#i don't know who started this but thank you to them

[keferon]

Eh okay so. My brain is absolutely cooked so you will probably just have to ignore the linguistic fuckups

Jazz and Prowl learning to communicate because language barrier is a thing >:D

Previous part

Jazz sometimes thinks that somewhere along his career path he lost the bar separating normal from...well...everything else.

After all he's seen, heard about, and done, he's not sure exactly how to measure what's weird and what's normal. He has..the general idea.

His own. And it's so convoluted and fucked up that he'd rather jump into a volcano than try to explain it to anyone else. Jazz thinks the little colorful aliens around him are weird as hell. He thinks they sound weird, he thinks they look weird, and he thinks he must be going crazy.

And then this big black and white robot catches his eye and Jazz's first thought is not "what the fuck??"

His first thought is

"Thank God! Someone's normal!"

Whoever this guy is, he sounds like he knows what he's doing. And most importantly, he looks just like Jazz. Well, not exactly. But close enough. After all, Jazz knows that his organization wasn't the only mech maker on the entire planet. Other countries were making Mechs too, and Jazz hadn't seen even half of them.

But he can recognize a giant robot when he sees one, okay?

The thought that another mech could be an alien doesn't even enter his mind.

So used to the constant presence of huge piloted robots around him, he looks at this one and clings to its appearance as something familiar and easily explainable. His brain says, we know how this works. There's a robot and inside the robot there's another person. It's the way it's always been. The sky is blue, the grass is green and the robots are human-piloted. It's that simple.

The guy takes him to the far corner of the room and says something. Jazz…doesn't understand..

The mech's face contorts in a surprisingly believable display of concentration. How...who built this robot? How could they make it frown?

He hears something else being said to him but again can't understand a word. Why won't this pilot get out of the mech to talk to him? Jazz doesn't have his communication frequency but surely they could at least shake hands. There must be some reason. Maybe something wrong with the air? Is it dangerous to be outside? This guy should know better, he's been here longer than Jazz, it seems.

(Damn it, whose idea was it to make a mech with a face, it's so distracting)

He rushes to activate the external speakers, because he and this guy obviously speak different languages, but it never hurts to try, right?

"So uh, I don't think you can understand English?"

Mech frowns again, trying to pick up on something familiar in a language that's apparently new to him. But finds nothing. Jazz lowers his horns sadly.

Oh well. Fuck. As if being stuck in an unknown place with unknown creatures wasn't enough, he can't even talk to anyone! How is he supposed to get out of here? Which way should he even go?

The mech waves his hand to get his attention and then pulls out a tablet and a stylus from..where ?

Jazz somehow manages to overlook the fact that the tablet is made to fit the mech's size. His head is still feels a bit…off..after that portal thingie.

"Charades it is then."

____________________

An hour and a half later, Jazz finds himself staring intensely at the screen in front of him with a surprisingly neatly drawn chart on it.

"So uh. Motion."

The other guy nods and starts drawing a walking mech. Then something that looks like a very unusual car. Then a submarine. Jazz gets a little lost looking at how skillful he is with the stylus.

Honestly, he's a good artist!

The guy points to the sketch of a walking mech and says

" Motion."

Then points to the drawing of a car driving and the columns of the chart.

"Motion-rotation" he points to the car again.

That must mean "driving" huh? Jazz nods understandingly.

Mech moves his finger to the submarine.

"Motion-Water."

Ah, it must mean swimming. Jazz nods once more, feeling like a wind-up dummy repeating the same motion a dozen times.

The mech makes a quiet humming noise and then points to the chart

"Motion. Sky."

And then gives Jazz the stylus?

Uh, what is he... Oh, he wants Jazz to figure out what it means.

"Motion" and "sky," right?

Jazz takes the stylus? Pencil? Thingie.. and very carefully draws out a crooked scribble of something only remotely resembling an airplane. The mech arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to laugh.

Jazz shrugs awkwardly and tries to add windows to the airplane, but ends up making it look more like a severely fucked up caterpillar.

Mech snorts.

Jazz kicks him in the leg.

The airplane begs for a merciful death.

Jazz didn't really expect to get into a language class but he has to admit that whatever language he's learning now is a surprisingly easy one. It only took the other dude half an hour to show him the basic concept and from there it became a game of associations.

There were simple definitions. Like size, quantity, speed, emotion and so on.

There were signs that automatically turned the whole sentence into a question or a statement.

There were modifiers that Jazz defined in his head as positive and negative.

Positive speed - fast.

Positive size - large.

Positive direction - forward.

Positive time - future.

There were also basic words for senses, emotions and whatnot, also with modifiers.

Mouth-positive - to speak

Brain-positive - to think, but negative-brain-do-positive - to learn.

Huh.

And it's so neatly organized that Jazz wondered if this language was designed specifically to be easy to learn.

Let's see....

Mouth - positive, effort - negative.

"Easy to speak."

The guy nods contentedly and starts talking back, while pointing to the appropriate columns of the chart to make it easier for Jazz to understand.

"Creation-positive. Purpose. Person-negative-knowledge. memory-positive-effort-negative."

Jazz frowns, concentrating on his finger.

Oh. Created. For those who don't know it. Easy to learn.

He was right. The whole thing is waaaay too awkward to write poetry but learning it is a delight.

Jazz leans over the chart.

All right, well, let's see.

“Name. You. Question?”

The other guy smiles and pokes at the chart

"Me.Motion-sound-negative.Negative-eyes-positive-someone."

Walk quietly. searching?… Sneaking?

Oh, it's not "to sneak" it's "to prowl"

"Prowl" nods affirmatively. Jazz smiles at him and looks at the chart again. Okay. How to say “music”?..

“word-knowledge-negative.”

He stops to make a gesture with his hands, as if playing an invisible piano while humming a tune.

Prowl nods

“Sound-positive-positive-hearing.”

Jazz chuckles

“A whole two positives eh? Okay then. Uh. You don't look like you listen to jazz....so..”

“Me. Name. Sound-positive-positive-listening.”

Prowl raises his eyebrows. (Jazz is jealous, he wishes he had eyebrows too.)

“You're a musician?"

Jazz quickly shakes his head while simultaneously muting the outside speakers to a barely audible level and turning on one of the songs on his playlist.

Prowl twitches in surprise when he hears the melody.

Jazz waits for the intro to finish playing and then points to himself

“Creation-negative..uh..Sound-positive-positive-hearing. Jazz. This...”

He pats himself lightly on the chest.

"..is me. Jazz."

Prowl straightens up slightly

“Oh, you're not a musician, you're the music.”

Jazz nods cheerfully

“Yes yes!”

“Jaaz?”

“No no. Jazz.”

“Ah. Jazz?”

“That's right.”

Prowl draws a portal on the screen.

“You teleported here. What happened?”

Jazz hangs back, trying to construct an answer in his head. Good thing Prowl seems to have infinite patience

“So, I uh. What was 'fight'? Movement-pain-positive? I fought these things...”

He takes the tablet from Prowl and draws a crooked blot with a bunch of tentacles on it. Then thinks for a bit and adds big teeth and a lot of eyes. He's not really sure how to draw those eyes properly, so he just scatters them randomly around the monster area.

Prowl doesn't seem to be that amused by Jazz's drawings anymore, in fact, he suddenly becomes very somber.

“Quintessons.”

He pokes at the monster

“Name-Quintessons. Number-question.”

How many?

Jazz scratches the back of his head

“So uh...a lot?....number-positive-positive-positive-positive-positi...you get the idea.”

To be convincing, he dramatically spreads his arms out to the sides depicting something very large.

Prowl looks alarmed.

And unconvinced.

“How did you survive?”

Jazz laughs pretentiously

“Ask them how they survived.”

Prowl makes the “you can't be serious” face. Jazz isn't quite sure what exactly is confusing him. Mechs are designed to kill Quintessons, aren't they? Judging by his movements, this pilot must be damn good at controlling his mech, and that kind of guys usually fight on the front lines.

He decides to put that thought aside for later. There are more important things right now, like...oh shit, where is he even going??

Jazz leans over the chart again

“Uh. Right. Question-we-move-up-place” Man, how to specify... “Knowledge-negative?”

Prowl, linguistic gods bless him, understands him and starts gesturing over the chart in response

Okay. Ah. I-move-up. Planet-creation-positive.

'I'm heading home' or 'my home planet'.”

Jazz instantly perks up.

“Oh that's great, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go there too.”

Prowl is speaking in a language he's unfamiliar with, so he's definitely from another country, but hey, who cares as long as it's on Earth, right? He just needs to get there and he'll find his own way from there.

He watches the space debris flicker by outside the window. Even the stars are unfamiliar, Jazz can't find any constellations he knows.

One of the little purple creatures says something and Prowl steps aside to chat with them. Jazz leans back and settles into a more or less stable position. Then does the same thing, but with his real, human body. Hell, his head still feels really fucking weird after that teleportation.

He opens the comm channel and just listens to the static for a couple minutes in the faint hope that the engineering department will find a way to contact him.

Nothing.

He sighs.

“1061 on the com. In case there's any way you can hear me...ah shit. You guys won't believe what happened...”

[kookooluvr]

Teach Me How To Love - Part 1

pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers

genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !

warnings: fwb should be warning in itself, jungkook is a simp and a hot nerdy professor (yummm), oc has a tabby cat named miso, bam makes his first appearance, jungkook has a big ol' crush on oc, some unrequited romantic feelings (?) we're not sure yet, explicit sexual content; making out, kook has heart eyes for oc's boobs, five second strip show, like a split second of male masturbation, oral sex (male receiving), a teeny wheeny bit of fingering, oc rides that thang like a cowgirl, unprotected sex (oc is on birth control and they're both clean), plus some angsty vibes at the end :(((

word count: 3.5k

summary: jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

author's note: part 1 is out my dudes !!! 😭😭 i hope you enjoy this little introduction to jungkook and oc, and i can't wait to start exploring their dynamic a little more in depth in the next parts!! i'm so excited to go on this journey with you all, so pls make sure to follow, reblog, and send me an ask if you want to chat about these cuties 🤪 part 2 coming soon !

find tmhtl masterlist here

It's the end of the day and Jungkook is on his way out, heading home after an exhausting day at the university. He walks down the corridor, his phone in hand, his eyes trained to his phone as he checks his emails.

You step out of your office, shutting the door and straightening your bag on your shoulder. You dig through it for your office keys, locking up once you find them. He looks up from his phone for a second and spots you, a smile tugging at his lips as he pockets his phone and walks over to you.

He leans against the wall next to your door, arms crossed, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Hey,” he murmurs with a little grin.

“Hey, Kook,” you greet softly, walking away to head home, Jungkook peeling himself off the wall to walk next to you.

“Long day?” he asks with a sympathetic smile.

You love your job, really, you do. But some days are draining and dealing with young adults who don't even know how to reference their sources for an essay or spell parliament properly can actually drive you to drink. “Mm, thank God the day's over,” you chuckle, looking over at him as you walk down the stone walkway together, the sun slowly starting to set on campus.

He chuckles, looking over at you to catch the way the golden hour light casts a pretty yellowish-orange glow over your skin, his eyes quickly diverting down to the ground to stop himself from staring, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Hey, uhm...if you don't have any plans tonight, do you maybe wanna come over to my place?” he asks, feeling like an awkward teenager with a crush every time he asks you that, even if he's done it ten dozen times by now. He knows why he's inviting you over. You know why he's inviting you over.

“Yeah, sure,” you say casually, heading in the direction of the parking lot to get to your car. You see it in its usual parking spot, right next to his, just like it is every day, like a silent declaration that you're a package deal.

His heart really shouldn't do that weird thump-thump thing that it does every time you agree to come over, but it does, and it might just be heart disease, but he is yet to get it under control. “Cool...cool...Is 7 okay for you?” he asks, taking out his keys as he approaches his car, leaning against the driver's door with a little smile on his lips.

“Yeah, I'll just go home and change out of these clothes and feed Miso then I'll head over,” you murmur absentmindedly while you dig through your bag for your car keys, searching through the endless pit of earphones, a tangled phone charger, lip liner, lip gloss, and ten thousand receipts for things you don't even remember buying. He watches you with a faint smile, knowing how messy that bag is, but also knowing that if he lectures you about it, your response will be, 'you don't get it, you're not a woman' so he minds his business and stands by patiently.

“You can go, I'll manage,” you mumble, your eyebrows furrowed, a soft pout on your lips as you rummage through the leather bag. He chuckles and cocks his head to the side, finding it quite amusing. “You sure? I feel like I could find the cure for cancer before you find your keys in that thing.”

“You should quit teaching and go into comedy,” you mutter dryly, finally finding the damn keys. “Ha. Found it,” you quip, smiling sarcastically before unlocking the car. He shakes his head with a soft smile, rolling his eyes as he gets in his own car. He'll get you back for your sass, but he knows that his 'punishments’ feel more like a reward than anything else.

You go home and feed Miso, the grey tabby lounging around like she's the queen of your apartment, completely unbothered that you're only staying for a little while before eventually leaving again to get dicked down hang out with Jungkook. You put on some comfortable sweats and give her a few kisses and cuddles before heading over to Jungkook's place.

This is a regular thing for you guys. You remain professional at work, well, as professional as two people who are hooking up can be, and then you go over to his place, or vice versa, and sometimes there's wine, sometimes there's dinner, sometimes you go straight to the sexy part, or sometimes there's no sexy part at all because one of you just wants to talk or watch a movie. It works for you. It's easy. It feels good. Really good.

He's a good friend. He's kind, he's a good listener, and he's all those nice, sweet, lovely things. He's also really good in bed, which is always a bonus in a...friend.

Good friends offer to drive you home from the club when you've had one too many to drink. Good friends support you in times of need. Good friends go down on you until your legs shake. That's just how it is.

"Slow down, you're gonna choke," he chuckles, watching you stuff your face with Indian takeout. It's like a competitive sport when the two of you eat dinner, which is one of the things you like most about hanging out with Jungkook. There is no pressure to be perfect. You can act the way you really want to and not feel scrutinized for it. Maybe it's just because his big fat crush has completely tinted the way he sees you, but he'd happily watch you pig out if it means he gets to spend time alone with you.

“I thought you like it when I choke a little bit,” you tease, just wanting to get a reaction out of him, and that's exactly what you get. He nearly chokes on his food, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide as he looks over at you.

“Jesus Christ, y/n, you can't just say stuff like that,” he coughs, trying to compose himself, roughly clearing his throat to not die via chicken biryani. It’s quite a strange thing how he can go from this to a sex god in bed, not that it's anything for you to complain about.

Jungkook does the dishes after dinner which allows you to enjoy some alone time with Bam. The brown doberman plops down on the couch, practically begging to be cuddled. He’s always been quite fond of you, since Jungkook adopted him three years ago. He’s the sweetest boy. He loves being loved on, much like his father.

Jungkook watches as you give Bam “lovies” as you call it, the dog absolutely basking in the attention.

“I’m starting to think he likes you more than me,” Jungkook jokes with a scoff, smiling as Bam does his ‘sit/lay down’ tricks for you. What a showoff.

“He’s never gotten that comfortable with anyone who isn't me,” he murmurs with a soft smile, watching the two excited puppies in his living room. “He gets really excited when he knows you're coming over.”

“Bam, cut it out. I’m Miso’s mommy, she’s going to get jealous,” you playfully scold him, although the scratches you give him say otherwise. He’s just a doe-eyed, dark-haired, soft-hearted boy. Again, much like his father.

Jungkook finishes drying the dishes and practically shoves Bam out the way to get the same attention from you. He lays down on the couch with his head in your lap and you already know what he wants. You lightly scratch his scalp, watching his eyes flutter shut, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, relishing in the feeling of your fingers in his hair. Sex is great, but there's something about moments like this that just makes him want to get down on his knees and give you whatever you want, whenever you want it.

“I think Bam-ie’s upset,” you chuckle, looking over at him with a soft, apologetic smile, his father looking anything but sorry. He chuckles as he watches Bam quietly stroll back to the bedroom, his eyes fluttering shut once more when you do that thing with your nails that sends shivers down his spine.

“He’ll live,” he scoffs, wincing when you give his hair a firm tug, his lips puffing up into a pout.

You don't really remember how exactly you ended up on his lap with your hands in his hair and his lips peppering your jaw and neck with gentle, tender kisses, but you know that it feels good.

“We’ve been so busy lately, we’ve barely gotten a chance to do this,” he murmurs against your skin, his hands trailing up your thighs to rest at your hips.

You scoff, your eyes fluttering shut as he sucks on that sweet spot behind your ear. It's true. You’ve both been so busy with work that you haven't hung out or had sex in two weeks.

“I know. I’ve been relying on my vibrator.”

He feels a shrill of heat run through him at the thought of you pleasuring yourself, as if he hasn't already seen the actual thing live in-person.

“Yeah? Is he better than me?” he teases with a little grin, pressing soft kisses to your pulse point.

“First of all; she, and I mean…she gets the job done,” you tease, not wanting to outright admit that nothing and no one can make you cum the way he does.

“You couldn't have just said no?” he chuckles, leaning his head back to rest against the back of the couch, his eyes heavy-lidded as he looks up at you. “Maybe I should get myself a toy too…y’know, for when you're too busy,” he teases with a lazy grin.

“What, like a pocket pussy?” you laugh.

“Mm. Something like that.”

“I’d prefer you to be inside me instead of a fake vagina,” you quip, leaning in to press a feather-like kiss to his lips, just testing the waters a bit. “Are you gonna think of me when you use it?” you tease, batting your lashes the way you know makes him go a little weak.

He swallows thickly, nodding like he’s hypnotised. “Of course I’d think of you,” he murmurs, his hips bucking up in a sad attempt to get you to give him some friction. “It wouldn't compare to you though. Nothing compares to you.” His voice is soft and airy, sounding almost pathetic.

You feel a little smile tug at your lips, your resolve slowly slipping. He’s so open about his thoughts and feelings. He’s not afraid to be vulnerable and lay it all out there, even if it is just sex.

His heart does that stupid thump-thump thing again at the sight of your smile, but now really isn't the time to psychoanalyse that, so he pushes that thought away for later.

“Can you take this off for me?” He slips his fingers underneath the soft fabric of your sweatshirt, getting a bit antsy to see more of you.

He’s never really given it too much thought whether he’s an ass or tits typa guy, but when you pull your sweatshirt over your head and his eyes land on that black bra with the little pink bows, the one that you know he likes so much, he swears he’s never seen anything prettier.

“God, I love these.” He leans his head forward to press soft little kisses to the tops of your breasts, his hands trailing up the sides of your ribs. “My pretty girls.”

Your eyes fall shut, the butterflies starting to flutter in the pit of your stomach. Sex with him is so soft and sweet. He says nice things and he makes you feel good, both physically and emotionally, and that makes your anxiety spike just a tad, so you deflect.

“Do you always make conversation with a woman’s tits before you stick it in her or…?”

He chuckles, and it's deep and warm, a little comforting, like if hot cocoa had a voice.

“Take this off. Wanna see them,” he murmurs softly, lightly tugging at the strap of your bra to let it snap back against your skin.

You roll your eyes, but the faint smile on your lips tells him that you're more than happy to oblige. You reach back to unclasp it, letting the material fall from your body, his eyes growing a shade darker at your exposed skin.

He swirls his tongue around a nipple and sucks before repeating the same thing on the other side, giving both breasts the attention they deserve. His eyes flutter shut like he wants to savour every little moment with you.

You reluctantly get up off his lap, and before he can protest, you're discarding the rest of your clothing, sliding your sweatpants down your legs. He makes quick work of following your lead by removing his shirt and pants, his boxers following quickly behind.

You make a little show of removing your panties, and you would normally be embarrassed by the amount of moisture that has already accumulated inside the flimsy material, but right now, all you can focus on is his hand giving his cock a few lazy strokes while he watches you undress for him.

“C’mere.” He spreads his legs a bit, his cock already almost fully hard, the tip slowly turning a light shade of pink. You'd never thought of a cock as 'pretty' before, but damn, it's pretty.

You do as he says without a single protest or complaint, your pussy practically throbbing at the sight of him. Oh, how wonderful it is to be his friend.

You get down on your knees in front of him, his eyelids hanging low as he looks down at you, his hand pumping his cock.

You pride yourself in being good at oral sex, but it's never been something you particularly love doing. That is, until you started hooking up with Jungkook. Sometimes he’ll just be doing something as simple as watching a show on tv, and you’ll be on your knees with your hair up and his cock hitting the back of your throat. It's everything, from the sounds he makes, to the way his eyebrows furrow and his lips part in ecstasy, that makes it so enjoyable.

You take over for him, giving his cock a few strokes before swirling your tongue around the head, pulling a deep groan from the back of his throat. You start sucking, working your way down his length, occasionally looking up to see that look on his face that makes your pussy clench. He rests his hand at the back of your head, not applying pressure, just wanting to feel more of you as you bob your head up and down a few times.

You give the tip some attention, then go all the way down to the base so that your nose just lightly brushes against his pelvis, then back up again, keeping a nice rhythm. His groans, paired with the way his stomach tenses every time you take him down to the base, is almost enough to make you cum right then and there.

“Fuck…baby, stop, please. Don't wanna cum too early,” he murmurs hoarsely, reaching for you to get up and straddle his lap. Your hips slide back and forth, your slick coating him, his dick glistening under the low light of the living room lamp.

“Already? Jesus, Jungkook, have some self-respect.” You can't help but tease him a bit, even in a moment like this, where you're in no position to be making fun of his desperation when you’re as wet as you are.

He scoffs, his hand disappearing between your legs, his middle and ring finger rubbing slow circles over your clit before sliding back to sink into your sopping entrance, shutting you right up.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” he teases with a lazy little grin, his fingers slowly pumping in and out, your wetness allowing him to move them without any resistance.

“Don't speak about my daughter at a time like this.”

His laughter gets cut off by your lips crashing into his, his fingers slipping out of you as you lift your hips to align the tip of his cock with your entrance.

“Want me to sit on it?”

“Yeah.” His voice is breathless as the anticipation slowly builds in his gut. No matter how many times you have sex, he’ll never get tired of that rush of adrenaline that flows through him in that moment right before he slides in.

“Ask nicely.”

“Y/n, come on,” he laughs half-heartedly, tilting his head back against the couch, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips.

“Ask me nicely and I’ll sit down, Kook,” you whisper, leaning in so that your lips just barely graze against his.

“Please…please, baby. Ride me, please.”

The groan he lets out as you slowly sink down on his cock is enough to send shivers down your spine. It's thick and long, but it's not too big for it to hurt. It fits perfectly, nice and snug like a glove.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he mutters hoarsely, his hands gripping you harder as you begin to roll your hips in that fluid motion that makes him go a little crazy.

It feels like an honour that he gets to see you like this, naked on top of him, riding him deep and slow on his couch after a long day at work. He doesn't know what he ever did in his lifetime to deserve to be balls deep inside you on a Friday night, but he knows that he’s a lucky bastard.

“Just like that. Fuck, you're so tight,” he groans, looking down to watch the way your pussy sucks him in, like something out of a wet dream.

You set a nice pace, riding him just the way he likes it. You reach down to rub circles over your clit, your walls clenching around his cock, pulling soft moans and whimpers from his lips.

“Keep going,” he mutters, his voice trembling. “Fuck, you're gonna make me cum, baby…”

You ride a bit faster, applying more pressure to your clit as you chase your own high. He fights to keep his eyes open, desperately needing to watch you as the pleasure takes over.

“Fuck, Jungkook!” The pleasure creeps up on you and you cum with a breathless moan, your walls fluttering around his length, throbbing and pulsating.

“Gonna…holy shit…gonna cum, baby, don't stop…”

You use the last of your energy to bring him to his peak, moving your hips until his cock twitches and his muscles tense beneath you. He cums with a guttural groan, his fingers digging into your flesh so hard that it might bruise tomorrow.

You continue to grind down on him to help him ride it out. You gently run your fingers through his damp hair, his skin slightly dewy, his eyes squeezed shut. He trembles as the aftershocks flow through him, his breathing coming out a bit uneven.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close to his chest, looking like he just died and came back to life. He lifts his head to press a soft kiss to your lips, but you pull away before he can deepen it.

“Come on, let go. I gotta go clean up.”

You very rarely allow him to cuddle you after sex. It feels too intimate, too romantic. You don't allow yourself to be romantic with Jungkook. He's not your boyfriend and you like it that way.

He lets out a small hum of disagreement as you lift yourself up, his hands moving to hold your waist.

"Stay here for a little longer," he mumbles softly, his voice drowsy. He looks at you with big doe eyes, trying to persuade you to stay. “Just a few more minutes.”

“You're starting to soften inside me and I have to shower, Kook. You know I hate feeling sticky.”

He reluctantly lets you go, groaning softly as you get up off his lap. "Fine, fine," he grumbles, his eyes following you as you walk over to the bathroom.

You walk off to his bathroom and close the door, locking it behind you. Locking the door is something so simple but it means so much. It means, 'You're not my boyfriend so we can't share that level of intimacy. You can fuck my brains out, but you can't wash my hair in the shower or sit on the toilet while I do my skincare'. It's too coupley.

Jungkook slowly puts his boxers back on, staring at the bathroom door. He knows he’s not your boyfriend. He knows he probably never will be. He knows all your boundaries and your rules and your reasons for having them, but that doesn't make it sting any less. He can't help but wonder what it would feel like if you actually allowed him to love you, but he knows he’s just being foolish and hopeful. He knows that by physically locking that door, you're locking him out of ever getting closer to you emotionally.

[questionablehuman444]

THANK YOU. Someone put my thoughts into the correct words, and it makes me thoroughly happy.

Dick definitely has eldest daughter syndrome, but Tim was "really mature for his age"

(more below cut)

Okay, Dick holds the weight of the world on his shoulders as the oldest. He's the one everybody goes to when they're having problems with Bruce. He's the "trusted adult". He's the guy who has the ability to get people to open up, and let him help them. It weighs on him a lot as a result.

Dick feels that if he isn't constantly there for people, then he's failing, not only as a hero but as a brother and a friend. (I could also talk about how he leans into the himbo persona because his self esteem is a tripping hazard in hell, but that's for another time)

Then, you look at Tim. He's self sufficient, he's easy, and he's smart. Tim has gifted child syndrome. People think that since he's more mature, he can handle more. So they start treating him like an adult and whenever it's convenient, they double back to treat him like a kid.

So often, the adults in his life were emotionally inept, and their love for him was so often conditional. He had to grow up quick because nobody else wanted to.

Something I think about is how, despite Dick and Tim having similar experiences and bearing the weight of the world, they don't want to hurt each other more. Dick doesn't want to fuel Tim's gifted kid syndrome and Tim doesn't wanna fuel Dick's eldest daughter syndrome. They can't talk to each other because they're aware of the other person's situation, and don't want to continue fueling the other person's problems when, in reality, it would probably be the best course of action for the two of them.

They're so afraid of making the other's problems worse by talking, that they're don't realize that they're actually just harming the both of them. They fail to realize that they're stripping away the only other person who could fully understand in a way beyond just comprehending the words and feelings being told, the only other person who knows the family on a personal level and can empathize from a place of mutual feelings. They taking away the one person who *Gets It* fully and completely.

Anyway, sorry for rambling, I really like talking about things like this. Thanks for reading if you made it this far lol. I had a lot of fun writing all this.

Dick is for the eldest sibling while Tim is for the parentified children and I think that's the most important difference between them

[loulovingho]

tags: violence (gay bashing), homophobic slurs, blood, hurt/comfort, angst, healing, heading toward getting back together, happy-enough ending

(ao3 link or read below)

Like Fine China

“Hey, I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay? You hear me? Try to keep your eyes open.”

He recognized that voice. The last time he'd heard it was just a few weeks ago, at the hospital. Who was it for though? Why was he at the hospital that time?

His brain felt like a jumbled mess. His body felt even worse.

He just wanted to sleep.

“Tommy! Tommy, can you hear me?”

Athena! That's who was speaking to him.

He opened his mouth, cracked one eye open. God, it hurt!

“I- I'm,” the words felt foreign as they escaped him. His voice didn't sound like his own. His mouth was dry, and held a bad taste.

Whiskey and... and metal.

Blood.

“Tommy, paramedics are on their way, okay? I just need you to stay with me until they get here.”

It was dark, but something was shining bright in his face.

“Flash... Flashlight,” he managed to get out, squeezing his eye back shut.

“Eyes- Eye open, Tommy. I'll get the flashlight out of your face, but I need to know you're with me.”

Wait. Had she said paramedics? They couldn't. He couldn't let them- let him see.

“No, no, no,” he mumbled out, shaking his head a couple times until a sharp pain shot through it. “No, h- he can't. I don't-”

“They're not on shift, Tommy.”

He tried to push himself up, away from where she hovered over him. He didn't manage to get very far before she placed a hand on his chest.

“Tommy, you cannot get up. I need you to stay still, and stay conscious. Those two things are your only jobs. You hear me?”

“I can't,” his words were so garbled. He coughed up the blood that'd been dripping down his throat.

I can't let him see.”

“Listen to me, Tommy!” Athena exclaimed, getting right in Tommy's face. He could barely see her, but he could feel her breath on his face. “They're not coming. Buck isn't coming; it'll be someone else.”

In the distance, he heard the sound of sirens. He didn't feel relief. Didn't feel much of anything at all. He was fading, fast. It took all his energy to force out one last sentence before he lost consciousness. “Don't... Don't tell him.”

*****

He just wanted to go out for a drink. Something a little stronger than craft beer.

It'd been two weeks since he broke up with Evan- no, Buck. He was Buck now.

It'd been two weeks since he broke up with Buck and the ache in his chest felt the same way it did the second he walked out of the loft.

He'd thought he was saving himself from future heartbreak, and maybe he was, but it didn't quite make it hurt any less.

Georgie's wasn't exactly a gay bar, but Georgie was gay and the bar itself became a sort of unofficial hang out for older people in the lgbtq+ community. No loud music and everyone left each other alone. A perfect place to decompress while still allowing yourself to be free.

After a couple of whiskey sours, and yeah, a pitcher of craft beer, Tommy was ready to go.

He waited outside, near the alleyway, for his Uber. He found himself going to his messages, hovering over Evan's name. He hadn't had the heart to change it to Buck yet.

He'd been wanting to text him since the breakup. Talk about it some more. Actually give a reason for why it- why he- fell apart so fast. How Buck's words triggered some terrible memories for him. How he suddenly realized there was no way he could be everything he thought Buck needed. Everything Buck deserved. Not to mention they hadn't even exchanged I love you's. And it was insane to think all of Tommy's things could fit in Buck's loft. Buck's things could fit in his house so much easier!

He clicked on Evan's name, started to type something out, erased it, started again, erased it again.

He was usually so aware of his surroundings. His time in the military did that to him. It did a lot of things to him actually, many of which he wasn't very thankful for. However, he prided himself on not being oblivious.

Tonight he was oblivious.

He didn't expect five men to jump him at once. He was a strong guy. Had taken on three men about fifteen years earlier. Did it with ease too.

But not five men. Not when one had a bat, and one had brass knuckles, and one was at least 6'5 and three hundred pounds. Not when they dragged him to the ground and into the alley before he had a chance to react. Screaming slurs at him as they took turns using his body as a punching bag.

He tried to fight. At one point, he was sure he kicked one of the guy's in the face. Heard him yell something like, “The fag broke my tooth!”

It only made things worse.

He wasn't sure when he first lost consciousness, but he knew they were still on top of him. Still laughing as they hit and kicked. He heard the sounds of someone spitting at some point. Felt wet on his face.

Then there was nothing.

Until someone stepped out from somewhere, and maybe they heard him groan? Maybe it was his Uber driver wondering where he was? Maybe it was an employee taking out the trash? He wasn't sure. He could barely hear someone telling him they were calling the police. There was a ringing in his ears, and his lungs felt like they were on fire. Someone said something about wheezing, barely breathing. He wondered what that was about.

Then there was Athena. Then nothing again.

*****

The next time Tommy opened his eyes, he was in a dimly lit hospital room. He was confused. Could barely see out of one eye and everything was blurry out of the other.

His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and maybe some tiny humans hitting his brain with hammers.

“Are you... awake awake or not really awake?”

The sound of a man's voice startled him. He couldn't hardly move, but he was able to focus his eyes across the room at the figure in the corner.

“Ed- Eddie?”

God, his voice sounded weird. Why did it sound like that? Like he'd spent the last 30 years smoking a pack a day.

“Yeah, I'm here.”

He sounded hesitant. Maybe they'd had this conversation before? If they had, Tommy certainly didn't remember it.

“Wha- Why?”

Eddie stepped closer. “You're in the hospital, Man.”

Tommy wanted to roll his eyes. No duh.

He settled for clearing his throat, which turned into a burning sensation running down his chest. “Why're you... here?” he tried. Hoped Eddie understood that much.

“Tommy-”

“I t- told Athena-” he had to pause to take a breath. “Told her not to tell.”

“Actually, you told Athena not to tell him. And she assumed, correctly, I'm sure, that him was Buck. So she called me instead.”

Tommy closed his eyes. “Why?”

“Why'd she call me? Oh, maybe because you don't have anyone listed as an emergency contact and you were nearly beat to death so she figured you might need someone to be here when you woke up.”

Tommy's jaw clenched at Eddie's harsh words.

Nearly beat to death.

He was nearly beat to death.

Eddie either noticed Tommy's heart rate going up on the monitor, or his eyes filling with tears, because he was right beside his bed in two strides. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, I- I'm kinda pissed, Man.”

“S'okay,” Tommy replied, swallowing hard. “I deserve it.”

Eddie looked taken aback. “No, I'm not- Tommy, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at this,” he said, gesturing over Tommy's body. “I've never seen...” Eddie's voice trailed off and, through Tommy's own blurry vision, he could see that Eddie was close to crying.

“What'd they do to me?” Tommy asked, barely able to take in all his injuries. His entire body hurt, no part any worse or less than the other. He could feel something on every limb, but he couldn't quite move his head around enough to see what it was.

Eddie took a deep breath. He wiped at his eyes with his fingers, sniffling before getting started. “You've got bruising on about seventy-five percent of your body. You had surgery for a busted kneecap on your right knee. Your left arm has a fracture, and your right one has thirty stitches, I think. They broke a few ribs, so it's gonna hurt like hell when you take a deep breath or cough. Um, you had some internal bleeding, but they got that under control pretty fast. You've got a fracture in your cheek, which may cause some extra pain when you talk. You've got a few broken fingers too, and lost a couple fingernails during your- when you were defending yourself.”

“Hm,” Tommy hummed once Eddie was done. “S'that all?”

Eddie shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I'm sure I missed a couple things, actually, jackass.”

Tommy let out a laugh, which quickly turned into a groan. “Thanks for coming, Eddie,” he said, trying and failing at moving himself into a slightly more comfortable position. “You don't have to stay though. I'll be fine.”

Eddie stared at him incredulously. “You're kidding me.”

Tommy shifted his eyes back in Eddie's direction. “No, I- I'll be okay. I've got it. Just,” he paused to take a breath, “don't let Buck know, please.”

Eddie raised a finger toward Tommy. “Well, see, about that. You only told Athena not to tell him before, and-”

“You didn't.”

“-and see he was already at my place when I got the call, so-”

“Please tell me you didn't.”

“I have one with cream and one with sugar and- Oh my God, you're awake!” The sound of Buck's voice had Tommy's head twisting toward the door so quickly that a pain shot from the bottom of his back all the way to the top of his head. “Ow!” he yelped, clenching his teeth and tossing his head against the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Oh my God. Has the nurse come in yet? Have they checked his vitals? Eddie, you said he'd be out for a while! Tommy, do you feel any nausea? Do you remember who we are? The nurses said you might have-”

“Buck!” Eddie exclaimed. “Stop. He's okay.” He glanced over at Tommy, “I did forget to mention the head trauma.”

Tommy groaned, giving him a glare.

Eddie walked over to Buck and took the drink carrier from his hands. “I'll go find a nurse, you stay with him.”

Tommy wanted to yell out to Eddie to please not go, and also screw you, and maybe throw a couple hand gestures in there too. He stayed silent instead.

Buck looked Tommy up and down, hesitating slightly before walking up to the side of the bed. “So, you're-”

“I want to see myself,” Tommy blurted.

“Oh, um, I... Tommy, I don't. It might be better to wait.”

Tommy managed to move his head enough to look up at Buck. He could see the fear- no, the panic- in Buck's eyes.

“I wanna see," he repeated.

“Tommy-”

“Buck!” It took a lot of strength to get his name out so forcefully, and he didn't quite mean it to sound as angry as it did, but this wasn't Buck's decision. It was his. And he wanted to see what he looked like.

Buck pulled his phone from his back pocket, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled up the camera.

Slowly, he lifted the phone up to Tommy's face.

The second it registered that he was looking at himself, Tommy sucked in a breath. He grimaced as pain radiated through his chest but, when Buck went to move the camera away he stopped him. “No,” he said. “Just. Just wait.”

He knew his eyes were swollen by how out of focus his vision was, but he had no idea just how bad they looked. The right was worse than the left, but both were an angry mixture of black, purple, and green. The bruise on the left side of his face ran down his cheek to his jaw, circling underneath his chin like a half moon and fading into his facial hair. There were marks on his neck. Looked like someone's hand. He could understand Eddie's hesitancy on mentioning that. He didn't remember anyone gripping him there, which was probably for the best.

His forehead had more bruises, and cuts too. There was dried blood at his hairline, some stitched up cuts. His curly hair was nearly matted to his head, his scalp a brutal crimson.

“I tried to wash the blood out of your hair with a washcloth,” Buck explained anxiously, “but you have some lacerations on your scalp and I didn't want to bother them until they healed a little more.”

It was all so overwhelming. There was a whirring sound in his ears that made him feel dizzy. His eyes burned as they filled with tears that he didn't have the strength to wipe away.

“Okay,” he said, his voice uneven. He cleared his throat. “Can you- You can go, please. I don't... You can go.”

“Tommy-”

“Ev- Buck, I'm awake, I'm fine, I don't need anyone here.” He stared straight ahead, unable to look Buck in the eyes. “Please.”

“No.”

Tommy really didn't feel like dealing with stubborn Evan right now. “I don't-”

“I don't really care, Tommy. I'm not leaving you here. I've been at this damn hospital for three days now and I'm staying until you go home. I don't care what-”

He was cut off by the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Got the nurse,” Eddie said, an awkward smile on his face. The nurse, to her credit, ignored all the tension in the room.

“Let me get some hand sanitizer and gloves and I'll be right with you, Mr. Kinard.”

Buck sighed. He stepped even closer to Tommy. “I'm gonna go into the hall long enough for the nurse to check you out,” he said, maneuvering himself until he was halfway leaning over the bed, his arm on the other side of Tommy to prop himself up as he forced him to make eye contact. “I will be back in a few minutes. You have people who care about you, Tommy, whether you like it or not.”

With that said, Buck stood back up and left the room.

*****

Tommy spent a few more days in the hospital before he was released. There were only two times that Buck left long enough to get a shower and get a little rest in a real bed. Both of those times, he made sure Eddie was there the entire time.

Athena had come in to get his statement. Asked him all sorts of questions, most of which Tommy couldn't answer. He hadn't really gotten a good look at them. Only had very basic descriptions. He remembered the slurs they had hurled at him, knew they attacked because he was gay. He couldn't really figure out how they knew though. Besides being outside of that bar, it wasn't like Tommy ever did anything that screamed gay. Not that it mattered.

She'd been honest with him. There were no cameras at that part of the street, or in the alleyway. No one got a good description of the attackers, and the person who called the police only saw their shadows as they disappeared into the night. She'd do everything she could, but it wasn't likely they'd find these men. At least, not until they did this again.

Bobby stopped by once with some homemade chicken noodle soup. Buck had to feed him every bite, which made Tommy feel like he was about to cry the entire time, but he managed half a bowl before he had to stop. It was a million times better than anything the hospital had been feeding him, and he was glad to know Bobby had put some in his freezer to give Tommy when he got home.

Chim and Maddie came one evening. He'd been asleep when they got there, woke up some time during their visit, but he kept his eyes shut until they left.

Honestly, every time someone walked through the doors he felt more and more like running out of the hospital and finding a hole to fall into. Then, if he were lucky, someone would just shovel some dirt over him and let him rest.

These weren't his people. They were Buck's people. They didn't need to be there for him. They needed to hate him. They needed to laugh at his bruises and tell him he deserved every last one. They needed to yell at him for breaking Buck's heart to try and save his own.

That'd be a lot easier than this.

Thankfully, Hen and Karen didn't come by. They did send flowers though, and a card that explained both kids had strep throat and they didn't want to risk bringing that to the hospital. They'd come by Tommy's place once he was home.

He and Buck didn't talk about anything that needed to be talked about. All the unsent messages that had swirled through Tommy's mind didn't matter right now. It was like an unspoken rule between the two of them. Right now was not the time to try and fix whatever happened between them. Right now was about Tommy healing.

*****

As soon as they got Tommy home, Buck left Eddie with him so he could go to the pharmacy and pick up his medications. When he got back, Eddie headed out to go home and rest, promising to come back later with a variety of foods that would be easy on Tommy to eat.

The silence felt more... silent at Tommy's house. It was different now that they were at home instead of a hospital with people coming in and out at all times.

Tommy needed to do something, say something, to break the silence.

“I wasn't on a date,” he muttered out as Buck organized his pain meds on his nightstand.

Buck paused briefly before getting right back to it. “Didn't think you were.”

Tommy nodded. “Okay. I just, I don't know, didn't want you to think that.”

“You go to Georgie's when your brain is working overtime and you need it to quiet down.”

Tommy's eyebrows furrowed. “I didn't know I ever told you that.”

“You didn't,” Buck replied, handing Tommy his pills and a glass of water. “I just know you.”

Tommy swallowed the pills, wincing slightly. His throat still felt scratchy even a week later. “I don't know how they knew,” he said as Buck took the water from him and set it on his nightstand.

“Who knew what?”

“Those guys that-” he stopped. “I don't know how they knew I was gay.”

“A lot of queer people hang out at Georgie's,” Buck answered. “They probably took a guess.”

The thought of it made Tommy's stomach lurch. “I've spent most of my life trying to make sure people couldn't guess.”

Buck watched him for a moment quizzically. “Tommy, you're not... You don't blame yourself for this, do you? You know this wasn't your fault, right?”

Tommy avoided eye contact with Buck. He felt so small right now. “I know I didn't do anything to provoke them.”

“That doesn't really answer my question.”

“I just... I don't know what I could have done differently. I know I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. I... I should probably go to a different bar, maybe. I don't know.”

“You can't be serious right now.”

“This is everything I feared my entire life, Buck,” Tommy admitted and, God, he wished he could shut up right now. The pain pills were starting to make him a little loose lipped, mixed with him truly being alone with Buck for the first time since they broke up, mixed with an undeniable fear every time he thought about that night, seemed to make it impossible to close his mouth. “I did everything to make sure nothing like this would ever happen to me and it still did. I keep thinking about it and wondering how it could have been different. How I could have been different.”

“Tommy, can you look at me?”

Slowly, Tommy looked up at Buck, his eyes shining with tears.

“This was not your fault. There's nothing you could or should have done differently. You cannot let those five men shove you back into a closet.”

“I-” Tommy cleared his throat. “They're not. It's just... a lot right now.”

“I get that, I- I do. You look tired. Why don't you rest for a bit, okay? I'll be here when you wake up.”

“Buck, you don't-”

“If you tell me I don't need to stay I will force feed you bone broth when you wake up.”

Tommy shivered. “Ugh! I hate bone broth.”

“I know you do.” Buck gently pulled a pillow out from under Tommy, allowing him to lie back easier. “Close your eyes, get some rest. I'm here when you need me.”

*****

They were bound to fight sometime. Tommy had honestly expected it to happen sooner. Buck had been staying with him for three weeks now, only gone when he was working a shift. Bobby had let him work part time for now, with Carla caring for him when Buck was gone.

They'd managed to get past the initial awkwardness. Buck rambled about any and every subject he could think of. They'd watch movies together on the couch, with Tommy falling asleep halfway through due to his pain meds.

Buck would get Tommy tucked in bed, then set himself up on Tommy's floor in case he was needed during the night. Tommy had tried to insist he use the spare room, but Buck wouldn't hear of it. He knew Tommy wouldn't call for him if he needed him through the night.

Then Tommy tried to suggest he sleep in the bed. But that was a no go because, “I kick, Tommy, you know this. Do you really want another knee surgery?”

They'd been focused on Tommy getting better. And they'd been ignoring the many, many elephants in the room.

So, a fight was expected.

What wasn't expected was for the fight to start because Tommy needed to pee.

Buck had seemed a bit more on edge today, but Tommy chalked that up to a shift that ran longer than expected.

Tommy had grabbed his crutches, which he'd just been able to start using to go short distances. He still didn't quite trust himself to use them at night, but he was working toward relying on them more and relying on people less.

When he stood, Buck immediately stood with him.

“I'm fine, Buck. I just need to go to the bathroom.”

“I'll help you there.”

“I'm really fine. I can get there by myself.”

Tommy was sure he had kept his tone neutral. He definitely didn't want an argument tonight. But, before he could even make it two steps, he heard Buck scoff. “Not surprised.”

And maybe it was the full bladder making him extra bitchy, but Tommy couldn't help turning around and asking, “What's that mean?”

Buck shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nothing.”

“Obviously it's not nothing. If it were nothing you wouldn't have said anything in the first place. What doesn't surprise you?”

“Just you, ya know, pushing people away. It's what you do.”

“Ha!” Tommy laughed out. “If I'm pushing people away then I really suck at it because you haven't left my house in three weeks. I just need to pee.”

“I'm not talking about right now. I'm talking about me telling you that I loved you and you breaking up with me.”

How in the hell did they end up here?

“You didn't tell me you loved me, Evan!” Tommy exclaimed, unbelievably confused. The sudden change in tone caused Buck to take a step back.

He was only thrown off for a second, quick with a retort. “Of course I did!”

“No, you absolutely did not! You asked me to move in with you, but you did not tell me you loved me.”

“Wait. You asked him to move in with you?” Eddie's voice had them glaring in his direction. Both had forgotten he was even there in the first place. He raised his hands. “Sorry.”

“Well, I- it was obviously implied,” Buck argued. “I wouldn't have asked you to move in if I didn't love you.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know that?! You were making it sound like I was some gay hero that sewed the first pride flag! I don't even go to pride events, Evan! All the colors are far too bright and the glitter never leaves you.”

“Glitter is really annoying,” Eddie agreed.

Tommy pointed a crutch at him. “Thank you.”

“I was not trying to make you out to be some gay hero, Tommy! I was telling you that I was comfortable with you. I was telling you I wanted to spend all my time with you. I wanted us to be together!”

“You didn't even think it through, Evan!” Tommy motioned around the room. “I own a home. It comes with two bedrooms that have doors, a garage, a back yard, and two and a half bathrooms. You asked me to move into your loft.”

Eddie shook his head. “Oh, Buck.”

Buck's eyes shot over to him. “You're still here why?”

Eddie stood from his spot on the couch, grabbing his coat. “Yeah, I'm going. Later.”

They both stayed silent until they heard the door open and close.

Buck opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “This is our first fight, isn't it?”

Tommy nodded. “It is.”

“Took us long enough.”

Tommy managed a small smile. “Probably should have fought you that night, honestly.”

“I think I would have felt better if you did.”

“Me too.” Tommy took a deep breath. “I actually really do have to pee,” he said, shifting from one crutch to the other. “Can we pause this until I'm done?”

Buck nodded. “I'll be here.”

They didn't actually fight anymore after that. It was time for Tommy to take his meds, which made him tired, and Buck was tired himself from his shift. Tommy laid in bed, Buck snoring on the floor beside him, thinking it all over. All the things he still felt like he needed to say. The unfinished business they had between them.

The fight wasn't much, but it was something.

It was enough.

For now.

*****

“Are you sure you're good on your own?” Buck asked as Tommy limped behind him toward the door.

“I'm sure. I can successfully do everything on my own now with minimal to no pain.”

Buck turned back to him quickly, eyes wide. “But there's still pain?”

Tommy smiled. “I'm fine, Evan.”

Buck didn't look so sure. “Okay, I... Okay.” Instinctively, he moved forward to wrap Tommy in a hug. He stopped himself before he got too close, but Tommy responded by opening his arms.

Buck's posture relaxed as he gently wrapped his arms around Tommy, careful not to squeeze too tightly. "I was so worried about you," he whispered in the space between them.

"I know."

“You'll call the number I gave you?” he asked.

“I already did yesterday,” Tommy admitted. “When you went out to pick up dinner. My first session is next Monday.”

“Good. That's... That's good.”

“Thank you, Evan. For everything you've done for me. You didn't have to do that.”

Reluctantly, Buck pulled himself away from Tommy.

“Did you realize you've been calling me Evan since our fight a couple weeks ago?” he asked, lips upturning into a smile.

“Oh, um,” Tommy shifted on his feet, taking the pressure off his bad knee. “Sorry. Habit.”

“Don't be sorry. I hate when you call me Buck.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I'll always- I wanna be Evan, to you.”

Tommy nodded, staring into Evan's eyes. “Okay. That's. I'd like that too.”

Buck continued toward the door, stopping again as soon as his hand touched the handle. He looked back. “Hey, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you think about texting me... hit send, okay?”

Tommy had never mentioned that before. But he'd caught Buck's near-texts to him too, so it didn't quite catch him off guard. “I'm kinda a mess, Evan. I'm not as comfortable as you think I am. I'm not... I'm still figuring things out.”

“That's okay. I am too. Text me anyway.”

“Even if I'm asking you out for a coffee? So we can talk? Really talk?”

“Date and time, I'll be there.” Buck smiled softly at him as he opened the door to leave. “I'll get your order right this time.”

[my-castles-crumbling]

prefect's bathroom - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 409

"This is stupid," Sirius murmured, staring into the abyss of the water in front of him.

"You'll be fine," Remus replied soothingly, shucking his shirt and slipping into the huge pool.

Normally, Sirius would have been distracted by a shirtless Remus Lupin, but he was too busy hiding his nerves. Why did he let it slip that he'd never learned to swim?

"You know, I don't need to learn this," he said, taking a step back. "Who needs to know it, really? I'll be just fine."

But Remus, just sent him an eyeroll and extended a hand. "C'mon, Pads. I'm right here."

Muttering about dying in the Prefects' Bathroom, Sirius slipped into the water, trying not to flail his arms in panic even has his bare foot hit the floor, the water only coming up to his sternum. "Alright," he breathed, slowly taking Remus's hand and ignoring the way sparks shot through his body. "I'm not dead yet."

"Let's start by floating," Remus said softly, pulling Sirius closer and placing a hand at the small of his back. Internally, Sirius's brain short-circuited at the touch, but he kept his face neutral. "Lean back and float on your back. I'll hold you up."

He wanted to protest. To argue, or point out that his hair would get wet. But instead, he slowly eased back, kicking his feet up and falling slowly into Remus's waiting arms.

And after a moment of sheer panic, he found himself weightless. Suspended in the pool of warm water, ears muffled by the liquid, all Sirius could feel was heat and two hands on his back. All he could see was Remus's eyes gazing into his own. And oh, it was perfect. Remus holding him, keeping him safe. He'd had plenty of trysts in broom cupboards but somehow this was the most intimate thing he'd ever experienced.

Neither of them looked away. The heat and tension just built steadily as they gazed at each other, the swirling of water around them adding to the feeling of being in some strange magical oasis. When Remus's hand on his back applied pressure and Sirius kicked back up, he felt breathless even though he hadn't been exerting himself.

"Good. You, er, did well," Remus said, scratching at the back of his neck and blushing a bit.

"Thanks. For holding me," Sirius said softly, reaching up to wipe a droplet of water from Remus's jaw.

"Anytime," the taller boy whispered.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch5. child's play

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 5/x

ᰔ words. 4.8k

a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 (pending)

Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.

Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you. 

There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.

The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.

“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.

“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.

“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan. 

He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”

“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”

His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”

You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”

“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”

He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”

“Well who else should I be?”

His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”

You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”

“What?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”

“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.��

You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”

“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”

“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”

His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.

“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.

“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip. 

You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress. 

The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips. 

With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.

“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.

“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”

“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.

His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.

You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”

He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”

“You are breaking the rules.”

“You never said no kissing.”

“I said no touching.”

“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”

“You sound stupid.”

“I always sound stupid to you.”

The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down. 

Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.

You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.

He blinks at you. “Huh?”

“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”

He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”

You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”

“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.

“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.

He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.

He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.

“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.

“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”

He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”

“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”

He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”

“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.

With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”

You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”

He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”

“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”

“Two seconds ago, you did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”

“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”

“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”

“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”

He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.

A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”

His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”

“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”

Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.

You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.

When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.

“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”

She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.

“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”

“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.

“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”

Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”

Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?

You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”

You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.

“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”

At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”

Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”

“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone. 

“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”

“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”

“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”

You sit.

Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.

“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.

“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”

“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”

“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”

You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.

Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed. 

Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”

With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.

“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.” 

You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.

“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”

“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”

Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old. 

Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”

“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.

“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”

“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”

“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.

Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.

Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.

You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Mm? For what?”

She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?

“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”

Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door. 

The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.

He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”

You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”

He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”

“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.

“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.

You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”

You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.

My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.

An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.

Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.

You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.

“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”

He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”

“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together. 

Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…” 

You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.

“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”

“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”

“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.

You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.

You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him. 

He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:

“I’ll get used to it.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie

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[stalkedbytrains]

"Jo! Jo!!! Look at me!"

The big creature turns towards you, large head lowering to look at you.

"First, you remember to change sizes? You're cute but your so much taller than me and it's gonna turn my neck to strain to see you."

The shapeshifter starts to shrink a little, till they're a little more even with you. Still a little taller, but Jo always was.

"There you go," you say softly. Your hands go to gently cradle Jo's face. "Now, you just gotta match my skin tone. You usually go a little bit darker than me, but whatever suits your fancy."

It's kind of like watching an octopus shift colors. But eventually Jo manages to get it to where they usually have it.

"Now, are we feeling big or small today? Do you want to be masc or femme?"

"I don't know..." Jo mumbles. "I don't know who I am or what I want."

You frown. You've been told that your frowns can be quite extensive and horrible if you let them be. And this is one you let be terrible.

Jo tries to turn away from you, but you grip their face hard.

"Nope. No running away from me."

"But-"

"No buts!" you yell. "Say the mantra! Say it!!!"

"I am more than my physical body," they mumble.

"Say it like you believe it!"

"I am more than my physical body," they say a little bit louder.

"I still don't believe that you believe it."

"I am more than my physical body."

"AGAIN!"

"I am more than my physical body."

"There you go," you say with a little smile. "Now I think all you gotta do is pick out some hair and you'll be fine."

"Thanks," they mumble looking more and more human with each passing moment.

"I think you should say it a few more times just to be sure."

i have a kofi if you'd like to support me

Your friend, a shapeshifter (a secret you've kept since childhood) hasn't answered your texts in days, so you head to their home. Upon arriving, you find that they're in the middle of an existential crisis; they can't remember how to turn back into their original, human form.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (44/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Let's get this party started!

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of previous smut), alcohol consumption, slight jealousy, a kiss

Word Count: 3.6k

series masterlist

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A/N: we love girls girls. happy Sunday to everyone! feedback is appreciated!

Your little heels click on the asphalt of the streets of Monaco as Kika and you walk towards the club, arms hooked and cheeks warm from the wine. Cold wind blows in your faces. 

“I was so happy when Charles invited us to come with you,” Kika smiles and lays her head on your shoulder, which is certainly quite uncomfortable due to your uneven pace. But she doesn't seem to care. 

You rest your cheek against her top of her head. "I didn't even know that you were coming tonight until a few hours ago," you say. 

“He apparently only messaged Pierre today and asked,” the Portuguese woman says, lifting her head from your shoulder. "Very spontaneous. But all the better that it worked.”

You smile at her. "That's true.”

Together you turn a corner and immediately the club on the other side of the street catches your eye. Neon signs, which somehow don't fit with the rest of the city's atmosphere, draw attention to the building and the closer you get, the louder the music seems to get, penetrating through the walls. A few people are standing in front of the double doors, guarded by security guards dressed in black, discussing admission. 

When you see the clipboards in the hands of the broad-built men, you stop abruptly, causing Kika to almost trip and bump into you. 

“Are you okay? What's wrong?” she asks, looking at you in confusion. 

Nervously, you nod in the direction of the club. ”They have clipboards.”

Kika looks at the bouncers and then back at you. “No shit, Sherlock. That's where the guest list is,” she replies and tries to pull you a little further. “Why are you stopping? Have you changed your mind? Don't you want to party?”

“Yes, I do,” you reply hesitantly. “But how do we get in there if they have a guest list?”

A grin spreads across Kika's beautiful face before she puts her arm around you and pushes you forward. “Do you really doubt that we'll get in?” she asks, and when she catches your nervous glance, she pulls you closer. “You were invited by a Formula 1 driver, querida. You're the last person who needs to worry.”

As you cross the street and stand behind the people who are still arguing with the bouncers, you realize how different your life seems to be now. 

Ten days ago, you were worried about how you would pay your rent if you didn't find a job – and now you're spending nights on yachts, your best friend is a model and you're partying with Formula 1 drivers in Monaco's most chic clubs. And you're even living with one of them.

And you love him too. 

The bouncers don't seem to be giving in, and the more unyielding they look, the more annoyed the men in their black suits appear. As people try to negotiate their entry and wave banknotes in their hands, the men look past them and nod to you. 

Without hesitation, Kika pulls you through the crowd and comes to a stop in front of the entrance doors. She is about to open her mouth when one of the bouncers takes a step to the side and smiles at you. “Good evening, ladies,” he says in a deep voice, holding the door open for you. “Mr. Norris is expecting you.”

“Thank you very much,” Kika replies with a broad smile, quickly pulling you along behind her so that you can only say a quiet ‘thank you’ to the two men before the club's double doors close behind you and you are enveloped in dim light, warm air and music that gets louder with every step you take. 

“See? That wasn't so hard,” your friend grins, and together you walk down a short hallway before entering a large room. To your left are a few seating areas on an ampore, some open and others roped off. To your right is a long bar stretching across the room, with lots of people already gathered around it. And right in front of you – there's the dance floor. 

At the back is the DJ booth, currently manned by a woman who seems to know exactly what the crowd wants to hear. With precision and skill, she flows from one song to the next without you really noticing, and the audience is eating out of her hands. 

“Hello, you two beauties,” someone suddenly says behind you, and when you turn around, you see Lando's face. He's wearing a white shirt, the top buttons casually undone so that part of his chest can be seen. With arms outstretched, he hugs Kika first before pulling you close and planting a kiss on your cheek. “How are you? How was Christmas?” he asks, taking each of your hands to pull you to the seating areas on the left. He briefly lets go of Kika's hand to untie one of the ribbons before letting you go ahead. 

“It was great,” Kika replies and takes off her long jacket before dropping onto one of the dark couches. She crosses her legs. "But I think our girl here had the most fun," she grins, raising her eyebrows. You give her a dirty look. 

Lando turns to you with raised eyebrows. ”Did you two fuck?”

“That's exactly what I asked!” Kika laughs and claps her hands joyfully. 

You feel the heat rising to your face, and it's not because you're still wearing your coat. Tensioned, you take it off and lay it over the back of the couch. “We didn't,” you answer curtly and roll your eyes. 

Kika and Lando exchange a meaningful look that you try to ignore. 

“Where are the boys, anyway?“ the Brit finally asks, rubbing his hands together as if he can't wait to see his friends again. 

“They dropped us off one street over so they could find a parking lot and so we wouldn't all be seen together,” Kika replies, reaching for the drinks menu on the small table in front of her. She begins to flip through it. 

“Very good.” Lando turns to you. "Today, only guests are invited who I and Martin know personally and trust so much that no one has to worry about any photos getting out," he smiles, putting his arm around your shoulders. 

You look up at him. ”Really?”

He nods. “So you don't need to worry. And neither does Charles.” He gently pulls you close before letting you go again. “So, girls. What can I get you to drink? Wine, cocktails, shots?”

“I'd like a strawberry margarita,” Kika replies, leaning back on the couch. 

“A piña colada, please.”

“All right. I'll be right back.“ Without turning back to you, he leaves and heads towards the bar, where he is immediately greeted and hugged by a few people, while you first make yourselves comfortable in your seating area. 

“Do you know this Martin guy?” you ask the Portuguese woman, who looks over at the crowd. 

She nods briefly. “Martin is really nice. And he's a good DJ,” she replies, and you notice how her gaze sticks to the female DJ. “He just doesn't look as good as she does.”

You can't suppress a grin. ”He doesn't have to look good as a DJ, does he? He just has to be good at what he does.”

“That's right,” Kika agrees with you before turning to face you. She points with her thumb over her shoulder and towards the DJ booth. ”But she's definitely hotter.”

Before you can say anything, Lando returns with a tray and sets it down in front of you. Your two cocktails and more glasses are on it, but there are also small shot glasses filled with red liquid. He hands you your drinks. 

“There we are,” Pierre greets all of you and briefly embraces Lando. Charles is standing behind him and smiles at you. 

“I'm glad you all made it,” the Brit smiles, giving the Monegasque a quick hug before everyone sits down. 

Charles takes a seat next to you, so close that he can press his leg against yours. “Hi,” he smiles gently. “Everything okay?” You return his smile and nod before taking a sip of your cocktail. His gaze flickers briefly from your eyes to your lips, which wrap around the straw. “Piña Colada?”

“Mh-hmm.” You hold the straw out to him and watch as he takes a sip. "Do you like it?”

“I do,’ he admits. ”But somehow I prefer the Nightmare Colada.”

Warmth rises to your cheeks at his words and the thought of the night when you got drunk on his boat. How you poured out your hearts. 

“To a great evening,” Lando raises his voice and hands everyone a shot glass. Carefully, each of you takes one, careful not to spill any of the red liquid. ”Cheers!”

The drinks that make their way to your table over the next two hours taste so fantastically good that Kika and you doubt that there is much alcohol in them. The cocktails taste fantastic and the music puts everyone in a good mood, so you leave your table and hit the dance floor. 

Your group dances to the beat that the DJ is playing like tipsy teenagers. Kika and you hold hands and dance together, causing the boys' eyes to almost pop out of their heads. The Portuguese woman presses her front against yours, her hands on your hips while yours are on her shoulders. And when she leans forward with pouting lips, you can't help but press a friendly kiss on her lips. You hear someone whistle – it's definitely Pierre – and when you both pull away from each other, you have to laugh. 

Kika puts her arm around your shoulders and the other around Charles. “I can't believe I kissed this beauty here before you did, Leclerc,” she grins. 

Charles looks at you with rosy cheeks, but his words are directed at Kika. “Is she a good kisser?”

“The best kisser I ever had,” the brunette replies with a grin before letting go of you and throwing her arms around her boyfriend. 

Charles and you look at each other uncertainly. 

Well, why haven't you kissed each other yet?

The thought is haunting your mind, but you can't answer the question. 

Doesn't Charles want to kiss you? You've definitely done things that are definitely not PG-rated. You can almost feel his spent between your thighs and his lips on your neck, the tip of his cock nudging against your clit and – 

Why haven't you kissed each other?

The Monegasque seems to notice your thoughts, but before he can say anything, Kika grabs your hand and pulls you towards the bar. You lean against the counter and wait for one of the bartenders to notice you when your friend takes your hand. 

“Is everything okay?” She asks, raising her eyebrows in concern. 

“Why do you ask?” you reply with a counter question. 

When a bartender reaches you, Kika orders your drinks. "I didn't want it to be weird between you and Charles. I'm sorry.”

You smile weakly at her and give her a quick hug. ’It's all right. We won't let this ruin our evening, okay?”

“You know you can always talk to me, right?” She asks, tilting her head. ‘You can call me day or night and I'll come to you. I promise.”

Your smile grows wider. "I'm already aware of that.”

“And I really love you, you know that?“ She puts her hands on your upper arms and hugs you tightly. Apparently, Kika gets emotional when she's drunk. 

“I love you too,” you return her embrace, and when the bartender puts your drinks in front of you, you both toast. 

“To the coolest girls, aka us,” she grins. As you both take a sip, someone taps her on the shoulder. Your best friend turns around and apparently she knows the young woman standing behind her, because she pulls her into a fleeting embrace before introducing you. ”Querida, this is Elena. She is also a model.”

In front of you stands a breathtaking beauty. With her brown hair, dark eyes and dark complexion, she looks as if she has just flown in from vacation. She is wearing a black and white dress that highlights her figure and accentuates exactly the right places to make her look flawless. 

You smile at her and introduce yourself as well. “Nice to meet you,” you say and extend your hand, but Elena kisses you on the left and then on the right cheek. 

“It's nice to meet you, too,” she replies with a smile before approaching you. ”Wait. Wipe below your eyebrows. You have some mascara on there.”

Without questioning her remark, you do as she says, and apparently it's good, because both women look at you with satisfaction afterwards. “Thank you,” you say. “That's very nice.”

Elena waves it off. ‘Don't worry. I'd want someone to tell me that too." She leans against the bar. ”You already have your drinks, right? Should I order shots for us?” she asks, but before either of you can answer, she is already talking to the bartender, who quickly prepares a cocktail and sets down three shot glasses in front of her. "Here you go," she says, handing each of you one of the glasses. 

After you've clinked glasses and emptied the small glasses, Kika fishes her cell phone out of her purse. ”Should we take a picture? I'm already drunk, but I definitely want a few more, and I don't think they'll get any better as the evening goes on,” she giggles, tapping someone on the shoulder to take a photo of you. First one of Kika and you, and then one of the three of you. 

“What's your name on Instagram?” Elena asks you, also digging out her phone so you can type your username into the search bar. When your profile pops up, she immediately clicks the follow button. 

Your phone lights up and the notification pops up on the lock screen, and when you tap it, you confirm her request and follow her right back. 

Her profile has a very aesthetic and artistic touch. Every picture is exactly where it should be. The colors all match and at the top of her biography is actually her full name: Elena Montpellier – one million followers – model at Bijou Management agency. 

“I didn't know that Lando had invited you,” Kika says to Elena, who just shrugs. 

“I'm here with friends,“ she replies as the three of you return to your seating area. "A friend of mine knows Martin and asked me if I wanted to come. And as if I'd stay at home when Martin is playing here in the club.”

Confused, you look from one beauty to the other. "So who is this Martin?” you ask hesitantly, afraid that Elena will laugh at you. 

But she doesn't. Quite the opposite. She slides closer to you and tells you about Martin, who is apparently a world-famous DJ. On her cell phone, she shows you videos of his shows and the crowds in front of which he usually performs, but in none of the sequences can you see his face. But suddenly she puts her cell phone down and motions for you to look up. “Speak of the devil.”

Your men join you and, like you, they have someone new with them. The face looks incredibly familiar. He kisses each of the girls on the cheek before introducing himself to you. And then it clicks. 

“Oh my God,” you gasp before he can say a word. ‘You're Martin Garrix.”

“That's me,’ he replies, visibly confused, glancing briefly at Lando, who puts his arm around your shoulder – skilfully ignoring Charles' scowl. 

“My friend here hasn't been in this industry for very long,“ he explains, gently pulling you over to his side. "This is all still pretty new.”

Martin looks back at you from Lando. ’Then I'm glad you're here today,” he smiles. “How did you end up with these guys, if you don't mind me asking?”

You're about to open your mouth to answer him, but Charles is faster. “She's my best friend,” he replies, standing next to you, his arm around your waist. He glances at Lando, who quickly removes his arm from your shoulder and catches your uncertain glance. 

“Okay, cool,” Martin simply replies. ”I still have about half an hour before I have to go to the desk. So, what's going on in your lives?”

While everyone is chatting, you hold back and watch. Pierre and Lando are talking, while Charles, Elena and Martin have moved closer together and the latter is showing something on his cell phone to the other two. You lean back into the couch and sip on your cocktail, Kika leaning on you. 

“I'm sorry he introduced you as his best friend,” she says, only audible to you. 

When you shrug, her head wobbles. “It's okay. I've made my peace with it,” you reply with a half-truth. 

Of course, you would prefer to be more than just his best friend – after all, you share a bed and the images of his expression when he came and painted your thighs refuse to leave you – but if his friendship is all you get from him, then that's that. 

“Please take care of yourself.” Kika raises her head and looks at you anxiously. ”I don't want you to get hurt. You've already been through so much.”

You gently press a kiss on her forehead. “I appreciate your concern.” Your gaze flickers over to Charles, who is now talking only to Elena. He shows her something on his phone and they both have to laugh. The woman leans forward a little to get a better look at the screen, but holds her neckline of the dress so that you can't see inside. 

Charles eyes move from his screen to you, without looking at Elena once. 

You smile at him, but before he can return it, the woman next to him says something and his attention is back to her, as if you weren't there. Maybe he just wants to be polite, after all, Pascale has taught him well and Charles is not one who just -

“Hi,” someone interrupts your train of thought and when you look up, Martin is standing in front of you. "I'm going to the DJ booth now and I thought you might like to join me," he suggests. ”As a kind of welcome and an apology for being so strange just now.”

You raise your eyebrows in wonder. “Actually, I should be the one to apologize. I'm not quite into the ‘famous people know other famous people’ thing yet. I'm sorry.”

Martin waves it off. “Don't worry. It takes some getting used to. But maybe it will help if you support me at the DJ booth.” He holds out his hand. 

“I've never done this before. So I can't guarantee anything,” you smile, which makes him laugh. 

“I'll show you everything. And if necessary, you can just stand next to me and look beautiful, but that shouldn't be a problem.“ 

“All right.” Without hesitation, you put your hand in his and he helps you to your feet. You take a quick glance at Kika, who grins at you and pushes the rest of your cocktail into your free hand, wishing you lots of fun. 

Your eyes flicker over to Charles, whose eyes are already glued to you. He doesn't seem to notice Elena at all, she talks and talks and apparently shows him something without realizing that his attention is not on her right now. He looks from your face to your hand, which is still holding Martin's, so that he can guide you through the crowd in a moment. 

It doesn't feel right to hold another man's hand, even if it's just for a moment. It should be Charles' hand holding yours. Charles' fingers entwined with yours. But Charles is sitting there with Elena, knee to knee. 

“Are you okay?” Martin asks, looking from you to Charles, who can't take his eyes off the two of you. 

You swallow and smile at him. “I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” the DJ asks implausibly. “Charles looks at me as if he wants to kill me. You're just friends, aren't you?”

With your eyes fixed on Charles, you answer him. "Best friends," you correct him with the words of the Monegasque, before turning to Martin. ”Shall we?”

"With pleasure.”

As the two of you leave the seating area and you don't turn around to catch the eye of your best friend, Charles clenches his jaw. 

He already knows the feeling that is welling up inside of him, but last time it was Lando who triggered it and he had to work on himself not to see the Brit as competition. Which is complete nonsense, because Charles knows that Lando would never come between the two of you, not after he called the Monegasque and put him in his place while he was in Italy. 

And Charles knows that he has nothing to worry about. He is the man you go home with later. He is the man you share your bed with at night. He is the man who will later push up your dress and is allowed to touch you where you need him most. 

He knows all of this. And yet there is nothing he can do about it, except feel increasingly jealous with every step you take away from him.

[harunayuuka2060]

Professor Hyde: This is an exceptionally rare occurrence. Who would have imagined discovering a half-human, half-anomaly offspring? *chuckles*

Professor Nicolas: Um, Professor Hyde? *he stammers nervously as the half-human, half-anomaly child clings to him*

Professor Hyde: Look at them, sleeping so peacefully. Poor kid—they must have been terrified.

Professor Dante: *enters the room*

Professor Dante: I have the lab results. Just as we suspected, that little anomaly is classified as Rank A.

Professor Nicolas: R-R-Rank A?!!

Professor Hyde: Oh! Your voice, Professor Nicolas!

Professor Hyde: You wouldn't want to wake up the little anomaly~.

Professor Nicolas: ...

Professor Dante: Don't scare him.

Professor Hyde: So, what are we going to do with this little anomaly?

Professor Dante: Darkwick will be keeping them, of course.

Frostheim student A: Is that it?

Frostheim student B: But it's just a kid...

Frostheim student A: I heard that it's a Rank A anomaly.

Frostheim student B: Eh?! Why is it walking freely like that?!

Toddler MC: *rolls onto the grass, spinning in circles until they spin so fast, they're about to create a tornado*

Professor Hyde: Haha! You can't do that! *picks them up*

Toddler MC: *confused sound*

Professor Hyde: You'll get your cute clothes dirty.

Toddler MC: *pouts grumpily*

Professor Hyde: *chuckles* I know, I know.

Frostheim students: ...

Frostheim student A: If Professor Hyde can play with the anomaly, maybe they're docile—

Toddler MC: *suddenly appears in front of her*

Frostheim students: ...

Toddler MC: *continues to stare at her*

Frostheim student A: *getting scared*

Toddler MC: ...

Toddler MC: *gives her a flower*

Frostheim student A: Oh... Oh! Th-Thank you!

Toddler MC: ...

Frostheim student A: ...

Frostheim student B: I think they want something in return.

Professor Hyde: *yells* Give that baby a hug!

Frostheim students: A hug?

Toddler MC: *waiting expectantly*

Frostheim student A: ...

Frostheim student A: *she crouches down to the toddler's height and hugs them*

Toddler MC: *happy noises*

Professor Hyde: *sighs in relief*

Chancellor Cornelius: It's a relief that they appear to be getting along well with humans.

Professor Dante: That shouldn't be a surprise. Their mother is a human.

Chancellor Cornelius: Even so...

Chancellor Cornelius: We can't deny that this anomaly is strong.

*Flashback:

Toddler MC is surrounded by smashed corpses, their blood fresh on the floor, alongside their mother's.

The DA personnel: ...

The DA personnel: It's okay...

Toddler MC: *looks at their mother* *touching her cheek with their small hand*

The DA personnel: ...

The DA personnel: *takes off his mask so they could see his face properly*

The DA personnel: You can trust me.

Toddler MC: *stood up and approached him slowly*

The DA personnel: Gotcha.

Toddler MC: *turns to look at their mother* *starts shedding tears*

The DA personnel: ... I'm sorry.

[transyashiro]

Hi, genuine question, why transandrophobia is not real? I just thought it was a word to describe the transphobia specifically targeted to transmascs, but if that is not the case id like to be corrected. Also your art is so beautiful I love it!

hey anon. firstly, thank you, i'm glad you like my art. secondly, i am at the end of the day just a guy who draws sometimes. this is a question which was already answered many times by transfeminists on here, and ideally you'd want to get the perspectives of tma people rather than mine. and just in general, keep up with discussions of transmisogyny and listen to transfems, yeah?

all that said, since you are asking me personally... to put it as simply as i can: transandrophobia, or transmisandry, is not real because misandry is not real. that should be the end of the discussion, really. there is no need for a special word to describe transphobia targeted at transmascs, because transphobia and/or other forms of oppression (real ones, Not misandry) depending on any particular situation already cover everything. why is there a desire for a special word to begin with, anyway? girls got one, we want one too? c'mon

but also like, all that aside, regardless of how real or not real transandrophobia is, it is a dog whistle. if someone associates with the transandrophobia crowd, they are most likely a transmisogynist. that should be enough of a reason to steer away from those guys and not trust them. sure, some posts by them might seem compelling or validating at a glance, i've definitely seen younger trans guys who don't know any better start looking in that direction because they feel like they are finally being given a tool to discuss their experiences. i assume that's partially why your question is framed like that, too, because a simple "we just want a word to discuss our oppression" is a lot more convincing than "we hate trans women and want to make them out to be the true oppressors" or "we're just men rights activists but with a trans flag, which also means that we are incapable of oppressing trans women because of our inherent connection to womanhood. don't worry about what that logic implies about our views of trans women" or... you get the picture. it's transmisogyny through and through, you don't even need to dig much

again, i hope you'll look more into what trans women have to say on this, it would do more good than my short clumsy explanation, but hopefully it at least gives you some vague idea

[chaoticblogofmuses]

They cut to the six... Who had somehow found newspapers and sunglasses to hide behind as they watched a nervous Shinpachi having a table with the cat eared girl.

Cat girl: "Huh? What are those people doing?" She looked back at Shinpachi... Who was pouring his drink on his glasses that he was wearing. "Shinpachi-san. That's your eye. Shinpachi-san."

Shinpachi: "Oh god it's hot!" He was freaking out about getting the hot drink over his pants.

Cat girl: "Oh, no! I'm sorry could i have a napkin please?!" She asked a waiter, she got it and started trying to dry them with it. Are you okay? What came over you? You didn't get scalded did you?"

Shinpachi: "No, it doesn't matter."

Cat girl: "Hey, Shinpachi-san i'm really grateful to you for earlier. I never expected you to agree to this meeting. I just had to thank you in person." Well... now she was also pouring her drink on her eye. "But i didn't really mean to say it, i meant to..."

Shinpachi: "Hey, that's your eye..."

Cat girl: "What? Oh snap! What on earth was i thinking? Sorry. I don't know what came over me! I feel so weird and my heart's racing. Hehe." She made a cute pose as she said that.

Kagura and Otae ripped their newspapers in two, furious.

Wadanohara: "Oh... She's good. Playing on the cute parts of herself."

Sakata Gintoki has been working under the Yorozuya alone for a good few weeks now ever since he threw his old partners into the river for ‘reasons’. Life was going good for me and then one day he hears rumors of a girl alone with corpses in a place called the sea kingdom who is nicknamed ‘The Witch Demon with Corpses’ interested in this he takes a boat to the sea kingdom to find this girl. (Let the Wadanohara Survive AU fun begin!)

The lone Witch was in the middle of a bunch of corpses and some that used to be her friends, she was just sitting there, not moving from the spot, the girl couldn't find any motivation to leave the place, she didn't know of the samurai that was on the way yet to change her life hopefully for the better.

[keferon]

Ahhhhhhhhh! The TF mecha Deadlock and human Ratchet drawing! I just saw it before sending this. His squishy! But yeeee! Continuing from the last one I wrote. Just pulled ideas from other posts you and others have done in this TF mecha universe. This is fun! :P

****

Ratchet's living quarters is much like the hanger where his lab is. An open area with some dividers up to make separate rooms. Scaffolding and catwalks line the wall and stairs are at each corner of the hanger. The interior is smaller when compared to the lab but the ceiling is much taller, allowing Deadlock the ability to sit up right comfortably. It looks like a little maze to Deadlock who can look down from above. Out of the five rooms in this hanger turned living quarters, Deadlock can't see into three of them. Ratchet's berthroom, the kitchen, and washrack all have ceilings to them. Ratchet's office is connected to the sitting area. Being the largest area in the hanger Deadlock has taken over the sitting area to recharge and heal in. Being the Chief Engineer no one has questioned Ratchet for having Deadlock in his hanger because Ratchet always takes work home with him. Also don't question Ratchet.

A click from the main entrance door has Deadlock stir from his recharge. Old instincts and habits have made him a light recharger. He opens one optic, a red glow fills the room. Blinding bright and staticky at first but dims and clears as his visual boots up. He see Ratchet opening the tiny entryway to slip out. He rumbles knowing it is way to early for Ratchet to head back to his lab. Ratchet had maybe, at most, gotten two hours of recharge. Deadlock gives a rumble/grunt again, this time it sounds more like a wheeze as he starts to shift to grab his little squishy who has already opened the door and stepped half way out. He is using the door to make himself unsnatchable not without breaking the thin metal.

Number one rule while in Ratchet's domain: Don't break Ratchet's things, he NEEDS them. The objects Ratchet chuck do not/can not hurt him. The disappointment and tired frustration however does hit something deep in his war worn spark. "Power back down kid. Just leaving for an emergency meeting. When I get back I'll check your intakes and engine. It's rattling and straining hard again." Ratchet says in a deep rougher voice used only when he wakes from recharge. The door click behind the human not giving him time to reply in his drowsy state. He rubs his fresh welded wounds and with a unhappy grunt curls loosely back around what Ratchet calls a lazy-e-boy chair and entertainment center.

ALL DAY! All day Ratchet has been gone. Deadlock should be use to Ratchet's long work days. But Ratchet didn't fuel before he left, he hasn't recharged in a long while. Two hours is not a recharge. Not for him, not for Ratchet. He is worried, it oozes out and around him from his EM Field like a shadowy murky cloak. His audial fins are pinned down and back as far as they can go. Ratchet looks so worn down. Overworked and shoulders heavy with responsibly the Cybertonian knows the bioengineer should not have to bare. The tv is on to use as a distraction but it no more then background noise as his proccesor runs through scenarios of what could be keeping Ratchet this time.

The door lock clicks and Deadlock instantly perks up. His EM Field fizzles away from gloomy to a more warm and bright mood. "Ratch-" He stops immediately when Ratchet comes through the door. Deadlock rakes his claws into the concrete floor and his field starts boiling with the energon in his lines. Ratchet is bruised and bleeding. The humans forehelm and knuckes are covered with fresh and dried blood. His glare intensifies as Ratchet closes the door and slumps against it with a grumble. Ratchet grunts as he takes off his shoes and dirty jacket. Deadlock's helm is filled with static and his spark heavy and spinning way to fast. He can taste energon on his glossa thanks to his fangs. Rage is not what is taking over his sensors and proccesor. Something more like a deeply rooted need, something instinctually feral burns hot in his frame. "WHO'D DARE-" Ratchet holds up a hand and makes a hushing noise, Deadlock snarls engine rattling harder to keep up with his burst of energy and restrained energon lust. His limbs shaking with just as much restraint. The only thing keeping him from ripping the hanger down is Ratchet's hunched form at the entry way. When Ratchet looks up at Deadlock his jaw snaps shut, denta slamming hard against each other with a harsh clank. The fragger looks amused! Tired, frustrated, and hurting but Deadlock knows that look. Those lips are ever so slightly turned up into an amused smirk, "R a t c h e t." Deadlock hisses out passed his denta audial fins pinned back.

"Relax, before you blow a fuse. You should see the other guy. These are just scratches Drift." The fragger chuckles wiping some blood from his lip with his thumb. That does something to Deadlock that he will not acknowledge right now. His spark flutters and pulses harder, EM Field a confusing mix of emotions that Ratchet can't feel, "I had a disagreement with some of the others in command while another sister base visited. I am fine. Been in more then one scrapping in my time." Ratchet hums as he limps into his office, Deadlock claws at the floor again. "I did not party and study my whole younger life away just to get my PhD in biomedical engineering and be told how to do my job. I may have got a tad heated." He chuckles again at Deadlocks snort/huff.

Deadlock relaxes slightly as Ratchet pulls out a medical kit. His systems are running hot and HUB flashing warnings at him do as Ratchet suggested. He relaxes slightly and presses his servo against his helm. "Frag doc starting fights for a disagreement?" He rasps out watching Ratchet closely while he steadies his intakes. The human carefully works on cleaning the blood stained knuckles, Deadlock takes some pleaser in knowing all that blood is not just Ratchet's. "You're just as much of a hot menace as me."

"For you." Ratchet mumbles as he gently rubs ointment on the cuts. "They wanted me to turn you over to the field officer. Told them that you are still a work in progress that needs more time. That you came to my lab mmm.." Ratchet realizes it's the next day, a whole day wasted arguing in a concert room with metal chairs. With stuck up, pathetic excesses for- "Two days ago now.. said I activated some guardian protocal that day by accident which what brought you looking for me. They think you are imprinted on me. Something like that." Ratchet winces as he wraps his most bruised and swollen hand. A whine leaves Deadlock's stuttering engine, the tip of his pointer digit's claw has been hovers over Ratchet's helm as the doc talked, "What is it Drift?" Ratchet pauses from reaching for the alcohol soaked cotten ball. He looking up into overly bright, almost white with worry optics. Ratchet's optics dart around looking over Deadlock's form and healing welds.

Deadlock wants to huff, to roll his optics at the bioengineer's worry for him. But he can't stop his spark and fuel tanks from turning while he watches the red liquid drip down Ratchet's forehelm and optic ridge. "I... can't help you. You are hurt.. cause of me... and I can only watch you patch yourself up." He admits dimming his optics and looking down. All of this because he got impatient and hunted down his squishy to get him to recharge for once.

Ratchet's optics soften slightly. He shuts the kit with a sharp snap and huffs as he straightens from being hunched over. "Hand down please." Deadlock's audial fins perk up at the request. He carefully and gently, as gently as he can, places two digits into the office room. He lifts Ratchet up slowly once the small being had found a good spot to sit on his servo. He doesn't want to risk even the slightest breeze to brush against the bruised and cut flesh. He makes certain his servo is locked so it doesn't twitch on them. "This is high enough. Stay still." Deadlock is about to scold him when he thinks Ratchet is going to check the welds on his chassis. Instead Ratchet pops the kit back open and works on himself. Deadlock's vocal box clicks a few times as he tries to comprehend what his squishy is doing. His spark flutters with his EM Field when he realizes Ratchet is using his metal plating like a mirror. Ratchet dabs the cotton ball on the cut above his left optic ridge. "Didn't feel like going all the way to the bathroom. So thanks kid."

Deadlock purrs and almost melts from the thanks. Yes he will happily be a mirror. "Clever thing to do doc. Have those idiots thinking I am loyal and protective to only you will mean I can follow you around more. I am content being imprinted on you. Just tell them you can't undo it doc and if they touch you ever again I will pluck their little tiny servos off and feed it to them." He rumbles in a flat tone towards the end. He rolls his optics at the small ping from Ratchet flicking his chassis, "You may start a fight doc but know I will finish it."

"Didn't really start it either kid." Ratchet sighs looking at his reflection with a solemn expression before going back to dabbing the cotten ball harder against the cut, "Wasn't just about you Drift. They wanted.... they want..." Deadlock wants to curl around Ratchet the tone he is using now sounds like defeat, that's not his Ratchet. Deadlock lifts his free servo and retracts a claw so he can rub Ratchet's back as best he can to comfort him. "I can't." Ratchet rasps placing his forehelm against Deadlock chassis. Deadlock's engine settles to a purr Cybertonians use to sooth each other. It seems to work. Ratchet's shoulders relax and he seems to be getting his thoughts together. Deadlock stays silent and even if he doesn't need to keeps his EM Field in check. He only giving off support, warmth and calm, "It's inhumane, evil... Tourture... It would break down to much of the muscles and cells of the body. The hippocampus, the cerebral cortex, and the frontal lobe... that much damage to the brain would... I can't do what they want me to. Not to anyone Drift. Not what they ask. I can't. To adults, to teenagers, To Children. Young kids not knowing what they have signed up for. Never told. No choice. No way in hell could I ever-"

The strain and deep pain in Ratchet's voice is killing Deadlock. Deadlock can feel the trembling coming from Ratchet as the human catches his breath. He keeps a steady presser against Ratchet's back for support as he moves him up. He ignores the small gasp from Ratchet when he presses Ratchet to his cheek gently. Warm smooth metal touched warm soft skin, "Never. Never will you do what anyone demands of you. They can not make you harm anyone. You have never done anything you didn't want to and you won't start now. You are to much for them to try to control. My little squishy scraplet. I will kill them if they try. You have my glyphic, honor, and spark on this." Deadlock pulls back feeling something wet on his faceplate. Before Deadlock can get a good look at Ratchet's face, the bioengineer is shakily wiping his optics in a rushed motion aggravating the wound on his forehelm making it bead up with fresh blood, "Woah easy doc!" Ratchet bats his digit away when he tries to stop him.

"Stupidly cocky little shit! Lets get you feeling better before you try taking on a whole mecha filled base for me!" Ratchet laughs and smacks the digit still pressed against his back. That laugh does something to Deadlock's systems and spark, "We'll need to discuss a plan. I don't ever do anything half ass. I will not go into anything blind. But you are right, this is not the place for me to be anymore. Sad really. I was doing a lot of good here, made things safer for our pilots. Slowly sure but less were dying... so horridly all the time." Ratchet mumbles the last bit under his breath before shaking his helm. Deadlock likes the smirk that comes back to Ratchet's lips, "Now lay down so I can check that engine. You are starting to sound like a shitty abandoned junker car. Think you knock something out of place."

Deadlock matches Ratchet's smirk with a slag eating grin as he lifts the human a tad higher to press his forehelm against Ratchet's. He feels Ratchet pulls back after a moment, a stuttering raspy purr rumbles pleasantly through him when Ratchet places his servo against his forehelm and rubs. Yeah he does sound like slag and his HUB is flashing warnings, "What ever you say Doc. I am your guardian knight after all. You just tell me when to start swinging." He hums as he shifts to lay down.

Y O U. YOU JUST WROTE THIS ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE OF A FIC??? AND I DONT EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME?? WHOEVER YOU ARE, ANON, I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH NGKGKFGBFHGH YOUR WRITING DOES THINGS TO MY BRAI N

Also. Al s o. I just realized. Oh my god.

We have two Cybertronians on Earth at the moment right. Prowl and Deadlock. But Prowl is very much restricted in his actions because he has strong moral codex and also he's not a very good fighter (at least on his own).

But then we also have Deadlock. And the only thing keeping Deadlock in check is. Ratchet.

Like. Oh fuck just imagine. He isn't restricted by any moral implications except Ratchets opinion. He doesn't really give a fuck about other organic life or laws of Earth or anything. He is also a really fucking good fighter. He doesn't commit murder because that would disappoint Ratchet, but if. IF. Something happens to Ratchet?

THE HELL he would unleash would be visible from outer space.

Him being so sweet and caring and protective over Ratchet doesn't mean he behaves like this with everyone. Him being protective over Ratchet means that if anything takes Ratchet from him, he'll drown himself in blood. He'll burn, claw, gnaw, punch and tear his way back to his human.

All so he can be nice and sweet and caring again right afterward:)

[punkshort]

Evergreen | Chapter One: Denial

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Tommy encourages Joel to join bereavement group counseling, where he meets you. You connect over a similar loss and the common thread of loneliness, leading to something unexpected for you both.

Chapter Warnings: grief, angst, mentions of OC deaths, mild references to: suicide, self harm, drug use (none by reader or Joel), language, panic/anxiety attack (Joel), Joel POV

WC: 8.8K

A/N: I've been working on this goddamn series since May. Sorry it's taken me so long to get around to it but I am committing to a posting schedule now that it is almost complete and I appreciate you all for being so patient. Hope you enjoy tons of fluff and softness and angst.

Series Masterlist

Joel's hands gripped the steering wheel as he stared blankly at the faded brick building connected to the small, run down parking lot. He watched as the clock ticked down to six in the evening, and with each passing minute a new car parked nearby or someone walked through the double doors. He wasn't sure what he expected, but he was surprised to see people of all ages streaming inside.

Then he saw a young woman with two children, one in each hand, neither of which could have been over seven years old, walk inside with watery eyes and he dropped his gaze to his lap in shame.

Mia had been gone for nearly ten years. He had no business being there. His grief wasn't fresh. Over the years, he's learned to cope with it, to live alongside it. The people who were there that night needed the support.

Joel didn't need support. He was just lonely.

He reached for his key, still dangling in the ignition, when his phone rang. With a sigh, he patted down the front of his jeans until he located his phone, then lifted his hips off the worn seat with a grunt so he could fish it out.

"Yeah?"

"You better not be thinkin' 'bout leavin'."

Joel swiveled around in alarm, searching the parking lot for his brother's truck, but all he saw were the last few stragglers hurriedly walking up to the front doors, the anguish practically weighing them down as they moved.

"You watchin' me now?"

Tommy chuckled on the other end.

"Nah, I'm at home. I just know you."

Joel rolled his eyes as the clock ticked to 6:01 on the dash.

"This is stupid, Tommy."

"It ain't stupid. It's been almost ten years and you've never looked twice at another woman. You can tell me you've moved on or that you're fine, but I'm not buying your bullshit," Tommy said sternly on the other end. "I don't think you ever gave yourself a chance to process what happened and it's important you do that. For your mental health and all that."

"Maria tell you to say that?" Joel scoffed, but still unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

"Maybe. Don't matter who said it, it's true."

"Fine. I'm walkin' in now, I'll call you later," Joel said, then hung up without waiting for a reply.

The building wasn't very big. From the lobby, Joel could hear a male's voice making what sounded like brief introductions as he strolled quickly down the hall. He rested his hand on the push bar and took a deep breath. Right as he was about to enter, he heard someone else's light footsteps jogging up behind him. He turned around as you approached, a little breathless and with a guilty smile.

"Oh, good, I'm not the only one who's late," you said, nodding towards the door.

"Uh, yeah," Joel said, clearing his throat softly, "we can share the heat," he joked, opening the door and stepping aside so you could walk through first. You shot him a grateful look and mouthed thank you before entering the room.

The group all turned their heads at the disruption, as expected, but the counselor waved them in with a warm smile.

"Welcome! Have a seat, we were just getting started."

Joel found the first empty chair he could, in the very last row closest to the door. You glanced around the room before sliding into the same row as him, just a few seats down.

"As I was saying, welcome to the grief and loss support group. I'm Dr. Harris, but please feel free to call me Ryan."

Ryan was young. Definitely under forty. Something about that irked Joel. He imagined this man going to school to learn how to be caring, how to listen and say all the right words at the right time so he could make a decent paycheck and call himself doctor while he went home to his wife and picket fence and his patients went home with a gaping hole in their hearts.

"There is no wrong way to grieve," Ryan was saying from the podium with a practiced look of solemnity. "All of you are here for different reasons. And while you may look around here and think nobody else could possibly understand what you are feeling, I am here to tell you that you are simply wrong." Ryan took a moment to let his words settle over the group before continuing. "We have all lost somebody in our lives. That is the common thread that weaves us all together. And I'm here to tell you to use it." Ryan clenched his fists for emphasis and Joel had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Lean on each other. Listen to one another. This is a safe space. Nobody will judge you here, no matter what you may think, everybody in this room is here for the same reason."

After what felt like an eternity, Ryan invited the people in the room to approach the podium to speak, no longer than ten minutes, he had said, reminding everyone that their time was limited and they always could speak again at the next meeting.

One by one, people trickled up to the front of the room. First it was an elderly woman who explained with tears in her eyes that her husband of forty years passed away a month ago.

"It sounds silly," she sniffled, "but it feels like I'm... untethered. Like I lost my connection to this world when he left and I'm scared I might just... float away."

Next was a man around Joel's age who visibly struggled to hold back his tears about his late sister.

"I just keep reminding myself I didn't cause it, I can't control it, can't undo it. I'm really mad at myself for not paying attention to the warning signs. She was struggling, y'know?" His glassy eyes addressed the group briefly before he cast his gaze back down. "The best thing I can do is try to rebuild. Don't let the anguish fester. Don't let it consume me. Because she wouldn't want that."

After that, a girl no older than twenty, arms and neck covered in tattoos walked to the front. "She was my best friend since we were eight. And I know it's my fault, I know it is," she choked out, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I gave her her first hit. I could see she was falling too deep into it and I didn't try to help her, I was too focused on my own shit and not seeing what was right in front of me. To this day, I can't look her mom in the eye-" the girl hung her head and took a moment to gather herself. Chairs squeaked as the group patiently waited for her to continue. "But I'm clean and sober almost six months now," she said with a watery smile. A small round of applause broke out amongst the group and she nodded her thanks. "I'm thinking about going to school for social work. Maybe I can honor her memory in some way."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw you cross and uncross your legs nervously but made no move to walk to the front.

Same as him.

When the clock on the wall ticked closer to seven, Ryan addressed the group one final time.

"I'll stick around in case anybody wants to have a talk after group. Just a reminder that I'm only here once a week, but my esteemed colleague, Grace, runs another group on Tuesdays, so please feel free to stop by one or both. I also left some cards in the back next to the coffee. My information is on there if you would like a one on one appointment and on the back is the crisis hotline. Please take one, you never know when you may need it."

The room collectively seemed to stand, a murmur rippling through the group as people began to softly speak again, reaching out to neighbors, either introducing themselves or catching up from the last session. Joel scratched at his chin and looked around the room as people continued to filter around. Some paired off to grab coffee, some went to talk to Ryan, but Joel just stood there. All alone.

He took a deep breath and headed for the back, then lingered at the small stack of business cards Ryan had mentioned. He picked one up and flipped it over, studying it, when he heard a soft voice behind him.

"Excuse me," you said, and he swiveled around in surprise.

"Oh, sorry," he replied, stepping to the side so you could reach the coffee. He pretended to look at the card but watched as you filled up a cup. He waited for you to add cream or sugar but you didn't. You lifted the cup to your lips and took a tentative sip before recoiling at the heat and doing it again.

"That, uh, any good?"

Your eyes locked onto his and you shrugged. "'Bout what you'd expect."

He smiled and looked around the room, fidgeting with the edge of the card before sliding it into his pocket. "This your first session, too?"

You shook your head and stepped aside, a little closer to him, so others could get to the coffee. "I've been coming here almost two months."

That surprised Joel. Based on the way the rest of the group seemed familiar with each other, he had suspected the two of you were both new.

"Two months? Wow," Joel said, "how's it workin' out for you, if you don't mind my askin'?"

You sighed and gave him a little smile.

"Some days are better than others. But I figure it doesn't hurt, so..." you trailed off and crossed your arms, your fingertips tapping against the paper cup. "My mom begged me to come, so I did. I think it makes her believe she's helping in some way by pushing it and I grew tired of feeling like an emotional burden."

Joel frowned. "I'm sure that ain't true. No parent thinks their kid is an emotional burden."

You chuckled and drained the rest of your cup. "You'd be surprised." You tossed the cup into the trash before giving him a brighter smile. Although expressing your emotions was the entire reason you were there, you still felt uncomfortable doing it. "So this was your first time? What did you think?"

"Jury's still out," Joel replied honestly. "Promised my brother I would give it a try, same as you. My daughter just went off to college last month and I think he and his wife are worried 'bout me bein' all alone for the first time in, well... forever, I suppose." His lips pursed in thought for a moment. "Feels kinda like I don't belong here. My wife passed almost ten years ago. I've learned to live with it by now. It ain't as raw as all that-" he gestured up to the podium, referencing all the individuals who poured their hearts out for the past hour. Then he realized he was rambling and chuckled. "Sorry. Can't seem to shut up." He looked at you sheepishly and you smiled back.

"That's good. That's what you're supposed to do here," you assured him, then took a deep breath. "I lost my fiancé a year ago, so I can relate... kind of."

"I'm sorry," he said, furrowing his brow and examining your face. "You're so young, you shouldn't know what that feels like at your age."

"Not that young. I'm thirty-one," you joked. He laughed and rubbed his chin.

"Well I got twenty years on you, seems pretty young to me."

"You're fifty-one?" you asked, and he nodded. "You look good, I wouldn't have guessed a day over..." you trailed off as you studied his face and he grinned.

"Go ahead, be honest."

"Forty-three," you decided, and Joel laughed. When was the last time he felt this lighthearted?

"Well that's the nicest thing I've heard all week," he replied. The room began to thin out and you shifted your weight.

"Well, I guess I should get going," you told him, almost sounding regretful. Then you pinched your eyebrows together. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Joel," he said, sticking an arm out to shake your hand. You gave him a warm smile before telling him your name, your hand getting dwarfed by his thick, rough fingers.

"Will I see you next week, Joel?"

"Yeah," he replied, walking out with you and holding open the door. "I'll give it another chance."

"Good. I mean, you know, I'm glad you're giving it another chance," you found yourself inexplicably stumbling over your words and before your face began to heat up you veered off towards your car with a quick wave.

Joel's eyes trailed after you for a minute before he opened the door to his truck and climbed inside. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against his lower lip, lost in thought while he stared straight ahead at the emptying parking lot. Then you drove by in a higher end white SUV and he watched as you took a right turn out of the lot and disappeared down the road. He sighed and started his truck, realizing he was one of the last cars in the lot, and decided to stop at a fast food drive thru on the way home.

"Uncle Tommy told me you went to a grief support group the other day, how did it go?" Sarah asked him over FaceTime. He pushed the lever on his recliner and leaned back into the chair with a grunt.

"S'alright," he mumbled.

"Did you share anything?"

"No."

"Well, why not?"

"'Cause, baby girl, these people just lost someone close to 'em. I can't get up there and talk 'bout your mama, it's been so long-"

"That doesn't matter," she said, interrupting him. He could hear other kids in the background laughing but she remained focused on her screen. "I don't think you've ever really processed Mom's death and it's important to me that you try. I worry about you, old man," she teased, and Joel grinned.

"No need to worry 'bout me, I'm stayin' busy."

"Yeah, doing what? And don't tell me you're eating frozen meals and watching baseball because it'll break my heart."

Joel's eyes drifted to the empty plastic tray on the coffee table.

"No," he said gruffly. "Ain't baseball season. I'm watchin' basketball."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Dad," she whined, "what about your friends? The guys from work?"

He didn't have the heart to tell her they were busy with their families, with their wives, so he lied.

"Yeah, I'm gonna get together with Jimmy later this week. Gonna shoot some pool."

"That sounds great!" Sarah exclaimed, her face instantly brightening. Her eyes snapped up to someone behind her phone and she grinned, holding up one finger, then looked back at him. "Listen, Dad, I gotta run. I promised a few friends I would go to the football game with them."

"Oh, so you'll watch football with your friends and not me?" he teased, and she giggled. "Alright then, text me when you get back home safe."

"I will. I love you."

No matter how many times he heard it, those words always warmed his heart.

"Love you too, baby girl."

The call ended and he set his phone down with a sigh. Sarah was right. He couldn't waste away in his house all alone, waiting for her to come home to visit or for Tommy and Maria to come by for dinner. He needed to get a hobby. He glanced outside then looked at the time before turning off the television and pushing himself out of his recliner with a groan. He shuffled down the hall to his bedroom to change out of his old sweatpants and ratty tshirt, then snatched his keys off the kitchen counter and headed out to the driveway.

He drove aimlessly through town, his window down with his arm hanging out, soaking up the sun's rays. Kids were playing on the sidewalks and people were walking their dogs or pushing strollers. Everyone just seemed so... happy. Content.

Maybe he should get a dog.

Maybe he should start with a fish, first.

He jumped on the highway and cruised with one hand on the steering wheel. Hank Williams crooned from the radio and Joel took a deep, relaxing breath. He was coming up on the exit for the mall. Sarah loved dragging him to the mall. A smile played on his lips and he figured why not.

He veered off the highway and slowed when he approached the red light, the mall parking lot straight ahead. It didn't look terribly busy. With the weather as nice as it was, he imagined most people would be spending their time outside.

Joel found a good spot right out front. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and walked inside through the Macy's. A blast of freezing cold air conditioning hit him like a ton of bricks, cooling the sweat that was collecting on the back of his neck. He managed to make his way through the maze of the department store and entered the mall itself. There were a few groups of girls around Sarah's age giggling and carrying shopping bags and the random couple here or there walking into William Sonoma or Brookstone.

When he passed by the food court, he saw a few solitary older men sipping coffee and reading the paper or people watching. Joel huffed under his breath, wondering who on earth would come to the mall just to read a paper until he realized he was no better.

Was he going to become just like them one day? Would he come to the mall to nurse a coffee just so he wouldn't feel so alone? The thought had his throat closing up.

He paused and leaned against a railing overlooking the bottom floor of the mall, pretending to be looking for someone when in reality he was struggling to breathe. His heart was fluttering too fast in his chest and his vision was narrowing.

"Shit," he whispered to himself, rubbing his eyes and trying to focus on taking deep breaths. It was like reality crashed down around him all at once: Sarah was moved out of the house. Tommy was happily married. And Joel was going to die all alone.

He gasped and blinked, trying to clear his head and mentally talk himself down, but it was no use. He leaned forward a bit to rest his forehead on the cool, stainless steel railing but his knees began to buckle. Just when he thought he would need to stop someone and beg them to call an ambulance, he heard someone say his name, temporarily snapping him out of his daze.

"Are you okay?" you asked, the smile slipping from your face when you noticed how flush he looked. He could only manage to shake his head. Without hesitating, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders and helped him stand, then glanced around. Spotting an empty bench, you led him over and helped him sit. You rubbed your palm over his upper back soothingly and sat next to him, reminding him to breathe deeply until his vision cleared and he felt his strength return.

"Christ," he mumbled. He sat up and leaned back so the back of his head rested on the bench and stretched his long legs out. "Thank you," he added, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

"No problem," you said, "is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Or, no. I don't know," he sighed, dropping his hand from his face. "I think it just hit me all at once."

You slid over on the bench to give him more room. "What hit you all at once?"

"That my little girl is growin' up and -" he stopped himself, the words and I'm all alone getting trapped in his throat. "And I just miss her, is all."

You slowly nodded and glanced around the mall. "What does she like?"

He smiled. "Clothes. Music. Makeup. Books."

"What kind of books?"

"The fantasy kind. Y'know, like Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter."

A huge grin spread across your face. "Follow me, I have an idea," you said, standing up and looking down at him before you realized you might have overstepped. "I mean, unless you're-"

"No, let's go," he replied, standing up and stretching out an arm for you to lead the way. He fell in step next to you as you led him down towards the other end of the mall and after a few minutes, he realized where you were leading him.

"The bookstore?"

"Yep," you said cheerily, shooting him a playful grin. "Trust me."

And he did.

"There's some really incredible series out there right now. Why don't we pick one out, you can read it and share it with her so you guys have something to do together from a distance? Do you know if she's read The Word of the Heir? That's by an incredibly talented author who actually got the idea when she was only seven years old," you told him excitedly, leading him deep into the bookstore, dodging tables and displays until you made it to the fantasy section. Joel slowed down and looked around, his panic attack slipping further and further from his mind.

"Uh, I ain't sure," he replied as you held up the book. You tucked it under your arm and began to look again.

"How about Empire of Kings? I haven't read that one but the author is relatively new and I've heard he's an extremely talented storyteller."

Joel shrugged, again unsure what Sarah may or may not have read. All of the titles sounded so foreign to him until his eyes landed on the spine of a thick, hardcover book.

"Oh, this one sounds familiar," he said, plucking it from the shelf. "The Crimson Stone. I think she wanted to read this but I don't think she ever finished it. It's a series-"

"Yeah, I know that one," you told him quietly. He glanced down at the book again and read the author's name.

"Daniel Davis, ain't this the guy who died in that bad wreck downtown?" Joel mumbled as he flipped the book over in his hands to read the back. You nodded. "Maybe I'll get this one."

"Don't waste your money, I can give it to you for free," you said, gently taking it from his hands. You ran your palm distractedly over the cover before flipping it open and looking at the tiny black and white photo of the author on the inside jacket. "This was my fiancé," you added, your voice thick. Joel's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Shit," he mumbled. "I-I'm sorry, his name just sounded familiar, I remember it from the paper..." he trailed off, floundering for what to say to comfort you. Why couldn't he fucking think?

"It's okay," you told him, waving him off, but the guilt still laid heavy in his chest. "There's no way you would have known." You slowly closed the book, giving the picture one more glance, and handed it back to him. "But really, if you want to read them I have tons of copies just sitting around. He had a few other books outside of this series, as well, if you guys wanted them."

Joel's eyebrows knit together. "I don't wanna take your books. They gotta have sentimental value or somethin'."

"No, seriously, I have boxes of them just sitting there. He was in the middle of signing copies for readings he was supposed to do before-" you stopped yourself and cleared your throat. "Anyway. I can bring them to group next week or you can come by the house and look through them yourself if you like."

Joel nodded and nervously chewed the inside of his cheek. "Do you wanna talk 'bout it?"

You looked up at him then, all wide eyed and filled with so much sadness that it made his chest ache. No one so young and pretty should have to go through so much pain. Your eyes drifted over his face for a moment, quietly studying him before responding. "Yeah. I kind of do."

Joel looked over his shoulder and spotted the café across from the bookstore. "You wanna get a coffee and find a quiet bench or somethin'?"

"That sounds nice," you replied, so he put the books back on the shelf and walked out into the mall. He spotted a bench near an empty storefront and he told you to go have a seat with the promise of bringing you back something to drink. There wasn't a line at the counter. He couldn't imagine many people wanted coffee that late in the day, so it only took a few minutes before the barista slid the two cups of black coffee across the counter and he met you back at the bench.

"Black, right?"

You smiled and gingerly took the cup. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"From group the other day," he replied, then sat down with a grunt. You sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, each of you letting your coffees cool before you spoke.

"I usually don't talk about it. Every week I tell myself I'm gonna go up to that podium and pour my heart out and every week I chicken out."

Joel didn't say a word. He learned early on with Sarah when she was upset, she just wanted someone to listen to her. So that's exactly what he did. He sipped his coffee and just listened. And before you even realized it, you were telling him everything.

You began by telling him Daniel was from Austin but you met in Portland, where you grew up. For a while, the two of you tried doing a long-distance relationship, but once you were finished with school you took him up on the offer to move in with him in Texas. Shortly thereafter, he proposed and you had spent the last year of his life planning your dream wedding. The night of the accident, you had been touring a venue an hour outside the city. It was dark when you finished up and drove back home.

Daniel didn't do anything wrong. You insisted Joel knew that first.

A truck driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and ran a light, completely crushing the driver's side and killing Daniel instantly. Somehow, you had only come out of the accident with a small concussion and a badly bruised chest from the seatbelt.

"Jesus," Joel muttered when you exhaled a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, darlin'. That's some fucked up shit." His eyes widened and he straightened up in his seat. "Shit, sorry for cursin'... twice." He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably and a slow smile spread across your face. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you burst out laughing.

"Thank you," you said in between giggles. He grinned, confused but happy you were laughing and not crying. "I needed that. And you're right, it was some fucked up shit."

Joel chuckled and took a sip from his coffee. He heard his phone ring so he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen before silencing the call and putting his phone away.

"You can take it," you said, wiping a stray tear from your eye and jutting your chin towards his phone.

"Just my brother. I'll call him back later."

"Ah, the infamous brother that made you go to group?"

"The very same."

"Younger or older?"

"Younger, but the way he bosses me 'round you'd never know it," Joel said with a grin.

"He's probably just looking out for you."

"He knows I'm feelin' especially lonely without Sarah. Sarah's my daughter, by the way," he said, pulling his phone out and showing you his lock screen: it was a selfie of him and Sarah on the beach, Joel looked red as a lobster and Sarah's hair looked tangled from the wind but there was no denying the happiness in both their eyes.

"She's beautiful," you said warmly. He smiled and put his phone away.

"Got that from her mama."

"I don't know, I see a little bit of you in her smile," you teased, bumping up against his shoulder playfully. He rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

"What I'm tryin' to say is, I can relate a bit to what you're goin' through. Y'know, losin' a partner and feelin' like you got no one left," he said. You took a deep breath.

"Yeah, sounds like you do."

Joel nervously picked at his jeans, trying to figure out the right way to say what he wanted to say without sounding like an old creep, but before he could open his mouth, you spoke first.

"Maybe we can hang out together and keep each other company?" you offered. He turned his head and grinned.

"I was 'bout to suggest the same thing."

"Really?" you asked, looking as relieved as he felt. He nodded.

"Sounds like we both could use a friend."

Something in your expression shifted. It was too quick. He couldn't pinpoint it but whatever it was disappeared, leaving behind a genuine smile.

"I would really like that, Joel."

"What the hell? You couldn't call me back yesterday?" Tommy scolded when he marched into the small, messy office the following morning. Joel glanced up from behind his desk; papers, a calculator and a pencil scattered about in front of him. He took his reading glasses off with a sigh, abandoning his work. He hated doing the administrative part of his job. He always preferred to be on site or meeting with clients.

"I was busy."

"Busy?" Tommy repeated before collapsing in the worn out chair across from him.

"Yeah, busy. I was... with a friend," Joel mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant but Tommy's ears perked up.

"A friend? Who?"

Joel shrugged. "Someone I met at that group you made me go to."

Tommy's eyes lit up. "Hey, that's great. See? I knew it'd be good for you. What's his name?"

Joel pursed his lips before softly saying your name and Tommy raised an eyebrow.

"A woman? That's even better, Joel."

"It ain't like that-"

"'Course not," Tommy said, "I'm just sayin' it's a step in the right direction."

"She's too young," Joel said defensively, giving Tommy pause.

"Okay..."

"We're just friends. She ain't from 'round here, ain't got anyone in Texas."

Tommy frowned as he watched Joel shift uncomfortably in his chair, wondering what made his brother get so sensitive, so he chose to tread lightly.

"So you're keepin' each other company. That's nice."

"Yeah," Joel said, standing up with a grunt and rubbing his lower back before he snatched his coat from the wall. "Ready to go?"

"Sure," Tommy said, standing to follow Joel out of the office. While he locked the door behind him, Tommy couldn't help but ask, "How young is too young?"

"Thirty-one," Joel replied, fishing the keys out of his pocket.

Tommy shrugged, falling in step next to his brother as they walked towards the parking lot. "Sounds like an adult to me," he muttered, but Joel chose to ignore it. "When are you seein' her again?"

"End of the week," Joel replied before climbing into the truck.

"Friday?"

"Yeah, after work. We were gonna order some dinner and look through some books she's tryin' to get rid of."

The corner of Tommy's mouth twitched. "So, like a date?"

"It ain't a date," Joel said firmly, his jaw set as he pulled out of the parking lot and began to drive in the direction of the first worksite. "She's mourin' the loss of her husband, it's not a date."

"Husband?" Tommy repeated, then Joel shook his head, growing flustered.

"Fiancé. Not husband."

"When did he pass?"

Joel thought back to what you told him the night you first met. "A year ago."

Tommy hummed and looked out the window, tapping his fingers against the car door in rhythm with the beat from the radio. Joel side eyed him while they sat in silence for a few minutes before he rolled his eyes and sighed. "What?" Joel asked with an edge to his voice.

"A year's a long time, is all."

"She's in grief therapy, Tommy. She's in pain and tryin' to come to terms with it. Quit makin' it sound like somethin' it ain't."

"Just 'cause she's in grief therapy don't mean she ain't ready to move on-"

"Goddamnit, this is the last time I tell you anythin'," Joel grumbled as he made a left hand turn. Tommy hid a smile behind his hand and looked out the window.

"Alright, no need to get all defensive on me now."

Joel opened his mouth to argue but quickly snapped it shut. The more he pushed back just gave Tommy more ammunition. Besides, he knew the truth. You were looking for a friend, someone who could relate to what you were going through. There was absolutely no way you were interested in a man twenty years older than you. The thought was so absurd it almost made him laugh. You were young and beautiful and charming and you had your whole life ahead of you.

No, surely Tommy was wrong.

When Joel pulled up to your house, his eight year old truck the noisiest thing on the whole block, he let out a low whistle and threw it into park, deciding at the last second to keep his car on the street for fear of leaving an oil stain or something on your pristine concrete driveway. He sat in his truck for a moment, taking in the monumental Victorian house before him. He recognized it from his youth, but back then the siding was chipped and the windows were foggy, in desperate need of replacing. He always admired houses like yours and part of his heart broke whenever he saw one fall into such a state of disrepair that it was beyond saving, but not yours. No, at some point in the past ten years, the house was upgraded but managed to maintain the original charm.

There was fresh siding and new windows installed, the insides framed in what looked like delicate lace curtains, complimenting the style of the house. The roof looked like it had been replaced and the front door looked new, but the original architecture remained. He could easily tell whoever bought the house took great care with it, and the contractor in him breathed a sigh of relief that it didn't fall into the wrong hands, or god forbid, a flipper.

When he walked up your driveway towards the small stone path that led to your front door, he slowed to look at the garden that flourished in front of the wraparound porch. It was a beautiful mix of wildflowers and hedges, and while wildflowers had a tendency to look messy and unkept, you somehow managed to make it look neat and well put together. Fat, fuzzy bumblebees bounced drunkenly from flower to flower and as he climbed the wooden steps, a hummingbird buzzed past his ear, spooked by his presence.

He pressed the button to your doorbell, noting you chose not to install one of those camera doorbells and for some reason, that bothered him. Normally he wasn't a huge fan of technology, but you were all alone in this big house. You needed to be safe, to be careful. Your house was in a nice neighborhood, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

The door swung open and you greeted him barefoot with a warm smile before stepping aside to let him in. You were wearing a loose tshirt that hung off one shoulder and he chastised himself when his eyes traveled down your tight fitting jeans to your ass as he followed you into your home.

He shrugged his reaction off to just typical male instinct and forced his focus onto the lovely foyer surrounding him as he slid off his boots. Polished cherry wainscoting lined the walls and his eyes widened when he noticed the small tiles in the shape of little octagons below his feet.

"Is this original?" he asked you in disbelief as he pointed to the ground. Your gaze followed his finger and you nodded.

"We tried to keep everything original, if we could," you explained.

"Wow," he breathed as he stepped forward into the hallway, his eyes unable to keep up with how fast his brain was operating. His gaze slid over the original hardwood floors of the hallway, fresh wallpaper, and wide, polished staircase with a plush carpet installed in the center of the steps. Much to his delight, you chose to furnish the house to match the style, as well. Antique fixtures hung from the ceiling and a real wood table was pushed against the wall. A small lamp sat on top with a stained glass Tiffany shade, and next to it was a pile of mail and a framed photograph he tried not to examine too closely out of respect.

"This way," you said over your shoulder, and he followed you blindly deeper into the house. You pushed open a swinging door that led into your kitchen, and for the first time since arriving, his nose was the first of his senses to respond instead of his eyes.

It smelled absolutely heavenly. He had no idea what you were cooking but his mouth instantly watered at the smell of garlic and salt and some kind of meat.

He swallowed and hoped his stomach wouldn't growl and embarrass him.

"Thought we were gonna order somethin'?" he asked as he watched you hurry over to the stove to stir something.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind, but I felt like cooking," you replied without looking. He glanced around the room, noticing you chose to update the counters and cabinets to look more modern, but kept the original flooring.

"Mind? Are you kiddin' me? Haven't had anythin' decent to eat since Sarah left for college."

Memories of fast food drive thrus and frozen dinners flashed before his eyes as he watched you turn off the burners on the stove. You opened a cupboard and stretched on your tiptoes to reach a bowl, the hem of your shirt riding up ever so slightly and revealing a small sliver of skin on your back and suddenly, his mouth was watering for an entirely different reason.

Stop it.

"Need some help?" he offered, and you fell back onto the flats of your feet, shooting him a nod and smile. He didn't mean to, but he reached up from behind you for the serving bowl, his front brushing gently against your back, and your shoulders tensed. Shit.

"Sorry, here ya go," he said, handing you the bowl and immediately giving you some space, not catching the glimmer of disappointment in your eyes.

"Thank you," you murmured shyly. He watched you spoon vegetables into the bowl for a moment, grabbing random jars of seasoning and sprinkling them on top before stirring it up, and he finally remembered his manners.

"Can I help?"

"No, no, I got it," you insisted, waving him toward a door on the other side of the kitchen. "Go sit down, I'll be right out."

He wandered over to the propped open door and entered your dining room. Pausing for a moment, he admired the chandelier above the table that looked old but the brass had been polished and the crystals cleaned. The drop ceiling was even remarkable: squares of textured patterns that repeated across the whole room, adding a whole other layer of elegance to the already impressive first floor. His eyes drifted to the dark wood table, where two spots were already set across from each other. He pulled out a chair and sat down, shifting his weight a bit and noting the chairs must have been recently reupholstered based on how firm the cushion was underneath him. You breezed in after him, hardly giving him enough time to take in the elaborate fireplace and mantle at the end of the room, and began to set down plates of food. His eyes bugged out of his head when he saw fresh, fried chicken and whipped mashed potatoes.

"You didn't have to go through all the trouble," he assured you, but you smirked at the way he stared at the chicken, the aroma from the breading overpowering his senses.

"It wasn't any trouble, I like to cook," you replied, disappearing into the kitchen to grab the vegetables and a basket of fresh rolls before finally joining him at the table.

Joel spread the cloth napkin over his lap, using every ounce of self control to stop himself from devouring everything in sight. He glanced up at you and you grinned.

"Go ahead, help yourself."

You watched with a small smile on your face as he loaded up his plate, then played with your own food until he took his first bite of chicken. He froze, his mouth full, and stared at you in awe before he dropped the chicken leg on his plate and leaned back, a deep, appreciative moan rumbling from his chest, making your thighs squeeze together under the table.

"Goddamn," he said once he swallowed. "That's the best fried chicken I've ever had in my entire life, darlin'."

You giggled and finally took a dainty bite of your own before nodding in agreement. "It's not bad."

Joel scoffed and took another bite. "Don't sell yourself short, now. I know what I'm talkin' 'bout. What'd you put in this?"

He listened, completely enraptured, as you explained how you soaked the chicken in buttermilk the day before and all of the seasonings you used in the breading.

"Oh! I almost forgot the lemonade," you said, standing back up and rushing into the kitchen, returning with two cold glasses and setting them down on the placemats. He nodded his thanks, mouth still full, and you giggled again.

You were already planning on packing up all the leftovers so he could take it home, but you still encouraged him to have as much as he wanted while it was warm and fresh.

"Did you make the rolls, too?" he asked after he took a bite.

You laughed and shook your head. "No, I'm not that good. I bought them this morning from a local bakery I like around the corner."

You had finished your meal long before he did, watching with your chin in your palm as he went back for seconds, reveling in the noises and compliments he made with practically each bite.

"Here, have some more," you told him, nudging the plate of chicken in his direction, but he leaned back in the chair and shook his head. "I can't, but everythin' was delicious. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm thrilled to cook for someone again," you replied with a sad smile before standing up and picking up your plate. He immediately stood and began to collect the rest, but you waved him back down.

"Sit, sit, I still have dessert," you told him, and based on the way he looked at you in that moment you would have put money down that he could be knocked over with a feather.

"Oh, darlin', you did too much," he replied, immediately flooding with guilt that he didn't even bring wine or flowers.

"Stop! I told you, I like doing it and I never get a chance to anymore, so please, sit down and I'll be right back."

Begrudgingly, he did as he was told and, while listening to you in the kitchen, peered out the back window at the meticulously kept grounds. Your house, like you, was absolutely beautiful. It felt like stumbling across an oasis in the middle of the desert.

You reappeared in the dining room with a bowl of diced, sugared strawberries and a plate of warm biscuits. He watched in stunned silence as you fixed him a plate, spooning the strawberries on top of a fresh shortcake, but told him to wait a moment before hurrying back into the kitchen and returning with a small bowl of homemade whipped cream.

Joel thought he died and went to heaven.

He could tell you didn't want to hear him complain that it was too much, so instead he lavished your baking with praise and thanks, both of which seemed to make your eyes shine bright and your lips remain curled into a smile the whole time.

"You're taking the leftovers home, too," you warned him once you finally allowed him to help bring things back into the kitchen. You were packing everything up nice and neat in matching Tupperware containers and stacking everything into a paper bag. As much as he wanted to decline, he really wanted your leftovers more, so he continued to thank you as he began to wash the dishes in your farmhouse sink. You had tried to fight him on it, but he finally wore you down and won. Stubborn little thing, he thought.

After dinner was cleaned up, you led him back down the hall and up the wide staircase, explaining that the books were all housed in a den at the top of the stairs, but when you opened the door to the room, den seemed like too small a word for it.

It was gorgeous, plain and simple. The cherry wainscoting continued in this room with a dark green wallpaper to accent the wood. All along the wall were antique sconces lighting up floor to ceiling bookcases stuffed full of literature. On the back wall was a large, heavy looking desk with a wingback velvet chair. The desk itself had books and papers scattered about, as if someone were in the middle of something and was rudely interrupted, but based on the layer of dust, he had to imagine nobody had sat there in some time.

And then it hit him: this was your fiancé's office.

A laptop sat open and turned off on the corner of the desk, along with a dusty printer behind the chair on the carpeted floor. He noticed what had to have been manuscripts of some kind based on the lack of coverings on the bound papers piling up next to the printer.

He was an author. This is where he worked.

That was when Joel realized you had been suspiciously quiet. He turned towards you, his eyes scanning your face, studying it. Your arms were wrapped around your middle as you stared blankly at the desk.

"We don't gotta do this today," he said softly, snapping you out of your reverie.

"No, it's okay," you replied, your voice so small it nearly broke his heart. You turned and walked toward the corner of the room, opposite the desk, where a small couch and coffee table sat. A few cardboard boxes were stacked nearby, two of which remained unopened, one recklessly torn into. You started with that one.

"Here," you said, pulling out a few books and handing them out. He stepped forward and took them, looking down at the covers and the beautiful artwork that adorned them. "These are the first trilogy, you should probably read them first before the next. They're different stories but they inevitably weave together so it'll make more sense if you-" you paused, your voice getting caught in your throat, and that's when he realized you had been fighting back tears.

"Hey, it's okay," he told you gently, putting the books down on the coffee table and carefully touching your shoulder, urging you to sit on the couch. After a moment's hesitation, you did, and he sat beside you. "This was too fast. I'll leave these here and maybe one day, when you're feelin' up to it, we can try again."

You looked up at him, eyes watering, and shook your head.

"No, take these now. I have more, I have tons, actually," you said, nodding towards the unopened boxes. "I just haven't come in here since he died and I didn't think it would be this hard." You wiped furiously at your cheeks, trying to hide your anguish.

Joel's heart thundered in his chest. He rubbed your back, trying to offer you a glimmer of comfort while he glanced around the room. "Maybe it was too soon," he offered again.

"No, it's been a year, Joel. I needed to do this." You took a deep breath and gave him a shaky smile. "Thank you. I know this is probably more than you expected-"

"Nah, hey, none of that, now," he cooed, mindlessly petting your hair. "If you needed someone to be here for this, I'm glad you picked me, okay?"

You sniffled and nodded, quietly thanking him again before taking another deep breath and exhaling with a nervous laugh as you looked around the room with him.

"Can I ask you something?"

"'Course," he replied.

"How long did it take for you to move on after your wife passed?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought about it, his fingers still playing with the ends of your soft hair as he slowly rubbed your back. "Well, hard to say. She was sick for a long time so I think I had time to come to terms with it before she died, y'know?" You nodded and listened to him, hanging on his every word and inadvertently leaning into his gentle touch. "Then I had Sarah to worry 'bout and, I don't know, time just... passed me by." He chuckled dryly for a moment before continuing. "My brother thinks I never got over it, Sarah thinks I never processed it, but they only think that 'cause I never dated anyone else."

Your eyes widened in surprise at his confession.

"Never?"

He shook his head and gave you a lopsided grin. "Been busy, I guess."

"But aren't you... lonely?"

He sucked in a sharp breath and cast his gaze to the floor. How did you manage to see right through him so quickly? Was it the common ground or something else?

"Wasn't too bad til Sarah left," he admitted, "but now... yeah. Yeah, it's lonely."

You scanned his face, watching the flicker of sadness in his eyes he tried to hide from you, and you inched a bit closer.

"I'm glad we found each other, Joel," you whispered. His eyes found yours again and he smiled.

"Me, too, sweetheart."

Then, without giving it another thought, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his lips. It was so tender and soft it felt like he was on the bus in fifth grade and Christine Murphy was giving him his fist kiss all over again while kids in nearby seats teased them with sing-song voices.

You pulled back and looked into his eyes, searching for any hesitation but all you must have seen was confusion because you leaned forward again, kissing him with a little more emotion, your small hand coming up to cup his greying, prickly jaw. You tasted like strawberries and lemonade and you smelled like vanilla and it was making every neuron in his brain fire all at the same time, to the point where his body had no idea what to do but remain frozen.

It was when your tongue first slipped past your lips and flicked nervously over the seam of his mouth that he finally came crashing down to earth. He sat back, breaking the kiss and holding you by the shoulders, staring deeply into your eyes. You were both panting slightly, probably from the excitement and adrenaline, as he tried to figure out what to say, what to do. You were in a fragile state, he decided. You made a mistake, the moment got away from you both and it didn't mean anything. It couldn't mean anything. You were too young and sweet and beautiful. You didn't really want anything to do with an old man like him. He just happened to be there when you were vulnerable and that was all.

The words never came. He couldn't form a coherent sentence. As the seconds dragged on, your face began to fall and embarrassment flooded your chest, the atmosphere in the room suddenly so thick that it was difficult to breathe. You cleared your throat and leaned back, his hands falling from your shoulders, and then you were the first to speak.

"Oh, no."

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[bunnys-kisses]

hiii ! how are u? I would like to order a pastry braid and english muffin with a side of tonic water, w max verstappen

thank uu x

bakery menu!!

want to suggest your own order? then hit up the menu! there are tons of things to choose from. i am working through the suggestions after a slight break so i will be posting them more often. updates usually go up fridays to sundays at 6pm est! i hope you enjoy this little fic! this is set in the team principal au (which usually happens with a max age gap fic) but it's not connected to the rest of the tp au that i have going, just it's own little thing! <3

pastry braid: "your job is to make me cum. now get to work." + english muffin: "aw, is someone crying?" + tonic water: age gap served by max verstappen (formula one)

tags: smut/pwp, tp!max, driver!reader, age gap (20s/40s), crying (kink), rough sex, power dynamics, doggy style, max has high expectations for his driver, degrading language, possessive behavior

insatiable. that was what max would describe himself in relation to you. what he was when you were near. he was hungry for trophies, wins and most of all your sweet cunt. max had expected to leave the track years ago, but how could he? he had a re purpose, to make you a champion.

but even wills made of iron couldn't deny your appeal. how you looked in your fire proofs, the look you got when you lost of received a plenty, and the opposite look you gave when you tasted sweet victory. if max was the lion, then you were the wolf.

regardless, max still held power over you and you when he held your cheeks in one hand to face him, a domineering look in his eyes. he held you like he owned you, and with all those zeroes on your contract. he did in a way.

his arms wrapped around you and held you to his chest. in a moment of private after the grand prix, he held you the way a lover would. he couldn't help but take a quick grab of your breasts. you wined in response and max simply smiled.

"not the best," he said in your ear, "i counter five errors in your driving, on top of letting the williams' driver over take you for ten laps. i'm sorry, my price, you know what that means."

you nodded, "yes, sir. i understand." then shifted a little in his touch which only made him hold onto you tighter. you swallowed, even though you won the trophy, tonight wouldn't be about celebrating. it would be about punishment.

max's hotel room was next to yours, and you barely closed the door before he was trying to get your t-shirt off. large hands groped your breasts over your bras and he groaned into your neck.

"fuck, baby." he said, tension in his voice, "you could've been celebrating with the team, but instead you have to deal with the punishments." he pulled your bra over your head and grabbed your chest.

max liked your breasts, he loved how easy the skin bruised when he gave them too much attention. you ended up on the bed with max stripping you of your calvin klein jeans. he saw your exposed thighs, and the tattoo on your hip. lucky number thirty-three. max's old number.

he did have a claim over you, the kind of claim that not even a scandal could break. oh the media circus that would ensue if people found out about you two. if they found out you were fucking max, then max guessed he'd just have to marry you. not a big deal, he had a ring picked out and everything.

"you know what we have to do tonight. your job is to make me cum. now get to work." and soon your panties were pulled off and left on the edge of the bed. he started to strip himself down.

while your face in the pillows and your couldn't see your team principal, you could feel him. the soft of imposing power that left you feeling needy.

"i expect the best from you. you know that. i don't deal with those who aren't willing to push themselves to the best they can be. i know, you can easily be the best. but, i guess there is still a lot i have to teach you." max wasn't like this with any other driver, even if you retired tomorrow, you'd still be his favourite.

he admired your beauty with strokes of his cock. usually there would be a spanking, teasing or maybe a little bondage, but max was still running off the high of racing and he wanted you now. he sank his cock into you like it was his god given right. he was near double your age, but he still fucked you until you were an overstimulated mess.

you whined from the intrusion, you felt sharp pain. max wasn't small by any means. he was rather bulky, the kind of cock that bullied your insides. you felt a shiver of pain as you moaned into the sheets.

"aw, is someone crying?" his words were patronizing as he moved against you quickly. his stamina was still high, he fucked with the force of a bull that often left you feeling bruised inside and out. he had that ability over you. you leave you completely and utterly at his his mercy.

you swallowed, "not crying, sir." and arched your back, but max had you pressed against the bed. his pace only picked up as he rutted up against you.

the thing about max was that he was dominate. and you loved the power he had over you. he easily took you apart and let him make you feel like jelly as he fucked into you.

"you look better on my cock than in a car." he remarked, "better on your knees than the podium." he added as pleasure clouded his head. his thoughts were about how good you felt. how you clenched around him when he hit your g-spot.

you whined and sniffled a little from the ache. you weren't crying. rather whining from the intense feeling. the ache and the pleasure left your nerves feeling tense. you gasped when he hit a particular spot.

max loved when you whined, especially when there were sweet little tears in your ears. his little wolf all teary-eyed because he made you feel too good.

he pace continued and you felt on cloud nine, you sniffles continued and you were left needy for more. it was always more, you always needed more of him. something that max was more than happy to deliver on. how could he deny his driver. even when he thought you did poorly, he still had a soft spot for you.

"mmm, see you're good like this. i could just eat you alive. take you piece by piece. all mind." he chuckled with warmth in his gut, "next time you'll listen to me over the radio and in the garage." he arched your back further and made you feel the zap of pleasure up your spine and in your core.

having your team principal's support meant the world to you, even when you were panting and near crying under him. the pleasure climbed through your body and you felt the surge of want through you.

"please, sir." you arched your back further and your pulse picked up. face buried in the soft pillows while you let your boss fuck you with a heated drive.

he grasped the back of your head and pulled your head further into the pillows and his pace quickened, "you're forgiven. let this not be a lesson you forget." and continued to move against you, fucking you right into the mattress with heavy thrusts of his hips.

he yanked your hair a little and it amde you moan. only he could get away with something like that. yank, bite, slip, no other man could get away with that. but you gave max everything.

the movements continued and you felt amazing. the type of amazing that allowed you to feel to close to orgasm. you tensed up and felt the sweet release as you came. you needed max, you needed him in a way you could never need another.

your boss, your lover, your everything.

his movements left you needy and it wasn't long before you moaned loudly once more around his cock. the pleasure continued to wash through you like heavy waves. and it only made your lover fuck you quicker. max moved against you, near bounced you up and down on his cock. his noises were tense before he slammed every inch into you and finished.

"oh fuck." he groaned.

you gasped and weakly held onto the covers. you couldn't think of anything else besides max. max, max, max, he was the only thought in your head as he slowed to a stop. and then laid on top of you. he rutted his still hard cock into you which made you groan.

"i think there are a few more lessons i could teach you tonight before i really wear you out." those words were said like a promise <3

[sloppilyeatinggrapes]

This is my secret sideblog so I'm just gonna. Not do it as an ask game, I just want to talk about podcasts!

1.) what’s the first podcast you listened to?

Welcome to Nightvale <3

2.) what’s a podcast you’ve cried over?

So many, but recently, Unwell!

3.) Favorite podcast pet? (Idk if that’s worded weird but like if one of the characters has a cat or smth)

I'm honestly not the biggest fan of podcast pets but there is ONE EXCEPTION which is Dumptruck from Find us alive

4.) what podcast has the best soundtrack/music?

Aaah there are many I like... One some might have missed is Dreamboy, which have a couple of bangers, or In Strange Woods, which is a WHOLE MUSICAL and I listen to the songs frequently. But my go to soundtracks are Friends at the table (thank you Jack deQuit). Honorable mention to Wolf 359 and Hallowoods who I think uses their osts SO WELL, giving me VISCERAL reactions when I hear the music out of context.

5.) what’s a podcast that you really like but find it kinda hard to follow the plot?

I have tried to listen to What's the Frequence so many times, it seems so intriguing and interesting as a concept, but I still don't know what even the basic plot is. I think it starts with a murder?

6.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would be friends?

Maybe this is a weird combo but I do think Diggory would be great Friends with Kai and X from Girl in Space. It's something about identity and bodies and being made with a purpose, and somehow still ending up being a pretty chill person.

I also think the demons from Brimstone Valley Mall (especially the teens) would be best hatefriends with the Hrose camp polecule. They are opposite sides but same kind of mall kids. Maybe they wouldn't be friends maybe I just want to watch the world burn

7.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would hate each other?

hmmm. Elias TMA and Keppler Wolf359. They are boss middle managers who think very highly of their own competence, have VERY different ideological base and would kill each other with knives over a cornchip

8.) what’s a podcast where you mix up the characters voices?

I have had this problem with A LOT of podcasts in the beginning, it usually takes me a while unless they are very distinct. I remember it being a problem with Mabel (literally two characters and I couldnt tell them apart...) and Syntax with two of the women side-characters. It took me so long to understand what their personalities were supposed to be, since I couldnt tell who said what.

9.) what’s a podcast that you know the characters so well you can recognize their breathing?

oooh hmm. I mean, Nightvale. It's been like 11 years after all. And Deck the halls with Matrimony!

10.) what’s a podcast that you wish you could listen to again for the first time?

oooh maybe The Penumbra podcast, specifically Juno! I think I got a weird impression of it because I listened to the OG, much rougher version of arc 1, it was really confusing and I got a very different idea about the characters in my head. Now when it's finished, I think it would be a better listen to just go through all of it as a blank slate! I also liked the end, and I think it found what it is about during the journey.

11.) what’s a podcast you’ve listened to more than once?

Most... If I like it I'll listen AT LEAST twice. But I have listened to Deck the Halls SO MANY TIMES because it's short and wrapped.

12.) what’s a podcast you wish more people listened to?

Having many fans is a double edged sword, but right now, Hallowoods and Hymns for the road. I think both would be so visually inspiring for fanart and oc's.

13.) what do you like to do while listening to a podcast?

Draw! Always!

14.) who is a podcast character that you love?

Leon from Greater Boston!

Diggory Graves from Hallowoods!

Brnine from Friends at The Table!

15.) who is a podcast character you can’t stand?

Genuinely? I did not like Cassius from Syntax... sorry... I just think they are too stupid for me.

16.) what songs do you associate with a certain character/ podcast?

oh man, Hoziers Eat your young with Hallowoods, Moss by cosmo shelldrake (for obvious reasons) with Hymns for the road, Haunted House by sir babygirl with Friends at the Table

17.) what’s a podcast that you can’t stop thinking about?

Bluff city (friends at the table), Hallowoods, Greater Boston and The Silt Verses. It's something about imperfect communities

18.) are their any podcasts that you regret listening to?

Yes. We're alive. Zombie podcast. Was waiting for it to subverse all the boring and bad cliches it set up. It didn't. It was 100 eps a 40 min. I have never been more mad

19.) whose your favorite podcast couple?

In canon, of course Cecil and Carlos. The OG!

Shipping wise its Leon and Michael from Greater Boston, Harley and Lancaster and Love and Radager from Find us Alive, Brnine and Valence from Palisade, Heard and Hector from Bluff city.

I also ship Malik from World gone wrong with the alien replacement of his ex. I WANT TO BELIEVE.

20.) whose a podcast character that you think would dress really cool?

Actually cool? Probably Riot or Olivier from HFTH. Cool as in interesting/fascinating? Cecil WTNV again.

Podcast themed ask game cause I’m bored!

1.) what’s the first podcast you listened to?

2.) what’s a podcast you’ve cried over?

3.) Favorite podcast pet? (Idk if that’s worded weird but like if one of the characters has a cat or smth)

4.) what podcast has the best soundtrack/music?

5.) what’s a podcast that you really like but find it kinda hard to follow the plot?

6.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would be friends?

7.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would hate each other?

8.) what’s a podcast where you mix up the characters voices?

9.) what’s a podcast that you know the characters so well you can recognize their breathing?

10.) what’s a podcast that you wish you could listen to again for the first time?

11.) what’s a podcast you’ve listened to more than once?

12.) what’s a podcast you wish more people listened to?

13.) what do you like to do while listening to a podcast?

14.) who is a podcast character that you love?

15.) who is a podcast character you can’t stand?

16.) what songs do you associate with a certain character/ podcast?

17.) what’s a podcast that you can’t stop thinking about?

18.) are their any podcasts that you regret listening to?

19.) whose your favorite podcast couple?

20.) whose a podcast character that you think would dress really cool?

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Your Yuu is and will ALWAYS be valid!

For anyone who might need to read this.

I saw a tweet about this and some people talking about it here on tumblr, and I honestly feel like I'm saying something obvious but I want to reiterate the following:

Schrodinger's Yuu: All Prefects are canon and not at the same time. Self Inserts included and especially.

The anime, manga, and novel are adaptations, correct? Which means the game's story will always be the original story, right? (this is a rhetorical question)

This isn't even a case of a series, book or movie where fans simply start imagining themselves in a story that has nothing to do with them.

NO, we didn't make ourselves the main characters of the story, the GAME made us the main characters of the story. One of the main mechanics of the game is to insert ourselves into that world.

Self Inserts or OCs prefects have always been part of the game experience and story.

All this to say that no matter what prefects appear in the anime or appeared in the manga, they are not the real prefects because there is no "real/canon" prefect, because both they and we are ALL the "real/canon" prefect. The character default name is literally Yu/Yuu (You).

And that's not just something we decided, it was always the intention of the game. They knows our names and wishes us a happy birthday.

And if you want to ship yourself with the characters, guess what, you can! I myself can't help but do it. Because let's face it the game kinda indulges you to do that. And if you don't want to do it, you can not do it too!

So whatever comes with the anime release, don't let potential new annoying "fans" ruin your enjoyment of Twisted Wonderland when the game itself wants you to be able to enjoy it this way. ❤️

The only people who can tell you what is canon or not are the people who make the game, not other fans like you or me. Whatever fans say are opinions, not facts, just like this post, you choose to give it whatever importance you want.

And at the end of the day Twisted Wonderland is just a game: the most important thing is that YOU HAVE FUN however you want, not who is right about something. 😘❤️❤️❤️

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk *mic drop*.

JOKING 😅😂

*comes back and pick up the mic again*

PS: And if there really wasn't going to be any kind of potentially friendly/romantic relationship with the player, explain the Valentine's Day merch. With messages written by the characters to those who buy the product! 😂 (it's a rhetorical question)