “The norm, Ravi, if you will” you say. “Thought you might have quit! Bad vice to have, a young thing like you..”

You choose to ignore that comment, as he slides the packet of cigarettes over the counter. “£16.49”. You pull the slightly soggy twenty from your pocket and hand it over and he quickly counts your change and you’re on your way, the ding of the shop door sounding your departure.

The rain has somehow worsened, so you decide to run the mile and a half back to your flat, pissed off that you’d had to put any effort in, whatsoever. You’ve kept your fitness levels up since your military days. You huff a laugh at your own expense. Knew the morning jogs before work were worth while.. you think to yourself.

Work. Fuck. You’d not finished until 5am this morning, hence the wet jacket. Drunkards had crawled in after winning the football match, refusing to leave until gone 3am, and leaving a shit tonne of mess behind that needed cleaned up. You got decent tips though. Tips that your landlord would snatch off of you thanks to the fact that you were a month behind on rent payments. Easy come easy go, you thought to yourself, as you jog back to the flat.

You get back in record time but halt abruptly when you reach the door. The rain has, by this point, soaked completely through your jacket, but something else has caught your attention. The door handle (which lost its spring a while ago) is slanted down. Someone has visited while you’ve been gone.

“Fuck” you whisper to yourself, before quietly shoving the pack of cigs down your bra to try and keep them dry, and gently stacking the tins and packs of noodles into your post box, for safe keeping, while you investigate..

On second thoughts..

You grab one tin, and carry it as a weapon. Just in case, right? Old habits die hard…

You step in, silently, and notice the wet footprints leading to the kitchen. They weren’t even trying to be subtle, what the actual fuck?!

Slinking towards the kitchen, acting every bit the trained operative that you once were, you round the corner, ready to beat the intruder to ever lasting shit with your soup can, when your eyes meet something - or someone, for that matter - that draws the breathe from your lungs.

“Get out” you all but growl.

The intruder huffs a confident laugh.

“You’ve not changed much, apparently.. a ‘hello’ would be polite, Ray” the figure, with their back turned, lounging on your one remaining wooden chair, that you use to hang your washing on to dry, teases.

“I don’t go by Ray anymore. Now, get out” you spit, marching back to the door to grab your remaining tin of soup and packs of noodles, no longer threatened by the unknown, but instead, utterly pissed off at the fact they’re wasting your time.. You return to the kitchen, intruder still unmoved, and slam the tins down on the counter to try and convey the fact that they weren’t welcome..

“You’ve got about 10 seconds..” you warn.

“Until…?”

“Until I call your superior..”

“He knows I’m here..”

“I’ll call his superior, then” I threaten.

“You’ll call Kate? T’was her decision to send me..”

“Look, Lieutenant. I don’t give a single, steaming shit about whatever it is that you’ve gotten yourselves caught up in, this time. And if you think I want to be involved, you’re heavily mistaken. And it’s laughable that Kate chose you to try and retrieve me.. didn’t even think to send Gaz…? The only one of you wankers that I actually, borderline, tolerated?” You laugh bitterly.

“I really mean it, Ghost. Get out.” you practically spit his callsign, wanting him to understand that you really weren’t considering his, yet unspoken, offer.

“We’d have sent Gaz…” he pauses “but he’s broken. So I’ll have to do…”

Your stomach drops at that and Ghost almost almost sees the break in your facade.

*18 months earlier*

You’d gone through your entire military career with Gaz by your side. You’d class Gim has a friend, even though you were detached and fairly closed off. He was always determined to bring down your walls.

The pair of you were eventually split up when he was headhunted for the formidable taskforce, the 141. You didn’t see him for months, maybe even over a year, until your unit, which you labelled as ‘the Donkeys’, because they were all so shit, crossed paths with the 141 in Russia.

You, and Shepherd, you came to find out, who had been acting as the temporary commanding officer, visiting from America on a joint op, were the only survivors, not that Gaz knew.

The 141 didn’t stick around to check how us Donkeys got on. Just left us behind to do the grunt work, while they, along with Shepherd, moved on. Yeah. Still a bit bitter about that…

Mission accomplished, in their eyes. Necessary losses and all that.. the Donkeys were just collateral for them.. you included.

You returned to base, under your own steam, injured and forced to practically hitchhike back from Russia. When you limped back through the base security, flashing the dented dog tags, confirming that you were, in fact one of them, you were hailed a miracle.

Laswell called within the hour of your miraculous return and wanted to promote you to Lieutenant of your new unit, of strangers, that you’d yet to even meet. Hell, you were even ready for active duty, with your injuries. You decided that it was all for show. Or out of pity… you guessed that, seeing as the rest of the donkeys, and the existing Lieutenant, had been killed, they needed a replacement.

The day of the ceremony rolled around a couple of weeks after, the big names in the SAS, in their fancy suits covered in silverware and ribbons, turned up, to ramble on about what important work you’d all been doing and rewarding medals to hundreds of other soldiers. It was all bullshit.

When it was your turn to receive your medal of distinguished bravery, and to solidify your promotion to the rank of Lieutenant, you stepped up to the stage slowly, and glanced around at the huge crowd, dressed in their formal uniforms, and caught eyes with them. The 141. Gaz was smiling at you, sending a thumbs up your way, mouthing ‘proud of you!’ toward the stage.

You furrowed your brow, thoughts running rampant in your head. Proud of what, exactly? Proud that my entire unit were wiped from existence? Proud that, for some reason, I came back to base?

You froze on the stage. You don’t know for how long. You just remember gulping, trying to make your inner voice shut the fuck up.

Autopilot took over for a few seconds, and you step forward again, towards the important guy, holding the medals and sashes. “Y/n y/l/n. I present to you…” all you hear is your name, and then his muffled voice.

You take one final glance around the ceremony, and take the Lieutenant badge from the silver tray, earning a few gasps from shocked spectators.

“Fuck your promotion. I quit”

And you left the stage, head held high, and walk away. Away from the SAS. Away from the chess game of life. Away from the danger and greed of those in charge. You were done. Even the donkeys didn’t deserve their fate. They were someone’s child. Someone’s parent. Someone’s brother. And they were gone. Without a second glance. But they were oh so thankful for their service, right?

Bullshit.

Canon fodder. That’s all you were sent in for that day.

Pawns to be banished from the board for the next step of the game. Bigger picture. Greater good. All that grandiose bullshit.

You remembered rushing to your old room at the barracks and hastily packing whatever you had left. Hoping you’d be gone before someone detained you. Surely what you’d done was some sort of illegal, right?

What you didn’t expect was for Gaz and his Captain to come knocking on your door.

“Y/n? You in there..?”

“Piss off, Garrick” you snapped in reply.

“Soldier, open the door” the Captain’s, you’d assumed, rough voice commanded.

“Sorry Cap” you popped the P, immaturely, “no can do, don’t take orders anymore, remember? I quit..”

There was one heavy crash at the door, followed by some splintering sounds of wood, and then the Captain, followed by a sheepish looking Gaz, invited themselves into your room.

“Ray, is it? You don’t need to do this... You’re a valuable asset. You have so much to offer. I’ve read your file. You show a lot of promise. Garrick, here, backs that up. Says you and he came through the ranks together, said that you were the only one who could beat him in your year. Is that true?”

You kept your back to the men, continuing to blatantly ignore them and stuff your belongings into bags.

“You don’t have to rush, Ray. I have my other two men blocking the hallway”.

You remember furrowing your brow at that, not that he could see. Why was he protecting you? Why was he being… nice… about it?

“All due respect, Captain, but I’m out. Done. Finished. Yeah? Understood? I’d love to think up some more words to try and get through to you, but I need to get off base asap, before I’m detained. Hell, they’ll probably decide that what I just did is some sort of war crime. Now.. if you’ll excuse me..” you said, pushing past the men and out of the door.

“Ray!” Gaz shouted.

“Here, at least take this..” he presented his wallet.

“Help you find somewhere, yeah?”

You recall being caught off guard at his offer before nodding, sending a tight lipped smile his way.

“Thank you”

*now*

That was the last interaction you’d had with Kyle Garrick. Probably the last act of kindness thrust upon you since, hell, since you can remember...

And now his Lieutenant is in your shitty little flat, that Gaz’s money helped pay the deposit for, telling you that he is hurt.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the scraping of the chair against the wooden floor, and the massive Lieutenant, skull covered face and all, standing from said chair, his head practically touching the ceiling light.

“I’ll pass on your regards to Gaz” he grumbles, heading to the door. “Enjoy your soup, Ray.”

You wait until his back is turned and he is out of earshot, before gulping and scratching your damp hair. I hope Gaz is ok.. I - I wonder why they’ve came to me..? What the hell has happened..

More thoughts run through your head, and the squeak of the springless door handle jolts you again. Christ, hasn’t he gone yet..? He’s taking his time..

“Good bye, Ray. Trackers in the wallet. If you want to disappear again” Ghost speaks quietly, as if to himself, before stepping out into the curtain of rain.

Your eyes flash back and forth, furrowed brow. That slimy little prick, they’ve known where I was this entire time.. probably kept an eye on me.. what the actual fuck..

You rush to the door, opening it and seeing the Lieutenants broad figure stalking away into the darkness, the splashing of his steps the only thing you can hear over the pounding rain hitting the street.

“How hurt is he...” I shout into the darkness.

You don’t see, but Ghost smirks under his balaclava, before turning to face you.

“He’s not taking visitors, Ray. Let’s leave it at that..”

Cunt. Fucking bastard. He knows what he’s doing. Dangling a piece of string in front of a cat..

You growl.

“Arghh! FINE. Fuckin’. Fuckin’ FINE. You win. You happy? You fucking win, Lieutenant. Give me 5 minutes..”

He smirks again, and this time you swear you can see the smugness shine through his eyes. It won’t take you long to pack anyway. Not like you’ve unpacked in the 18 months you’ve been here.

You rush back into the flat and grab the two loaded rucksacks, untouched since you left base for the, what you thought would be, final time. You grab the door handle, and rush back to grab your tins of soup and noodles. Oh - and the wine!

What? It’s a waste not to use them..

You join Ghost back on the street.

“Welcome back, Ray..” the Lieutenant says in a cocky voice.

“Don’t call me that” you snap, bitterly.

“Need to have a name, woman. You’re the newest member of taskforce 141…”

“Piss off…” is all you can muster for the time being.

You wrap your soaked jacket, tighter around your body, and pray that the cigarettes in your bra are still dry.

You’re gonna need them…

[josephquinnswhore]

it ain’t weakness, baby - joel miller x female reader

Summary: Joel survived Abby’s brutal encounter, but has left him with major mental and physical disabilities.

Word Count: 2k

Content Warning: mentions of reader having ptsd, blood, amputation, scars, disabilities, murder. blowjob, Joel whining and begging????? cumming in mouth. female masterbation/orgasm. Joel praising reader. insecurity. Joel treating reader like shit. implied age gap.

Note: yeah.. I kinda ruined my own heart with this one.. anyway, enjoy!

Things weren’t the same. They’ll never be the same. That’s what Joel said, over and over. Saying anything he could in order to push you away, to try and build back the wall between you that you’d seamlessly picked away at.. brick by brick all them years ago.

His old age wasn’t his hinderance. His physical disability wasn’t his hindrance. Though, these were his painful claims, that he couldn’t bare to see your youth wasted on someone like him. A no good—worthless old cripple. That’s what he called himself..

“You’re wasting the best years of your life on me! There are plenty of healthy and capable men that could take care of you here! Just.. just go and find someone else!” He’d spat through gritted teeth, his insecurity gnawing at his insides after he saw a younger man offering your hand at the Christmas dance.

Joel Miller had sunken into the dark and ever falling abyss of self destruction and isolation, daring to say cruel things to you, to push you away.

He’ll never admit it’s the last thing he truly wanted, in fact he was terrified of the thought of you leaving.

One day he found out what you did.

“Tell me you’re not that stupid.” He insults, glaring at you from the recliner he’d come so attached to.

“I did. Tommy and Ellie and I, we fucking did it Joel. They’re dead, all of them, we made them suffer. I made her suffer before I buried her sorry ass for ever touching you!” The argument was bound to get heated, after all, they were talking about the girl that mutilated Joel and left him disabled.

“Do you realise what she could’ve done to you? Look at what she did to me!” He snarled. “Goddamn fools the lot of you!”

He didn’t want you to leave, to stop fighting for him. But he convinced himself he was worthless. He saw it; the looks people gave him, sympathy strewn on their faces. Sympathy he didn’t need. He was fine.

It was the irony of it all. He told himself he was fine, he didn’t need help, he could somehow maintain some semblance of control and independence. No matter the wheelchair, or the crutches. Yet, he would snarl and snap at you, unwilling to keep you close. He would angrily claim he was worthless, useless.

“I can do it!” He growls, shrugging off your hand from the metal crutches, his first time using them as a result of his amputated leg. Refusing any help, as he had done every single day for the past few months.

Perhaps at one point, you did grow tired of it. Of his inability to try. After months of trying and limited resources, you’d tried to teach Joel how to write again, how to play guitar, how to sculpt, how to fix.

“Baby come on, please! Just try again for me. Five more minutes then I promise we can stop.” You pleaded, and were met with a dismissive snarl.

“I ain’t no damn kid so stop treating me like one. I’m done with this!” The pen was sent flying, ink splattering all over his favourite journal, which you’d spent a few hours delicately cleaning to save the important book.

You were trying to get him to live. To have the independence he so desperately craved, but he was stubborn, always had been. He was his own worst enemy.

You were even kind enough to take the only spare time you had, to build him a wheelchair accessible ramp, it was weeks worth of labour, and trading a tonne of sentimental personal items to trade for the wood and nails. Yet, it remains unused, even now, as it rains and the snow coats the wood, they begin to rot and wither. All your hard work and dedication to your husband had gone completely unnoticed.

Yet, for some reason, you never quit on him.

“Stop scowlin at me like that and just try, would you?”

He grunted, his hand trembled, the majority of his soup fell off the spoon. With whatever strength he had, he tossed the spoon onto the floor, as it clattered along the wood, it sends soup flying all up the wall. The bowl soon clatters to the ground before you can catch it.

The bowl was heavy, and the sound of it on the hardwood floors sent your movements to a halt—frozen. Your ears ringing as if it were that forsaken shotgun again, tearing a hole through Joel’s leg, flesh and blood splattering against the carpet rug and the floor. Stumbling, you take a moment to yourself, rushing out of the living room and into the kitchen.

The noise over and over replaying in your mind, the golf club coming down on Joel’s head, sure you would witness the love of her life being brutally murdered in front of your eyes. What Joel didn’t know, as far as he assumed, that you had these triggers as a result of ptsd.

The ticking of the clock in the kitchen becomes unbearable and you find yourself back in the living room.

Waiting for you, is another mess of his you’d have to clean.

“It feels like you’re not even trying anymore Joel. It’s been months—why can’t you see I’m trying to help you!” You insist.

“I don’t need your help!” He growled bitterly.

“So you’re just going to sit in that stupid fucking chair till you die huh? Is that it?” Finally reaching the breaking point after your recent trigger, tears cascade down your red cheeks.

His scowl softened, into a look she hadn’t seen since the incident happened. He battles his ego and his stubbornness to finally reach a hand out to you, his shaking fingers just graze your own.

“Baby—you know I don’t mean it.” He murmurs hopelessly. “I’m—I’m sorry. I appreciate you tryin’.”

The atmosphere changes in the air, the winter suddenly doesn’t feel so harsh, and the breeze that slides through the crack in the window frame can’t be felt over the warmth of the heater that Joel nests by.

You kneels down onto the floor, taking his trembling hand. “I’m not giving up on you. When we took our marriage vows I fucking meant them. Just let me be here for you. It’s killing me that you’re trying to push us apart. Please.”

For some reason, your plea pierced his old heart with such reverence that he doesn’t argue, he relaxes his tense shoulders and murmurs, “okay.”

Finally, acceptance, peace. The white flag was being waved. Seventy two days of fighting was finally over.

“Shouldn’t be.. on your knees like that baby. You—you’ll get sick.” The worry in his voice had another kind of anxiety behind it.

One that you soon found the reasoning of.. his cock.. stiffer in his pants than you’d seen it in months. “Don’t tell me you’ve been suffering all this time.” You gasp in disbelief.

His aimless gaze and silence was enough to confirm the accusation. He’d been so sexually frustrated.. that he hadn’t been able to cum.

“This is why you’ve been so upset.” You murmurs. “Isn’t it?”

He answers with a simple and shameful nod, you press a kiss to his hand, ready to offer him a solution. “Can.. Can I help you?”

The question takes him off guard, his thick and greying eyebrows meet together in a low frown.

“Why would you want to touch me? I’m .. I’m a goddamn freak—“

“You shut up and let me decide what I see you as Joel Miller.” You scold. “I see someone strong, brave, handsome.”

He scoffs, but it doesn’t deter you. Instead it only motivates you more. Leaning up against the recliner, your chest on the left side meets the fabric, where his leg had to be amputated from the thigh downward, due to the inflicted shotgun wound.

“I see a man so incredibly capable, of living, thriving. Needing help doesn’t make you weak, baby. Let me take care of you.”

His trembling hands struggle to unclasp the stubborn button on his jeans. “Hey, just let me look after you baby. Relax.” You insist softly.

Making quick work of his button and zipper, your cool and small hands make his cock look enormous as it springs out of his jeans, rock hard. Has it always been this big? Perhaps the illusion of deprivation has her mind as desperate as her dripping cunt. Even your mouth begins to salivate, gulping as you come eye level with the small clear bead of precum.

Without warning, you lurch forward, pressing a small kiss to the red and aching tip, before swirling your tongue around the bulbous head.

“Ah, ah fuck baby,” he whines, sharply inhaling a breath, his good hand moves to grip the back of your head, begging for you to swallow him.

His desperate pleas only serve the purpose of rilling you up, with the gentle touch of his fingertips in your hair, desperately clutching at a fistful of your hair..

Opening your mouth wider to fit his enormous girth, halfway down and you’re already gagging. He whimpers, sounding the most vulnerable she’s heard since their last intimate encounter. Sneakily, you slide a hand down to your entrance, sliding your fingers inside to collect some of the slick before, sliding them upwards towards your enlarged and throbbing clit. whine is muffled by his cock.

You push on, feeling the mushroom tip sliding down your throat as you gag, covering his cock in your warm and sticky saliva. His untamed coarse public hairs tickle your nose.

The noises were absolutely despicable and lewd, the way you took the whole length of him, gagging at every descend, it was a sensation that had him trembling underneath you. His trembling hand attempts to clutch the arm of the recliner.

“Baby, baby stop.” He begged. “Not.. I’m not gonna last.” His breath quickens and as he tensed up, you take his length out of your mouth, but he quickly thrusts back into it, craving the warmth and the pleasure of the hole.

“Don’t stop, hmph please don’t stop.” He pleaded in a whine, Joel Miller, begging you.

You felt your stomach tightening, the pleasure of your fingers on your soaking clit, swirling at the perfect pace and Joel’s soft voice begging. You moan around his cock as your legs tremble underneath you.

Joel finally catches on and it’s the last straw for him before he throws his head back onto the recliner and grunts, the growl that leaves his lips is primal and comes from his throat. “Fuck—such a good girl.” He stutters and thrusts his hips upward, filling your mouth and throat with him, sending his ropes of warm cum straight down your throat, you drink, like it’s the last source of energy you’ll ever receive.

His hand unclenches from your hair as he feels himself shrinking inside of your mouth, encouraging you to look up at him, and you do. You’re met with Joel, looking at you with all the love and adoration and affection you deserve.

“Come here baby.” He murmurs, his thumb caresses your cheek as you look up at him. Climbing up onto his lap, you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Could.. could you please pull the recliner back?” His voice escapes timidly. Here he was, asking for your help; finally.

With a swift movement, you pull on the latch on the side of the recliner and the bottom end swings upward, now you’re both laying, your hand reaches for a warm blanket on the nearby couch, and toss it over the two of you.

“Thanks for not giving up on me.” The world circle in her ears, and she runs her thumb over the large scar on his forehead that spans to his temple and eyebrow. “I wouldn’t ever dream of it.”

“I love you, Mrs Miller.” Is the last thing your happy heart hears before your eyes flutter, peace and pleasure lulling you into a dream.

[alloftheimagines]

joel miller | left behind

masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

words: 2.9k

warnings: angst, angst, angst. so much angst. ep two spoilers. tess's death. grief. loss. infected stuff. reader is tess's younger sister. age gap. more angst. so much angst. slightly violent reader.

synopsis: in which joel honours a promise he made to tess that means he must force reader to leave your infected sister behind in boston. resentment and a bit of hurt/comfort ensues as you head to frank and bill's.

sibling!tess x reader, reader x joel, little bit of reader x ellie

tags: @sweetbabygirlsworld

“Holy shit. She’s infected.”

You didn’t think the world could fall apart twice, but you look at Tess as Ellie's words settle in and realise you were wrong. Here you are again, losing everything. This time, you don’t know if you can survive. 

“Tess…” you whisper, shaking your head slowly. “No. No. No.” 

Beside you, Joel is deadly still. He looks at your sister with such detachment that you want to scream. This is Tess. Fucking Tess. 

But you know him. You know he’s good at switching off when things get tough. Not like you. You wear your heart on your damn sleeve, and you can’t fucking do this. You look at her again, heart breaking. You feel every tear, every shard slipping through your ribcage. Tess is motionless — resigned. She wears sadness, but no fear. None anybody but you can see, anyway. You grew up with her. You can see the fading light in her eyes in a way the others won’t. 

And you don’t know what to do.

“Let me see it,” Joel orders quietly.

“Joel…” Tess pleads. 

“Show me,” he growls. 

Bitterly, she tears down the collar of her shirt, revealing the infection blossoming across bruised veins. Your knees threaten to buckle, nausea rising in your throat. 

“No.” Tears slip down your cheeks, and you’re already searching the room again for some hint the Fireflies might have left, some sign that it won’t end like this. “No. The girl is a cure. If we can just—”

Tess is saying your name. You’re not listening. If you listen, it will be real. If you listen, you will have to say goodbye to the only family you have left. 

“Joel,” she’s saying now. “This kid… this kid is real, okay? You gotta get her, get them both, to Tommy’s. He’ll know where to go, what to do.”

“No. No, I’m not doing that,” he replies. 

You’re still rattling around, searching old papers and nooks for something, anything; as though you’ll find a miracle in the shadows. 

“If not for the kid then for her.” Tess’s voice rises. You squeeze your eyes shut, your back turned to her. “She needs you, Joel. This is the end of the road for me, but you need to keep going. Promise me."

“I’m not leaving you here!” you shout, throwing the first thing you find against the wall. It smashes to dust. “We’ll find a way out of this, Tess. We always fucking do. Let’s just stop and figure it out!” 

“There is no figuring it out.” Tess marches over to you, gripping your face in her hands. You try so hard to fight it, so hard to stay in denial, but you look at her drawn face and know she’s already half-gone. You know the worry furrowing her brows isn’t for herself, but for you. For what will happen to you now. She practically raised you, toughening you up or else cradling you through the bad nights, never any in between. It made you both strong and so unbearably weak. Not like Joel, who has never let anything touch him. 

You choke on a sob and close your eyes. “Please, Tess. Please. This can’t be it. I need you.”

“I need you. I need you to be safe. I need you to keep going. Please, sweetheart.” She softens, brushing the tears from your eyes. “Please. For me.”

“No—” 

The sound of moans and the shuffling of uneven footsteps interrupt your protest. Joel goes to the window and curses, readying his gun. “Infected. Shit tonne of ‘em. We gotta go.”

You grab Tess’s wrist without thinking. “Come on.”

But she slips out of your grasp, stepping away from all of you. Ellie has tears in her eyes, but she says nothing, looking for the first time not to Tess or Joel, but to you. 

“I can buy you some time, but you have to run. You have to go,” Tess whispers. 

You shake your head again, ferociously this time. “No. No, I’m not leaving. If you stay, I stay.”

She snaps her head away. “Joel. Get her out of here.”

You fight back a bitter scoff, fists curling at your sides — but then hands lock around your arms, nudging you away. “Come on," Joel grunts. "We have to go. Now.”

The betrayal stings. This is fucking Tess. Of all people, he should want to help her. He shouldn’t be giving up on her. 

You snarl, “Fuck you if you think I’m going anywhere!” 

He doesn’t let up, face carved from stone. “We can’t stay,” he hisses, ducking his head to meet your eye. “You want us all to die?” 

“You go! I’m not—”

“Now, Joel!” Tess is yelling. “Get her the fuck out of here now!”

He swears under his breath again and then his arms are like a vice around your waist, your feet lifting from the floor as he drags you away, kicking and screaming. 

“No!” You’re shrieking now, vocal cords ripping apart as you try to reach for your sister. "Tess!"

But she doesn’t reach back. She turns away, and you know with certainty it’s the last time you’ll see her face. 

“Tess, please!” Sobs erupt from you, and you fight harder now, but Joel is too strong, too broad, too heavy-handed to let you go. “Please! Please! Let me go! Let me stay with her! She's my fucking sister, Joel!” 

The fresh air hits you all at once. One moment you’re there, watching your sister get smaller and smaller as infected scratch and rattle the doors, and then you’re back in the rubble of the drab city, the gold dome of Massachusetts State House dwindling. 

And then exploding.

As your feet finally hit the floor and you try to nudge Joel away, the earth cracks with black smoke and you’re thrown to the ground. Joel’s warmth shields you, and you feel Ellie trembling at your side. 

Silence blankets you like ash. It takes a moment for your brain to comprehend it. Any of it. 

You shove Joel to look back at the State House. The building that is no longer a building, just debris and fire. 

The building where your sister was standing not a moment ago. 

“No.” You say the word differently now. Softer. Devastation pierces through it, through you. She’s gone. Tess is gone. 

“Darlin’...” Joel puts his hand on your shoulder and squeezes, and fury sparks through you. 

“You did this!” you scream, hitting his chest again, and again and again. “You took away my choice!” Because the truth is, you would sooner have died in there with Tess than carry on without her. “You took away my fucking sister!” Because he’d gotten her into the jobs, the smuggling. He’d done all of this. 

Joel doesn’t react, barely even budging as you slam into him. His jaw is set, trembling, throat bobbing, and finally he catches your hands and locks his fingers around your wrists. “Look at me.” 

You can’t. You can’t look at him, or anywhere else. You want to vomit. You want to disappear. 

Instead, your chin wobbles and your ribcage opens up and everything pours out of you as you wail. 

He catches you as you sink to the ground, pulling you to his chest, and you’re too weak to push him away now. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair, rocking you gently. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, sweetheart. There was nothing else we could do. Nothing else I could do. But look at me. Please look at me.” He grips your jaw just as Tess had, and you flinch. You hate him. You fist his shirt between your fingers and you want to destroy it, destroy everything around him. 

Except you don’t. He’s all you have left, and the realisation makes you numb. Joel fucking Miller is the only goddamn person you have. 

You do as he asks. You look at him. 

“She bought us time," he says. "We can’t waste it now. Do you understand? We can grieve her later, but right now, we gotta go. We have to get up and keep going. For Tess.”

You hate that he’s right most of all. As you begin to shut down, shock taking over, you look back at the smoking State House and stand. And then you clutch Joel’s collar and bare your teeth. 

Ellie stumbles towards you, eyes round with fear, but you’ve lost the will to care about her presence. You’ve lost everything today.

“Don’t you fucking say her name again,” you snap. “You lost that right. I blame you. I blame you for who she became, who we’ve all become.”

Anguish curls across Joel’s features, but you refuse to feel guilty. You let him go roughly and grab your backpack off the floor, the same one you’d clutched during the outbreak just after you’d watched your parents get savaged by your infected neighbours, Tess dragging you to safety. You’d been thirteen years old, and your sister had gotten you through hell and back, that night and every other one that came after. 

“It shouldn’t have ended like this,” you whisper into the wind, swallowing your own tears. 

It’s the last moment you allow yourself to have, and then you wipe your damp cheeks and glare down at Joel again. 

“Get up. Let’s go.”

He does, looking winded as he rises from his knees to his feet. You allow him to lead the way only because he knows the city, knows his way around, far better than you did. Tess rarely let you do jobs out of the QZ, protective until the bitter fucking end. 

You wish more than anything you could have protected her. 

***

You don’t get the chance to catch your breath again until you get to Bill and Frank’s — which is empty. You never met them yourself, but you know Tess warmed to them, so to find them dead too… it feels like the last piece of good in the world is truly gone. You slump onto their couch still wrapped in numbness as Joel and Ellie gather supplies, reluctant to so much as look at you. Later, you hear them talking about showering, and Ellie thumps up the stairs, leaving the place quiet. You should wash, too. You should eat, drink, prepare for whatever comes next, but you can’t move. Can’t do anything. 

After minutes, or perhaps hours, of silence, Joel kneels in front of you with a plate of food. “You need to eat, darlin'. I know it’s hard, but you have to.”

You hate him calling you that. He never used to call you that. He barely addressed you at all, stubborn, grumpy old man he is. But he’s been family for a long time, and the three of you… 

You got by together. Until now. 

You glance down at the food and your stomach turns. 

“Please,” he whispers, voice cracking. It surprises you, that vulnerability bleeding into his words — and it seems to surprise him too, by the look on his face. You’ve never seen him like this. Not once. 

You take a bite for that alone. It’s dry in your mouth, and you find it hard to swallow, so you push the rest away. He sighs and puts it down on the coffee table, swapping the plate for his flask. You take a swig, whiskey burning like vinegar in your throat. 

“If I talk,” he asks, “will you listen?”

“No,” you answer honestly. “No, I don’t feel much like listenin’, Joel.”

Still, he takes your hand. You glare at your intertwined fingers but make no move to pull away. Perhaps part of you still needs to be coddled, taken care of the way Tess might have.

And maybe you need to know you’re not alone. That he isn’t going to give up on you the way he so easily did with Tess. Which is sick, you know, but you’ve never much been able to help the way you feel about him. The way you have always wanted to peel away his layers and understand him. Tear away his self-hatred, guilt, grief, for whatever horrors he faced before. 

“I didn’t want this. Not for Tess and sure as hell not for you.”

“I told you,” you bit. “I told you not to say her name.”

“I made a promise to her a long time ago.” He continued as though you hadn’t spoken, his brown eyes pleading. “I promised that if something happened to her, I would always protect you. That’s what I did today. I was honouring that promise, and honouring your sister. If you need someone to blame, someone to hate, if that makes it easier, go ahead. But don’t think for a second that this was a choice I wanted to make. I cared about her. I care about you. And even if I have to drag you kickin’ and screamin’, I’m getting you to Wyoming, to Tommy. You and I still have a job to do.” Slowly, as though unsure how you’ll react, he tucks your hair behind your ear. “That kid needs us, but we need her a hell of a lot more if the cure is real. And I… I need you. I need you here with me, safe. I ain’t losing another…”

He bows his head, words thickening.  “I ain’t going back on my promise to Tess, so you can make it difficult as you like. You can never lay your damn eyes on me again. But I’m getting you through this.”

A tear drips down your cheek, your entire body trembling as the sorrow, the grief, finally takes over. 

“Oh, baby,” Joel whispers, voice full of the same loss, the same pain. 

A whimper escapes you as you put your head in your hands. You can’t even hate him now, because you can imagine your martyr of a sister asking Joel to do just that. To protect you above all else. Still, you despise it — despise that your choices were taken away, your voice ignored. 

“I should have been with her,” you say. “She shouldn’t have died alone.”

“She died knowing you were being taken care of.” He squeezes your knee with rough hands. “She died knowing she saved us. It’s the best anyone could’a done. I wish it could have been different.”

“I don’t know how to do this without her,” you admit, because how can you keep it all in? All the love you had for her, all that grief… where will you put it when it’s spilling out of you without warning? 

“That’s something we’ll figure out,” Joel responds. He’s drawing circles into your lower thigh now, the pad of his thumb wearing down your denim jeans slowly. Wearing you down slowly. “You should take a shower then see about finishing your food. That hot water… it’ll help. And I won’t be mad if you use it all before I get my turn.” He offers you a small smile.

But you can’t imagine anything ever helping. You close your eyes, sinking back into the couch. “In a minute. I just need…” You don’t know what you need. If you’re being honest, you need Tess. 

As though knowing it, Joel rises, the couch cushions dipping with his weight beside you. He lets out a soft sigh, fidgeting with his fingers. You feel the weight of his gaze on the side of your face. 

A moment later, he’s draping a blanket over you, and your lids flutter open again in confusion. 

“S’okay,” Joel says. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”

You don’t need to be told twice. But when you try to nod off, you only see Tess burned on the inside of your eyelids. Her face the last time you saw it. The bite. Her pleas for you to go.

You give up quickly, aware Joel is still beside you, unmoving. It isn’t like him to not be moving. 

Rubbing your face, you sit up, pushing the blanket off. “Joel…”

“Hmm?”

“Blaming you... it doesn't make it fucking easier. I understand why you did what you did, even if I don’t like it. But if you ever take away my choice again… I won’t go on with you. I can’t. I know you and Tess still see me… saw me,” you correct with a wince, “as a kid, but I’m not. Not anymore. And I sure as hell ain’t your responsibility.”

“I don’t see you as a kid,” he says quietly. “And I don’t see you as my responsibility, either. Honestly?” He purses his lips, tapping on the arm of the couch before he continues, “I see you as the only damn thing worth going out of my way to protect. Make of that what you will. Just… don’t expect me to let you die if that’s your choice. I can’t do that. I won’t do that. I won’t apologise for it, either.”

You’re not sure what to say to that; what it means. Why Joel, of all people, is the one to say it. You always thought he and Tess… 

“Why? That promise mean so fucking much?”

“Yeah." He looks at you as though for the first time. "Yeah, it does."

You don’t have the energy to wonder what it means anymore. Instead, you pull yourself up on unsteady feet. Your mind is racing, and that shower is sounding better as reality sets in. Just in time, Ellie returns with damp hair and fresh clothes. She offers a small, reassuring smile, and you ruffle her hair, feeling guilty that a fourteen-year-old was subjected to everything you went through in Boston. Whoever she is, whatever purpose people want her to serve… she’s just a kid, and you couldn’t hold it together for her today. That makes you a shitty chaperone.

“My turn,” you mumble, glancing at Joel a final, wary time before heading upstairs. His expression doesn’t change, but you see something new in it now. Something strange. 

Something that looks an awful lot like care.

[kpop---scenarios]

Whiplash (5)

Pairing: Felix x Reader x Hyunjin

Genre: Street Racing, Gang, Friends to Lovers

Warning: Some violence, swearing, etc

Word Count: 3.5k

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

“I'm sorry.” You whisper. “Who are you?”

The two men look at you in shock. Who were they? Why don't you remember them?

“I'm Felix..this is Hyunjin. We're your.. boyfriend's.” Felix explains to you. You're taken aback, staring at them, confused.

“No.. No, I don't think so. Where's San? We're seeing each other, I need to see San.” You whisper. Your head hurt, your body felt weird. You felt as though you recognized the two men standing in front of you, but you also didn't. You knew San would be able to tell you what happened. He was always honest with you. “Pass me my phone.” You say.

The doctor hands you your phone, and you dial the number you knew well.

“Hello?”

He answered.

“San.” You whimper. “Something is going on.. I'm in the hospital. There's two men here who say they're my boyfriends and I'm just really confused. Can you please come?” You ask.

“I'm on my way.” He says. You can hear him grab his keys before he hangs up the phone. You look up at Felix and Hyunjin, and a knot forms in your stomach. “Can you guys please go? I just need some time.” You whisper. “I have to figure things out, I'm just so confused.”

The two men look heartbroken as they stare at you with sad eyes. They both turn for the door, the doctor holds it open and they leave you all alone.

Twenty minutes later, A sweaty San rushes into your room. He stares at you, the bandage wrapped around your head, The tubes running from your arms and nose, the machines you were hooked up to. He had never felt so guilty in all his life until now, as you laid there and smiled up at him. He hated himself more than anyone else possibly could.

“San..Hi.” You whisper. He walks over to one side of the bed, sitting in the chair next to you. He grabs your hand and starts whimpering.

“I'm sorry Y/N..I'm so fucking sorry.” He cries.

“Why are you sorry? You didn't do this.” You say, squeezing his hand.

And that's when it hit him. You truly didn't remember anything in the last few weeks, months, maybe even years.

And you had no idea that he was the one who pushed you.

“I should have protected you. I failed at that.” He says, sniffling as he looks up at you.

“Do you know what happened?” You ask him. He nods his head. He turns his head, looking at the door before looking back at you. He was internally fighting with himself on how to tell you..or what to tell you. This was his chance to get them back. He needed to distance you from those two, breaking you down and having you hate them is the perfect way to throw them off their game and that's exactly what he wanted.

“It was..Hyunjin and Felix.” He whispers. “They pushed you. You fell and hit your head on a rock.” He tells you.

“What?” You ask, a pang in your heart hits you like a tonne of bricks. “They.. no, that can't be it. They just..i feel like that's not right. They wouldn't do that.”

At least they didn't seem like they would do that to you. Or Would they?

“You can't trust them, Y/N. It was over the stupidest thing too..you called them out for cheating in the race.. they got upset, you got in their face and then they pushed you. You fell back and hit your head.” He sighs.

“But if they were my boyfriends, why would they do that to me?” You whisper.

“Because they don't really love you. They were using you and they were done with you a guess. They decided to try and discard you like trash.” He finishes. Your heart fucking hurts right now.

San’s phone begins to ring loudly, he pulls it from his pocket, answering it quickly, talking quietly enough that you can't hear anything. After he hangs up, he looks at you, pouting. “I have to go.” He says. “But I'll be back to see you.. like I have been the whole time.” He smiles.

As San leaves, a nurse comes in to check your vitals. Something feels off, the way San is acting, it feels sincere but fake. You look at the nurse as she checks you over. “That man.” You begin. “The one that just left..”

“He's handsome! You seem to have some very good looking men in your life.” She chuckles.

“Ha.. yeah.” You reply. “Has he been here the whole time?” You wonder. “Like since I've been in the hospital?”

“Him? Oh no. That's the first time I've seen him. Those other two though. Phew, we practically had to kick them out of the room to eat, shower or do anything. You're a lucky girl.” She smiles.

You give her a half smile as she finishes up, but your mind is racing. You hate that you don’t know what is the truth and what is a lie. Just before she leaves the room, she gives you a few pain pills, and minutes later, you're pain free and in a dead sleep.

The next morning when you wake up, you stretch a little, glancing out the window on your door. You see two familiar faces talking to your doctor. Those two.. how could they?

“Hey!” You yell. They look over at you. “Yeah you two! Come here!”

They walk over to your room, opening the door. “Hi bab..” Felix starts but catches himself.

“Hi Y/N, how are you feeling?” Hyunjin asks. They both look so sad.

“You guys say you love me, right?” You ask. Tears forming in your eyes.

“Yes, of course.” They both answer.

“Then why would you do this to me?” You ask, tears falling already. You couldn't hold it in. “Why would you push me!? Is what he told me true? Were you just using me and this was your way of getting rid of me?” You sob.

“What are you talking about, Y/N!?” Felix asks. They both look worried, their brows furrow as they replay in their head what you had said.

“We didn't do this to you!” Hyunjin says. “It was San! You called him out for cheating!”

“We would never hurt you, Y/N. Ever.” Felix says. Your head is spinning, you feel like you can't breathe. “Get out! How can I believe what you say!?” You scream. “Get out! Go!” You sob.

Both men stare at you for a second, their hearts breaking along with yours. They knew the truth, they told you the truth but why would you believe them? You didn't even remember them.

As Hyunjin and Felix walk out of your room, leaving you behind while you sob. They're walking down the hallway when they see San, heading towards them.

“Son of a bitch.” Hyunjin mutters. Felix walks straight up to him, grabbing San by the collar and slamming him against the wall.

“You fucking lied to her. You told her this was us!? You're such a fucking piece of shit.” Felix yells. San shoves Felix back, walking up to him. “Hope you said your goodbyes, next time you see her she'll be in love with me.” San whispers, laughing as he walks towards your room.

There's a knock at your door and San comes in with a smile on his face, hearing what the doctor is saying. “You're going to be discharged. But you need to take it easy. If you feel dizzy, nauseous, or anything, come back.`` He smiles.

“Yes doctor. Thank you.” you grin. You were feeling better, just weak still.

“Here, I got your clothes from the night of the accident.” he says, handing you a few items. He helps you walk towards the bathroom, letting you get dressed in peace.

Once you're dressed, he grabs your bag, helping you carry it and your shoes, as the two of you leave the room. His hand rests on the flat of your back as he helps you down the hallway, where you see an angry looking Felix and Hyunjin standing, watching the two of you. They watch as you and San pass them, but you don’t notice San turning his head to smirk at them, sending them a wink before the two of you turn the corner. The two of you get in his car and you cannot wait to get back to your own house and be in your bed. You look out the window, and you know this isn't the way to your house.

“Where are you going?” you ask San as he drives down an unfamiliar street.

“You're not staying at your place.” he says, staring at the road.

“I want to go home, please.” you say. “Turn the car around.”

“No, what if something happens? You're not staying there all by yourself.” he says.

“Then I'll call you. Please just take me home.” you say, again.

“No! Fucking listen Y/N!” he snaps, slamming his hand down onto the steering wheel. You turn your head, looking out the window instead of at him. You didn’t want to look at him. For the rest of the ride, neither of you said a word. As you get to his house, you notice a few people passed out on the lawn. It was the afternoon, how were they still out? You get inside the house and it was exactly how you expected it to be. Almost like a frat house, booze everywhere, mismatched furniture. It made you feel sad, like you were missing something, or someone. San led you into a room that had a bed, dresser and a few things scattered around the floor. You walked in, almost gagging at the smell of balls and sweat. He helped you into the bed, as gently as he could. He made you nervous. You worried about saying the wrong thing. He seemed to have a temper and you didn't want to aggravate him.

“Lay down. I'll go get you some water for your pain meds.” he says with a smile. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”

He comes back, water in hand, with two pills. He hands them to you, along with a glass of water. “Drink it all.” He smiles. “You need to stay hydrated. Do you want me to stay here with you?” He asks. You shake your head no, it would only take the pills a few minutes before they made you feel groggy and you'd want to sleep. “I'm going to sleep soon.” You say. “Can I have my phone?” You ask. You had forgotten he had slipped it into his pocket.

“It's in the car. I'll get it and bring it to you.” He says, leaving the room. You lay there and wait. You continue to wait, and wait, and wait. You just wanted to check it, but you couldn't keep your eyes open any longer. You tried to stay awake but you were tired of fighting it now.

San sat on the couch, thankful that you didn't have a pass code on your phone. He read through the messages Felix and Hyunjin had been sending you, telling you not to trust San, and to please be careful. They wanted you to call them if you needed them. San scoffs, yeah right. As if he'd let you see any of those messages. He sat there deleting the incriminating texts, you couldn't be second guessing him, that wouldn't work for his plan.

“Hey man, you wanna game?” Mingi asks, plopping on the couch next to San.

“Yeah, let's do it.” He says, turning on the game, tossing your phone beside him.

“I gotta ask, dude, what the fuck are you doing?” he asks San.

“What’d you mean?” San laughs.

“With the girl? Shes got a fucking head injury, not to mention two boyfriends in a rival gang.” Mingi says.

San laughs loudly. “She won’t have those boyfriends for long. I just need her long enough to ruin those two. Weaken them while I decide what to do with them.”

“And Y/N? What are you gonna do with her once you're done” he asks.

“I don't know yet, I'm kinda liking having her around. Maybe I'll keep her or toss her, I dunno yet.” San laughs.

Mingi chuckles. “Maybe I'll keep her when you don't want her. We could have some fun.” He laughs.

“When I'm done you can have her.” San chuckles.

**

“I can't choose, and I won't choose. I'm falling hard for you both and I want you both. If you're okay with that then I'm all in, but if you're not then it won't work.”

You can see Felix and Hyunjin standing there, looking at you with nothing but love in their eyes. This is familiar, you vaguely remember this night.

“I'm in.” Hyunjin smiles.

“I'm all in.” Felix says.

You remember the pure bliss and happiness you felt in this moment. You remembered sitting at the restaurant with them, terrified they were going to end the friendship with you. You remember the knot you felt in your stomach, the pain you felt in your whole body.

“I'm falling in love with you with Y/N.”

“Falling in love with you Y/N.”

the words keep echoing.

“In love with you Y/N.”

“Love with you Y/N.”

“With you Y/N.”

“You Y/N.”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.”

You shoot up in bed. Beads of sweat dripping down your forehead. San looks at you with a weird look, like he was so annoyed with you.

“What The fuck were you dreaming about?” He asks. “You were so fucking loud.”

“Sorry.” You whisper, rubbing your eyes. “What time is it?” You ask.

“8pm.” San says. “I brought you some water. Drink it all.” He says. You chug the glass quickly, with your eyes shut, missing the smirk on San's face. He leans on the dresser, watching you. Minutes later, you're asleep again.

“Too fucking easy.” He chuckles.

The next day, you wake up later in the day, still feeling groggy. You didn't know how though, you had slept for over 16 hours. Maybe it was too much sleep? But now you were tired and fucking starving. You shuffled out of the room, and into the living room, seeing San sitting on the couch.

“Ahh you're up. Hungry?” He asks. You eagerly nod your head. He leads you to the kitchen, having you sit at the kitchen table while he pulls out some things to make you a sandwich. Suddenly memories of sitting at an island while someone makes dough in front of you flashes through your head. Who was that? Someone used to cook for you and bake for you but why couldn't you see their face?

San places a sandwich with some chips in front of you, and you eat it. You weren't about to be picky with someone you barely know but acts like the two of you are close.

San has his back to you, while he's at the counter. You can hear him doing something over there before filling up a glass of water and setting it in front of you. “Drink it all.” He smiles, watching you chug a glass of water. You didn't even get to finish your sandwich before you felt exhaustion take over. Your eyes closed with your head on the table. San picked you up over his shoulder and carried you to his room. You tried to keep them open but you couldn't, and you missed seeing the 4 empty pill capsules on the kitchen counter.

**

“Why are you trying to pass the blame, San?”

“I saw you. You started going before the fucking flagged dropped.”

Anger. You remember seeing the pure rage on San's face as you called him out. Of course it wasn't Felix and Hyunjin. of course San was lying.

“Why don't you just shut the fuck up!?” You remember San screaming. The terrifying look he had on his face before shoving you - hard.

You were scared as you fell back, you could feel your head smacking the rock and then nothing.

You shot up in bed, practically hyperventilating. It was dark out now, the clock read 11:34pm.

You remembered. You remembered everything and you needed to get the fuck out of there. You get out of the bed, looking down at your clothes, he had changed you into one of his shirts and it made you feel gross. You can hear the music thumping in the living room, you really fucking hoped they were here. San still had your phone. you walked out into the living room trying to cover yourself the best you could but you needed to get your phone.

“You're up again.” You hear from beside you. San looks annoyed as he grabs your wrist, pulling you towards him. You scanned the room but saw no sign of Hyunjin or Felix. Your heart sank. You knew you told them that you needed space to think but you had hoped they would have showed up if not to just check on you.

“Can I have my phone please?” You ask, San looks surprised.

“Why? Why do you want it?” He asks.

“Because its my fucking phone and you have no right to keep it from me.” You say, your voice getting a little louder.

“You just want it so you can text your little boyfriends. Right? That's it? Why do you want to leave me? Huh? I've been there for you, I was at the hospital for you! Taking care of you! After they hurt you! So why are you trying to go!?” He screams. Everyone has turned to look at the two of you. You're raging. You can't control it. Not since everything came flooding back to you.

“You? Taking care of me? That's fucking laughable San, cause you know what?” You say, getting closer and in his face. Someone cuts out the music. “I remember. I remember everything. Like you cheating, and you shoving me down for calling you out.” You whisper, but your voice now is getting increasingly louder. “I bet you felt like a big fucking man, didn't you? Putting your hands on me. You've got a temper you can't control cause you're an insecure little boy, and you're gonna get yours, believe me. Now give me my fucking phone so I can get the fuck away from you.” You scream.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” San yells. “You've gone fucking delusional. Go back to bed.” He scoffs, lightly shoving you.

“Don't fucking touch me.” You grit. “Where's my phone!?” You scream, pushing him. He looks at you, shocked that you actually put your hands on him. You had barely made him step backwards but he didn't like that you felt like you could do that. He stomps towards you, shoving you back again. You fall to the floor, this time you protect your head.

“Wow again? Didn't you learn from last time?” You snap. San stands there rubbing his face with his hands, running them through his hair as he tries to decide on a course of action. He hadn't anticipated you'd get your memories back so soon.

“Come on babe. Just get up and go back to bed.” San says, his voice trembling as he tries to remain calm. He forgot there were tons of eyes on him that had just witnessed him pushing you, again.

“Babe?” You both hear, followed by chuckling.

“Don't call her that.” Felix snaps, making his way through a few people, Hyunjin behind him as they're now standing by you and San. You could see it in their faces, how mad they were at that moment. You really hoped none of their anger was directed at you.

“You really have a hard time keeping your hands to yourself don't you?” Hyunjin asks.

“He just likes to pick on women, he's a woman beater.” Felix yells.

“I'm fucking not! She wouldn't stop!” San yells.

“So your solution is to push her down, again? You shoved her so hard last time, she had a brain bleed and was in a coma for two weeks.” Felix snaps. “So here's what you're gonna do. You're going to give Hyunjin Y/N’s phone, and we're going to take her back with us, where she belongs and you're not going to contact her, think about her, nothing. Understand?” Felix says. His voice is calm but scary. .

“And if I don't?” San asks, with a laugh.

“I'll make your life even more miserable than it already is.” Felix whispers.

“Fine, take her.” San grunts, tossing your phone to Hyunjin. Felix helps you up, then pulls you into a tight hug as he breathes a sigh of relief. Hyunjin pulls you into him after holding you so tightly. You finally felt safe, relaxed and loved. You started to walk away with the men, but San grabs your wrist. You never wanted to be back here, ever again. San was scary, he wasn't the man you'd previously known. Before you can get away, He pulls you into him. “Don't worry, you'll be back real fucking soon.” He whispers, pushing you back towards the two men.

If you ended up back here again, you were sure you wouldn't make it out alive.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

how often would shion win fights if he fought right away instead of gloating?

Well it's a bit hard to say since we haven't really seen him do that. I think he would have a better chance in his fights if he stopped gloating and took them more seriously instead of dismissing his opponents. But we also know he must've won a tonne of fights even while doing that, he wouldn't have been black dragons captain or in tenjiku if he hadn't, we just don't get to see this. Shion himself also seems to think the reason he keeps losing is because he's in a generation of "monsters" (tbf he does kinda have a point when you think of Mikey, Izana and everyone else). But the point is he doesn't seem to consider the gloating or not taking things seriously enough as the reason for at least some of his losses. Which is probably why we don't see him change at all.

[acaciusbride]

Breathe Through It (Joel Miller x Reader)

Summary: you have a panic attack. Joel helps.

CWs: Descriptions of mental health conditions (namely PTSD, but can be read as any anxiety based disorder with panic attacks) / graphic description of a panic attack / some adult language/ references to past trauma (nothing explicitly described but inferred).

Notes: This is entirely self indulgent, I have pretty severe PTSD and this is the coping mechanism of the day. Implied to be F!Reader but it can be read as gender neutral.

Word Count: 1.1k

Tag List: @joelsgirl & @mydailyhyperfixations

You don't feel it happen until it does. You've heard that for some people, their panic attacks build up, like the world's shittiest tidal wave, steadily looming over them.

Yours aren't like that. You'll be fine one minute, then something will trigger it. A sound. A place. A thought. Someone with a similar sounding name. A nightmare.

You get less than ten seconds warning, if you're lucky, before it hits you like a tonne of bricks and you freeze. It doesn't matter where you are, what you're doing, your chest constricts and you get tunnel vision. It's like you're a spectator in your own body, dissociated so hard you can't tell left from right.

The worst thing is when you lose your ability to speak. It doesn't happen every time, but when it does it's like someone's squeezing sand down your throat, completely taking away your ability to ask for help. As if you even could. You hate drawing attention to yourself at the best of times, let alone when you're so vulnerable.

Which is why it's annoyingly inconvenient that this is happening now. You haven't exactly been hiding your panic attacks from Joel, but you haven't directly talked about it with him. You know he has his own problems, far more trauma than he lets on. You know it isn't a competition, but you don't want to burden him with your anxiety.

Deep down, you know that it wouldn't be a burden. That he loves you, but it's hard to remember that when trauma brain is the one at the wheel.

You're not sure what it is this time. You're just walking through town with him, heading home after a drink, after a shift on the guard tower together, when someone, of all things, laughs. The laugh isn't quite right, but it sounds close enough that you freeze up, breath catching in your throat. Fuck, you're maybe ten feet from home. Why now?

Joel gets maybe two steps ahead of you before he realises you're no longer keeping pace, turns to say something, maybe crack a joke about you being a lightweight, but the comment dies on his lips the moment he sees your expression.

Most people think you just space out. Think it's a personality quirk or just a thing that you do. Joel knows better. He knows better because Ellie's described what he looks like when he has a panic attack, recognises when he's about to have one these days.

So it's immediately fucking clear as day to him what's happening.

He doesn't bother asking what's set it off; knows that there isn't always a clear answer, and that even asking, reminding you of the trigger, could just make it worse.

Joel hates being touched when he's having an episode of his own. Knows it triggers his fight response, that he'll start swinging. He doesn't think that will apply to you, but he doesn't know for certain, and that's all that keeps him from wrapping his arms tight around you.

Instead, he takes you by the hand, leads you the last few steps to the house, closes the door behind you, flips the light on.

"'S okay. Look, we're good. Door's closed. Nobody's coming after us."

You can barely hear him, heart pounding in your ears, breaths coming out ragged like you've just run a marathon.

"Hey. Hey. If you can, look at me, okay?"

He doesn't sound angry, or tired, and it's not a demand. This voice is the one he uses when Ellie's sick, or you're sick, or when he's reassuring one of the kids in town that he's not remotely mad that they stole an extra slice of pie when he was meant to be on food watch duty.

Joel is always soft spoken, but this is different. It makes you feel safe, not enough to pull you out of it, because that's not how it works, but safe enough to look at him, to focus as best you can on the dark depths of his eyes.

"There you are." He goes to let go of your hand but you cling on to him, slump against his chest, needing the warmth and solidness of him to ground you.

That's all the permission he needs, wrapping his arms tight around you.

"I've got you. You're safe, I promise."

You know that. Deep down, you know that the people who hurt you are far away. That they'll never touch you, control you, hurt you, ever again. You know that you're safe here, in this house, with Joel.

He rubs soothing circles on your back, kisses the top of your head, relieved when you start breathing properly again, coming down from the adrenaline.

"You don't need to hide these from me, darlin', I know how they feel."

"That's why I didn't want you to deal with it." You manage to get out; your throat is dry as hell, the guilt already forming.

"Deal with it? What, like it's a big issue? I'd rather be able to help. That's what I'm here for. We do this together, remember?"

"But it's..."

"Nothing. Don't you dare call yourself a burden or anything similar. You've been through so much. Ain't a competition. But you've gotta let me in, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?" You hate how small your voice is, how distant you still feel. Even if the worst is over, you'll still feel horrible for a few more hours, trapped by your own thoughts.

"I promise. Breathe through it, baby. I'm not going anywhere. We can stay here all night if it helps you feel safe."

You exhale. You do feel safer, standing there with his arms locked around you.

"Will it always be like this?" You hate yourself for asking, but you know he's been dealing with these a lot longer than you have.

"Yes and no," Joel says finally. "You learn to sit with them. They don't suck any less, they're still fuckin' horrible, but you get your support, and you'll learn to sit with them."

You nod against his chest, finally feeling a little better. At least better enough that it doesn't feel like your limbs are full of cement.

"What can I do to help?"

You consider for a minute. "Can we have coffee? Maybe take a shower?"

You always feel a cold sweat come over you after the worst of it passes. Joel nods, gives you one last reassuring squeeze.

"Course we can. Whatever you need, darlin', I'm always gonna be here for you."

He lets go of you to move to the kitchen, but keeps hold of your hand, knows without asking that you still need the reassurance of touch.

"Hey, Joel?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"I love you."

"Love you too, baby. C'mon, let me take care of you."

It's not a miracle cure. No such thing exists, after all, but having someone who loves you so much, who you know will support you through it? It makes all the difference in the world.

[jolalibrary]

javi peña x f!dea!reader

invite me in.

warnings: hints at spice only. fwb. sneaking around.

an: just a little thing from something bigger, and i’m super scared so be nice.

“You going to invite me in, Peña or are we going to just stare at one another on the doorstep?”

Swallowing a retort, he opens the door wider, allowing you entry—just enough that you’d make it through, while forcing your body to be close to his.

He scans the corridor, thankful it’s empty. Wondering how long you’d been waiting before you’d come down to his door.

Because of all the sights he bet on tonight, it wasn’t you at his compound door.

You who was slowly sliding your coat off. You who was suddenly standing in…

Well, fuck.

“Take a picture, Peña. Might last longer—“

“Don’t fucking tempt me, baby,” he groans, slamming the door into its frame.

He’s quick—precise. Placing one hand on your hip—the other palm flat, fingers spread for leverage on the wall. Giving you enough space to change your mind, but yet firmly telling you he’s in—he wants you and him. This.

Then he smells it: your fucking perfume.

The one which haunts him around the base. Notes of it still crushed into his jacket collar from another stolen moment. All hints of orange blossom and something far more intoxicating.

“Surprised you know where my room is?” he whispers, letting his words brush your jaw as he ghosts his mouth over your skin.

You jut your chin out, raise it, and stare boldly into his fucking soul. Just like you do when you’re verbally sparing him. But this… this doesn’t feel like a fight, doesn’t feel like you’re going to make his day worse. It feels like you’re about to make it a fuck tonne better.

Your chest rising and falling in panicked little motions, nerves kissing skin not covered by dark green lace, leaving goosebumps he can’t wait to rid.

“You’re getting sloppy.”

He runs his nose across your cheek. “That so?”

Nodding, you clutch his cheek, turning his eyes to meet yours. “For one, you told me your room number while you were trying to stuff your hand into my jeans at the bar. Two, y’keep staring at me in front of Murphy.”

It almost escapes his lips, a snort. His face so close to yours, able to see all the flecks in your eyes—the individual strands that make up the shade of your eyes he sees when he blinks.

“Can’t help it, cariño. You’re a fuckin’ sight to behold.”

You don’t bite back a retort, but your eyes soften. Even for a millisecond. It’s enough—the briefest window that allows him to dip his head, lips finding yours—seeking, set on not stopping this time. Not having anything interrupt him from hearing the pretty noises he knows you’ll make.

He tastes mint on your tongue but whisky on your lips. The mixture blends with his own concoction of ash and liquor, creating something intoxicating as his tongue slides across your bottom lip.

He’s not sure if he groans first or you—your fingers tangled in his hair, nails in his scalp as he tightens his hold on your bare waist.

Your coat forgotten, crumbled and discarded at your boot-covered feet, especially when he lifts you, thankful your thighs wrap around him—skin flush against his.

Having wrapped yourself up so nicely, he wants to undo you slowly. Your back on his sheets, staring up at him with the light reflecting in your eyes.

He wishes he had his old place—could you fuck you properly. Let you scream his name. Let your voice coat the walls. But, this’ll have to do.

The small, barely anything room with its squeaking metal bed that he shares with his fucking partner. The one who is thankfully out, away—hopefully very fucking busy.

“Take them off, Peña,” you whisper, your fingers dancing over his. “But, carefully—not like last time.”

He smirks, hooking his thumbs against the fabric as he drags it down your legs—watching you, watch him as he takes you all in.

[princessbrunette]

Spiderman JJ sneaking into your room after a fight only to find you and John B with an entire ass yarn-evidence board discussing which of the people they know might be Spiderman

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🕷️ɞ˚‧｡⋆

today was the day, he’d decided. the day jj was going to reveal to you that he was infact spiderman. it wasn’t so much a choice, infact — he didn’t have much. he’d gotten in a bad fight, and knew you could patch him up, being a nursing student and all. he stumbled through your window, wearing his suit that now was home to a few rips and tears he was relying on you to sew up. his heart was racing, wondering what your reaction would be. he smiles as he hears your voice, about to exit your bedroom door — but his smile is quick to drop when he hears another male voice accompanying you, your joint best friend john b.

“look, i know you said to rule out rafe — but who else has his access? those web thingies that spiderman has, they had to cost a shit tonne of money, right? what does rafe have plenty of? money.” john b theorises.

“i think the webs come from his wrists john b, i swear — he’s like a spider mutant.” jj can hear the smile in your voice, clearly excited over the theories.

“yeah, you know that’s like— impossible, right?” john b’s voice flattens sarcastically.

“oh, and a guy flying across the skyline is totally normal. embrace the impossible, jb.” you grin and john b shakes his head, not buying it.

“whatever. you got anymore yarn? runnin’ kinda low here.”

“yeah, there’s some in my room somewhere. come.” you nod to the brunette for him to follow him, the sound of footsteps drawing closer. jj realises he’s about to be caught, big time.

“oh shit.” the now maskless blonde curses, going to take a step back but walks straight into your vanity, spilling an abundance of bracelets and necklaces onto the floor. he knew the commotion gave him away, so quickly — his wrist shot out and he closed the door with his web, the footsteps stopping suddenly in the hallway.

“who’s there?” you call out fearfully, and john steps infront of you protectively.

“got a baseball bat and im not afraid to use it, dude.” john b calls out, making jj pipe up quickly.

“its me! guys its me!”

“jj? what the hell are you doing in here?” you relax, storming over to the door. “how’d you get in?” he senses your hand reach for the door knob, and he panics once more.

“w—wait! okay! i’m uh— i’m naked!”

“dude.” john b’s flat voice sounds from behind the door.

“i got jumped, okay and they nabbed my freaking clothes.” as he speaks, he’s working on ripping his suit off, stuffing it into your full waste bin below your desk, covering it with balled up papers, making a mental note to retrieve it later.

when the door opens, jj stands fully naked, only his hands covering his junk.

“oh gosh.” you gasp, and the brunette shakes his head.

“they took your boxers, too?”

“wasn’t wearin’ ‘em to begin with.”

“right.”

he’ll tell you another day.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🕷️ɞ˚‧｡⋆

[wannaeatramyeon]

Hello!! I love your writings soo much it gives me soo much joy 🥰. Can i request daniel hitting you in his ui form and his reaction once he is conscious. (The reader is not a fighter.) Thank u 🙇 once again love your work ❤️❤️

Ty for the kind words!! And for the ask, this one made me chuckle! Please first refer to here 👀 are you the same anon 👀 👀 👀

Anyway non-fighter surviving a UI Daniel hit? Your durability is off the roof. Imagine if Gun got a hold of you...

This turned into such a silly piece, I had a lot of fun writing it but it's a little all over the place lol.

UI Daniel Knocking You Out HC

Pre-Daniel x Reader if you fancy

Alarm bells start ringing when Daniel regains consciousness and sees you lying on the ground

He sprints over to you, checking your breathing and vitals. Luckily, you seem fine, just passed out

Not knowing exactly if you had any severe damage, he doesn't move you. He sits and keeps you company, keeping a watchful eye over you, hoping you would stir soon

After a few minutes, Daniel remembers a video he watched where rubbing someone's leg might actually help you wake up

He moves to touch your leg but hesitates. It's a bit weird rubbing a stranger's leg, no? Still, his guilt ovepowers all sense of logic and he nervously grabs your legs and starts rubbing...

and rubbing...

No reaction

...Am I not doing this right?

He tries massaging you instead, digging in a bit harder, hoping to stimulate bloodflow

You groggily come to, holding your ribs. They didn't feel broken, just painful. Like you somehow survived a ten tonne truck crashing into you

Slowly you start to recall where you are and how you got here. You remember seeing a fight, trying to dodge and run away but getting struck regardless

You don't remember anything else

"Oh!! You're awake!"

You peer down to see a guy massaging your legs. What the fuck? He releases your lower half from his strong hands and you try to kick him straight away

"GET AWAY PERVERT!"

"H-hey no, I'm not-" he holds both his hands up in a sign of surrender

"YOU SEE SOMEONE PASSED OUT AND THIS IS WHAT YOU DO?!"

"N-no, this is a misunder-"

"YOU THINK YOU'RE GOOD LOOKING AND YOU CAN DO WHAT YOU WANT?"

"I'm sorry, b-but-"

You don't want to listen to this weirdo anymore. You try to sit up and immediately groan and clutch your side. The guy tries to help (probably finding more inappropriate ways to touch you) and you glare at him instead

He scratches his head in frustration, the excuse and explanation comes out in a babble

I'm sorry! This is my fault, I was the one that hit you, by accident! And I got this technique from the Viral Hit channel, and I know it was inappropriate, but I panicked, and I didn't know what else to do and, and-

You begin to loosen up a bit, you catch parts of what he says and it does sort of make sense. You have heard of V-Hit, and this... weird technique

"And my name is Daniel Park, please let me make it up to you!"

It isn't like you're going anywhere in the state you're in

"Is anything broken?" his face is a picture of worry and anxiety

"No... I don't think so," your body just feels tender

"Here."

This Daniel Park lifts you up in a bridal carry, one arm under your legs, and the other under your back. Like you weigh nothing at all

Christ, this guy is strong. No wonder you were unconscious

"Erm... are you kidnapping me now?"

Daniel looks down at you in shock and his ears turn red, "N-No! Let me carry you home! Or wherever you need to be!"

You guess there's no stopping some people. "I live about 4 miles away. You going to carry me all the way?"

Daniel smiles at you, looking a little relieved, "Of course,"

Definitely a weirdo. "Fine"

"What's your name by the way?"

"..." Like you were gonna give this pervert your name

Bonus leg massage pic from HtF

[vanillablankcanvas]

what are your stories for the other Trolls in Kismet?

Woo Kismet! Thanks for the ask!

So I believe because of the Bergens... The village needed a group home for Trollings. That's where Branch met the other guys in Kismet.

During the Royal Engagement Tour they were kinda down coz they thought with Branch becoming King, this was the end of Kismet.

Floyd was able to work with them and develop their performance so that they were more confident performing without Branch.

They tested some of the performances during the tour without Branch and they were a massive hit with the other tribes!

Kismet lives on!

Ablaze

Can't stand the silence for too long and gets bored very easily.

Adrenaline junkie and won't turn down a dare.

A bit competitive, will turn anything into a competition.

Owns and races transportation critters.

Has a girlfriend that is very... shallow. She's very materialistic and everyone notices except for him.

Hype

Gets very excited about everything. Someone's new hairstyle, new flowers in the garden, the smell coming for the bakery? He lives for the small moments!

Married and has a step son. They also have an egg on the way.

He tries his best but the step son doesn't like him.

Like most Glitter Trolls, he and Boom spend a lot of time grooming and primping and taking pride in their looks buuuut Hype is the worst of the two. He carries around a mirror and a comb.

Likes things to be clean and organized. Has collections of things in glass cases to keep them in perfect condition.

Trickee

Knows tonnes of party tricks because he likes being the center of attention . Card tricks, bike tricks etc.

A bit reckless, doesn't know how to pick his battles and will pick fights over petty things.

Bottomless pit. Will try any food handed his way.

Loves creating chaos. Will say something controversial just to get people arguing with each other.

Guy really wants a girlfriend but none of them seem to stick. During the Royal Engagement Tour he is determined to hook up with a Troll from each tribe. He wants the 'tour experience'. It doesn't happen. Sorry bud.

Boom

Is very athletic: he goes to the gym, he plays baseball, coaches kids baseball.

Is the 'mom friend'. Always worried about people and has heaps of things stored in his hair; snacks, bandaids, scrunchies, makeup wipes etc.

Has a reputation of being the 'dumb one' coz he doesn't understand many jokes and he didn't finish highschool.

Is secretly very artistic and creative but hides it coz he worries people will think it's dumb.

As a Trolling his hair was naturally green. 💚 Like other Trollings he couldn't gradient his hair until he was a teenager.

[theclaravoyant]

Ripples (Hen, Tommy) - 1400wd

AN ~ i am obsessed with sweet, sweet platonic content and the hentommy moment we may never get, so i'm giving us one.

In the middle of a building collapse (because of course they are), Hen and Tommy catch up. Read on AO3 (~1500wd)

-

It's coming down!

The ear-shattering screech of steel and concrete is the only thing Hen can hear for a long moment after she throws herself forward into the hallway. The roof is holding out here, although the concrete dust isn't helping as the air is becoming dangerously smokey. A torn electrical line spits out aimless sparks. But she's okay.

Grimacing against the oncoming headache, she gets to her feet and takes stock.

“Ravi, you okay?”

“Partial floor collapse back here when the ceiling came down,” Ravi reports from somewhere out of sight. He coughs. “I'm down a floor, but I'm okay.”

“Kinard?”

Nothing.

“Tommy? Come in.”

“Hen?”

His voice is weak, but she's not just hearing it through the comms. Hen turns back to the pile of rubble, sifting through sheets of ceiling plaster and trying to pinpoint where it's coming from. Soon enough, she sees a hand wave.

“Got you,” she assures him. “How you feeling?”

He groans. She frowns as she clears the last of the lighter debris, and can see why, because of course he's not been lucky enough to catch a bit of plaster and plywood. He's stuck face-down, the whole back half of his body pinned under probably a half a tonne of rubble.

“My leg,” he advises. “Right's okay I- I think. Left is really- oh, Christ, I think it's twisted up pretty bad. At least it was. I can't- I don't think I can feel it anymore.”

Tommy's breath shakes like he's fighting off a panic attack as Hen requests assistance. Possible spinal. Even when she manages to get both of their halligans under there and relieve some of the pressure, there's only so much that can be seen from here of his bloody mess of a knee. She can only confirm that it's highly unlikely his toes are actually moving. And sure, it means maybe nothing but maybe it means a pinched nerve or amputation or permanent paralysis or, or, or – in other words; no more being a firefighter, no more being a pilot, no more of a lot of other things too probably and that hurts so much more than the fact that half his body's being pulverised into the floor.

“Come on now,” Hen challenges gently. “You know better than to take it to the worst case scenario.”

He nods as best he can down here. He's starting to feel cold and shake and it's got to be some kind of stress response. Is he going into shock?

“I also know better,” he manages, “than putting myself on the call roster for the craziest firehouse in LA.”

“Yeah, well. We all do stupid things for pretty boys, hm?”

He can picture it, the smirk on her face; equal parts compassion and mischievousness. It makes him feel warmer and stop clenching his jaw. He hadn't even realised he was doing that. But she's right, and she's picked a hell of a time to bring it up, and it's working: thinking of Evan and his boyish smile and his big blue eyes brings his heart rate down, steadies his breathing...

Hen settles in beside him. She's close enough to check his brachial pulse, or grab him and yank him forward – possible spinal be damned - if anything else goes down, but as it is, they wait.

After a few breaths of reassuringly collapse-sounds-free silence, Tommy asks:

“So, how's Karen and Denny?”

It almost makes her laugh. He's still face down and bleeding under a roof and for his tone, they could be stood free and clear around an average office water cooler. Ah, the life of a firefighter.

“They're good,” Hen assures him. “Great, actually. You know, Denny's almost fourteen?”

“Wow. Way to make me feel old.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Evan tells me you guys have a daughter now too?”

“Mara,” Hen updates him. “She's nine. Came to us through foster. She's been through a lot but we're getting there. She's really strong, and she's working really hard, you know, to heal.”

“Good, that's good. Sounds like she's got a bright future ahead of her,” Tommy congratulates. Then a more sombre tone settles into his voice. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

It's something about having your whole life and livelihood hanging in the balance that brings out this sort of confessional in people, Hen knows. She's both always wary of it, and also sort of addicted to the kind of radical honesty that constantly spilling your literal actual guts tends to inspire. So even as she tries to get out - “Tommy, we don't have to do this,” - she braces herself to accept whatever is about to come next as if it's the last thing he'll ever get to say.

“I'm sorry I was such a dick to you,” he says, “back in the day. I wish I could say I just got caught up in the machismo and stuff but honestly I- I didn't know any better. And I didn't really want to try. But you, and Chim, you're some of the best firefighters out there and I didn't give you guys your due and I'm sorry.”

Tears prick at Hen's eyes, and it doesn't help the sweat and smoke and concrete dust that's still settling all around them. She'd patched over these wounds a long time ago but it feels nice all the same, freeing in a way she hadn't anticipated, to get an apology she was never going to ask for.

“You know,” Tommy continues, softer now. “I think you saved my life.”

“Uh, pretty sure I'm up to about six counts of that,” she jests, because she can feel it coming;

“I'm not talking about in the field.”

There it is.

Hen's breath catches in her throat as Tommy finds the courage to recount it. She's felt it coming for a long time now, maybe even years, but certainly since he'd strode into Chim's hospital room all giddy and covered with soot and with Buck she'd kind of wondered. Wondered what her crying and demanding to be seen in the middle of the firehouse floor all those years ago might have actually done. It had done a lot for her, but she'd never quite be ready to hear, let alone to contemplate, what those words might have done for a man who'd grown up in a military family under don't ask don't tell – the same policy that had kept Karen's dream out of reach until it was too late. For a man who'd not grown up having and valuing marginalised experiences; not having a bad-ass, butch as hell mother who'd always taught her to speak her truth, even if that truth was something said mother had struggled to deal with at first. He'd been taught how to be a man and a gentleman and a soldier and not much else. He'd never realised what intimacy could actually be like, what love could actually be like; he'd thought he'd scared off every girl he'd ever had because there was something abnormal about him. Something fundamentally unloveable.

“... Bits and pieces, looking back – you know how it is. I'd just always sort of thought there was something wrong with me. I'd never really seen any other possibility. Until you. So. I know I'm late to the party, but for what it's worth – I see you now, Hen. And I am honoured to call you Captain.”

Hen nods, trying to swallow the lump in her throat as some of those tears splash down her cheeks. In spite of herself she feels something reach back in time and touch her fierce, heartbroken younger self; a promise that it's going to be worth it one day.

“It's worth a lot, Tommy,” she manages. “Thank you.”

Then, the radio crackles back to life.

“Cap,” Eddie reports, “Ambulances from the 133 pulling up. 118 should be on you now.”

Footsteps clamour down the hall toward them, as Ravi, Buck and Chim rush in, backboard and hydraulic jack in hand. Chim pushes the morphine, Ravi pushes the pain point of the rubble away, Buck and Hen slide Tommy out and even though he yelps and moans Buck can't hide the joy and relief that breaks out on his face as they flip him onto his back and slide him onto the backboard in swift, perfectly matched unison like a well-oiled machine.

“We've got you,” Buck promises, squeezing one of Tommy's trembling hands with a sweaty, giddy smile. He glances over at Hen, and checks in - “You good?”

What do you think it is? he'd asked her once. The secret to happiness?

He's in the middle of a burning building, and it looks like it's pouring out of him now.

“I'm great,” she replies. “Let's move.”

[failing-to-write-again]

Fights with Ruki

So time for part 2 now I am free from the hell that is examination. Ruki fights I feel are a high risk situation pre-relationship especially with the Mukami's high level aggression. Like the Sakamakis are dangerous but they are less likely to just kill you over an argument same as they don't drink from Yui the same way the Mukamis did.

I am also taking a more gender neutral approach, any feedback on how to improve.

Ruki is quite similar to Reiji in the matter of neither will admit their wrong unless they have grown a shit tonne.

"Stop being hysterical."

"It isn't hysterical to be unhappy the guy who is meant to be your boyfriend calls you livestock in front of your classmates."

He freezes, turning to look at the back of your head. You were unpacking your textbooks and notepad at your desk in his study, covered in all manner of trinkets and sheets compared to his more practical array. You were clearly tense, you were distant from the moment he had made that comment. You had bristled, heeding his call but not accepting his extended hand, simply brushing past and taking your seat in the car home.

"And what is that supposed to mean? 'Meant to be' you should know you are mine alone," he narrowed his eyes stalking closer. You had sat by this point turned to some random page or other and beginning to take notes.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"About what."

"About how you embarrassed me, degraded me, and treated me in front of people who are already horrible enough to be around. No I don't want to talk about it the same way you never do." Well that was news to him seemingly, pulling back in exasperation before putting his hand over your text and moving into your eye line.

"What on earth is going on in your little mind, you can't just keep things from me-"

"That exactly that, 'little mind' you constantly belittle me it is bad enough in private and then you do it in public," you were avoiding eye contact your head in your hands. It was evident this had been building for some time, this outburst wasn't new. Taking a deep breath he re-positioned, sliding your chair out with his foot he moved closer. Gently taking your hands away and holding them.

"You need to tell me these things, be honest with me, I don't enjoy watching you squirm unless it is in anticipation of my fangs." It was then you finally looked up, fear filled your eyes.

"You've never been exactly happy to hear when you do something I don't like," He stayed silent, beckoning you to continue. "You say and do things that make me feel like you just see me as a pet. That's not love Ruki."

"What stupid ideas you fill your head with, of course I view you as more important now than in the past," He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back.

"I hardly think it's stupid. I get targeted enough, and you don't get that. I will never be good enough for them and I wouldn't even care if you didn't outright tell them you see me as livestock!" You stood a finger pressed imposingly against his chest. Eyes searching his for something. He paused for a moment before pulling you closer.

"Maybe I should call you that less than, but it would be easier for you to tell me names and I handle the situation." You laughed at that, finally letting him relax. He grinned moving his hand into your hair and approaching your neck.

"Although I've yet to hear you complain about what I call you in private..."

"Ruki!"