#i'm emotional i just want to write wait WAIT. AS I WAS SAYING EARLIER

[gardensnakie]

How’s life? No pressure question ofc, but if you want to share please feel free to do so with this ask :3

Eh, it doesn't feel all that great right now. I'm tired and hungry a lot, but I just have to get a routine together. My sleep has been wonky, I've been waking up too early, but I feel fine then but it also feels like I can't rest completely- I have dreamless nights mostly. And I also just get annoyed a lot, but it feels better being around people I like.

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reacting to their s/o giving birth

Request: Hello!! Can I request a Seventeen OT13 fluff/crack/comfort reaction to reader giving birth? Like for each member the member and reader react differently? Like reader having a hard time with wonwoo’s child because of his wide shoulders, Vernon being unfazed as usual as his wife screams at him, reader having no tolerance for pain and is panicking so Mingyu panics too, etc

A/N: I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting, anon. This took much longer than I expected. I actually finished writing it yesterday, but my draft got deleted, and I was so frustrated that I nearly cried. I had been working on this for a week while juggling other writing projects and a busy, stressful schedule. Instead of breaking down and giving up, I sat down and rewrote everything from memory. Since it was my second time writing it, I at least had a clearer idea of what I wanted to do. I knew that if I didn’t finish it now, it would end up delayed for another week or more, and I didn’t want that. Also, I pushed other queued requests back to finally get this one out since it should've been out earlier but I wasn't done with it. I really hope I did justice to your request! Thank you for your patience 💓

Seungcheol: To me it feels like his leader instincts kicking in like it’s a group comeback 😭 You’re physically drained and can barely push anymore, so Seungcheol will be holding your hand tightly, his voice steadying you: “Just one more, baby, you’ve got this. We’ll meet our little one soon.” On the inside, he’s panicking but doesn’t let it show because he knows you need his strength, "Breathe, babe, breathe!” Wait, should I breathe too?! Once the baby is born, he’s in tears, holding your hand like, “You did so well. I’m so proud of you.” and kissing your forehead. Then proceeds to take the title of Best Dad very seriously.

Jeonghan: “This is YOUR fault!” you scream at him as another wave of pain hits, and Jeonghan, instead of being offended, just grins cheekily, “I know, I know. But look at me—I’m right here. You’re doing amazing.” He is unfazed and mischievous, even while you're snapping at him but don't get me wrong. He's like, "It’s okay, just a little more!” while secretly panicking and muttering, How does one raise a tiny human? He just doesn't want to look panicked in front of you and scare you. When the baby arrives, he jokes, “Wow, this kid’s already prettier than me. Must’ve gotten it from me.” Yes, he's like that—but in a moment of seriousness, he looks at you with so much love, “You were incredible.”

Joshua: You’re crying softly, scared and overwhelmed, and Joshua immediately cups your face gently, “I know it’s hard, but you’re so strong. You can do this. I’ll be here the whole time.” He's very soft and attentive, the perfect mix of calm and emotional. He never leaves your side, murmuring prayers under his breath. Holds your hand and whispers comforting words the whole time, “You’re amazing, you’ve got this.” When the baby cries for the first time, he literally cries too, “This is the best day of my life.” He lets out a laugh of pure relief and joy as his face says, This is our miracle. He insists on singing the baby a lullaby immediately. Sunday morning rain is falling in form of lullaby

Jun: Wait, I think I need to sit down—oh no, wait, you’re the one doing all the work! Chaotic but sweet, Jun is trying his best to be strong for you, but his emotions are all over the place. You’re gripping his hand tightly, shaking your head, “I can’t do it, Jun. I really can’t!” his heart clenches at your words but he then immediately leans in, his eyes wide but sincere, “You’re already doing it. Look at me. One more push, and we’ll meet our baby.” The sheer trust and love in his gaze give you the last bit of strength you need. After the birth, he’s SO emotional, holding them like the most delicate thing in the world in complete awe with wide eyes, “Wow… they’re so small. Are you sure they’re ours?” He traces a careful finger along the baby’s tiny hand, his eyes softening even more. “They’re perfect… just like you.” His lips press a lingering, grateful kiss to your forehead before pulling back, his eyes shimmering. “I love you. Both of you.”

Hoshi: He's excited and maybe a little too energetic. Freaks out every time you make a noise, “IS IT TIME?!” even if you’re just asking for water. During birth, I feel like, his s/o will be yelling from the pain and accidentally yell at him too lol. “STOP TALKING, SOONYOUNG!” you shout during a particularly painful contraction, and he freezes, wide-eyed. “Okay, I’m sorry! I’ll be quiet—but I’m still here!” When the baby is born, he’s crying harder than you are, clutching your hand, “WE DID IT! I mean, you did it! I’M A PAPA TIGER! Look at our little cub!” while also jumping up and down yelling.

Wonwoo: Wonwoo is the reliable rock you need. You’re biting your lip, trying not to scream, and he notices your trembling. He leans closer, his voice soft, “It’s okay to let it out. I’m here for you, always.” He stays by your side, holding your hand, his thumb gently rubbing the back of it to soothe you. Every now and then, he murmurs, “You’re doing so well,” his voice laced with admiration and respect for his beloved. When the baby is finally born, he doesn’t say much at first—just stares in awe, holding them close with a small, amazed smile. After a long pause, he finally whispers, “So this is what pure happiness feels like.” Theb he looks at you, eyes full of love, and promises, “I’ll be the best dad. For both of you.”

Woozi: Stressed but trying not to show it. Internally writing 15 songs about his emotions while saying, “Do you need anything? Water? Ice? A new husband?” all while trying his best to keep his emotions in check for your sake but low-key failing. “It hurts so much!” you cry, and Jihoon, though visibly worried and internally panicking, keeps rubbing your back, “I know, love, I know. Just a little more, and it’ll be over. You’re stronger than you think.” Once it’s over, he’s stunned silent, staring at the tiny life in his hands in awe, whispering, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to write anything more beautiful than this.” Then he looks at you, his voice soft: “You’re incredible.”

Dokyeom: Your overly enthusiastic cheerleader is trying his best. But when you let out a scream, “AUGH!” Seokmin yelps even louder, “ARE YOU OKAY?!” despite knowing full well that you’re not. He’s gripping your hand so tightly—probably too tightly and almost crying with you. “YOU’RE DOING GREAT. I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!” Then, mid-contraction, he suddenly panics, “Wait, do you hate me right now? I think you do.” You glare at him between deep breaths, and he flinches, “Okay! No talking! Got it!” When the baby is finally here, Seokmin completely loses it, his happy sobs are the loudest in the room. “We did it! Well, mostly you, but we did it!” He’s melting, practically sliding to the floor as he holds the baby, overwhelmed by joy. Someone has to hold him up before he turns into a puddle of emotions.

Mingyu: He’s the definition of chaos with a side of tears. “Why is it taking so long?!” you cry out, exhausted and frustrated, and Mingyu, who has been pacing non-stop—pauses for a second before nervously responding, “I don’t know, but I’m here! We’ll get through this together, I promise.” He’s trying so hard to be helpful, but his clumsy ass is in full force. “Do you need water, baby? A towel? Oh no, I dropped the towel! Wait, where’s the doctor—should I call someone?!” The moment the baby arrives, Mingyu’s emotions explode, he’s full-on sobbing, barely able to form words. “You’re amazing! Our baby is amazing!” He cradles the tiny newborn like the most precious thing in the world, holding on so tight that the nurses have to coax him into letting them check the baby. “No! They’re so tiny! So perfect! I’m NOT letting them go.” spoiler: he doesn't. they have the check the baby from his hold.

Minghao: Zen but emotional deep down. He’s by your side, reminding you to breathe like a yoga instructor, “Inhale, exhale, you’ve got this.” But you are still exhausted and losing focus during labor, “I can’t do it,” you mumble weakly, and Minghao immediately takes your hand, his calm voice grounding you: “Yes, you can. Focus on me. Deep breaths. You’re stronger than you know.” After the baby’s born, he holds them with the gentlest hands, his eyes full of tears. “You did so well,” he whispers, brushing hair out of your sweaty face. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced.” His face is all smiley with streaks of dry tears down his cheeks as he kisses your nose, “This is the start of a masterpiece. You’re amazing, my love. I love you”

Seungkwan: The most emotional and slightly dramatic of them all. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Am I okay?!” He’s running on pure nerves. The situation escalates quickly when you reach the peak of labor, and it’s similar to Hoshi’s. “STOP TALKING, KWAN!” you snap, breathless from the pain. He gasps dramatically, clutching his chest, “I’m just worried! But okay, okay, I’ll shut up!” He’s jittery, constantly checking on you, the doctors, and the monitors, whispering prayers under his breath. The moment the baby is born, all his anxiety vanishes, replaced by unfiltered joy. He holds the baby, bawling his eyes out, voice shaking as he says, “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Then, looking at you with pure adoration, he sniffles, “I’m going to spoil them so much.”

Vernon: Surprisingly calm but mostly because he’s in shock. You’re gripping the bed rails so hard your knuckles turn white, trying not to scream, and Vernon, who notices how much you’re struggling, leans down, holding your hand. “You’re doing so great,” he says. “We’re so close, babe. Just a little more.” He doesn’t say much else, just keeps his grip firm, standing by your side like an unshakable pillar until you give birth while internally thinking, This is wild. When the baby is born, he stares at them for a long moment before finally saying, “Wow… we made this. That’s crazy.” But then, as he holds the baby, his normally neutral expression softens into something breathtaking. His heart eyes are fully showing— completely smitten, both with the baby and with you.

Dino: Our Dino is flustered but super supportive. “Do you need me to do anything? Tell me what to do—I’ll do it!” He’s hovering, heart racing, watching you struggle through the pain, and it’s breaking him. When you sob, “I can’t do it, Chan!” he nearly panics himself, but he quickly shakes his head and crouches beside you, rubbing your back. “Yes, you can,” he says firmly, “You’re the strongest person I know. Just a little more, I’m right here!” The second the baby arrives, his stress vanishes, replaced by pure joy. His grin is so wide it almost hurts. “I’m officially a dad! We’re parents now, love! Can you believe it?” He holds the baby with so much pride and tenderness, already making promises. “I’m going to be the fun parent. You’re going to have the coolest childhood ever, little one.” and holds their pinky.

[imababblekat]

Accidental Eavesdropping?

Anon request, "Hey!!! Love your blog and your writing style, it’s amazing and so detailed!!! Can I request Bayverse TMNT Spider-man Au, where the turtles and spider-y/n are in a battle with Bepop and rocksteady. And in the last moments of the battle, spider -y/n saves the turtles but gets unmasked in the process. (They live) If you don’t want to do that idea! You can either delete this OR A moment where the turtles start talking about y/n and they don’t even realize that they’re talking TO THEM!!! This was funny to me for some reason lol 😂"

A/N: Aw thank you, anon! ;v; I went with the second prompt, btw. Leans towards Raphael x reader, but it's mentioned/hinted that the other turts also got the feels for reader. Any who's, I hope you enjoy! <3

◌(s,p) = spider persona◌

~xXx~

You're swinging over traffic, indulging in a rather quiet night despite the sounds of honking vehicles and other night life, when a sudden warm fuzzy feeling beams from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. It's not your spidey sense per say, but something akin to it, all you know is that it's a good sense and you follow it with glee. It doesn't take long before the feeling is buzzing and you see the source of the feeling chilling atop a pizza parlor. Well, more like sources. You let out a small giggle, noticing that the four ninja turtle brothers seem to be in some sort of deep conversation or debate.

"Hey guy's, what's going on?!", you greeted, swinging in next to a steaming Raphael.

"Oh you know, just the daily sibling teasing while we wait for our pizza to be made.", Donnie shrugged, watching as you and Mikey did your secret handshake.

"Yeah? Let me guess. . ."

The eyes of your mask squinted as you pretended to skeptically look at all brothers before looking at the glaring gaze of Raphael next to you.

"Is Raphie suppressing his emotions again?", you chaffed.

Said turtle rolled his eyes, shifting his weight to one side as he growled.

"Great, just what I need. And don't call me that."

"Come on, I'm sure I can help! What's up this time big guy?"

Leo chuckled, gaining your attention while Raphael sent him a warning glare from behind you.

"Raph's got a crush on our friend."

At this your eyes widened, a small gasp escaping you as you looked between the two eldest brothers in excitement.

"No way! Who?!"

You're question went ignored as Raph threw his arms up, cheeks flushing a light hue of embarrassment.

"All I said was they smelled nice, and y'all chuckle heads suddenly think I've been struck by cupid or some mushy crap!"

"You complimented them, Raph.", came Leo's retort.

"I compliment people all the time!"

Everyone remained silent, giving the hot headed turtle deadpanned expressions.

"What? I do. Right (s,p)?", he asked turning to look down at you.

You merely shrugged.

"Sarcastically maybe."

Raph huffed, leaning back against the buildings ledge, you hoping up to sit next to him.

"So is anyone gonna tell me who this mysterious person is or nah? Come on people, I want the tea."

Mikey, idly spinning his nun-chucks, grinned widely.

"It's our friend, (y,n)!"

You sat rigid, mask eyes wide once more.

". . .Who now?"

"Oh you haven't met them.", Donnie waved off, checking his turtle made watch to see the remaining wait time on their order.

Raphael clicked his tongue, still slightly aggravated about his brothers earlier teasing. Meanwhile, you still sat frozen beside him, staring into the abyss with a racing heart.

"I still don't have a crush on them.", he muttered.

"You complimented them on their perfume!", Leo loudly pointed out once more.

"Why is that so weird?!"

The two started to banter once more, Mikey enjoying the show while Donnie threw in a few matter of facts to weigh in on Leo's side. You, however, felt never more thankful than in that moment that you wore a full face mask. If it wasn't for the coverage, surely the ninja brothers would see just how closely the color of your face matched Raphaels mask right now.

Raphael growled, fed up with his brothers ganging up on him and his definitely non-existent crush on you. If they were going to call him out, then he would do the same to them.

"Maybe you guys should get off my shell and jump on yours first! I ain't the only one whose been makin' googly eyes at (y,n)."

You just about fell off the side of the building, hands gripping the edge of where you sat, knuckles definitely white beneath your suit. What is happening right now, is all you could terrifyingly but blushingly think.

Leonardo and Donatello were quick to look anywhere but at Raph, trying their hardest to not blush themselves at their brother's call out.

"I seen the way you put on the macho charm, Leo, bowing extra deep and all your swooning romance book crap when they come over. And you, Donnie, sputtering and dropping shit when they try to help you with projects and their hand accidentally brushes against yours. And Mikey. . ."

All eyes focused in on the youngest of the bunch who sat ready and waiting to hear Raph's jest.

"Actually, Mikey you're not that surprising. You think anyone who gives you food is a gift from heaven."

"Hey, it's not my fault their cinnamon rolls are so good!.", Mikey pouted, bottom lip jutting out adorably.

Leonardo shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning towards you.

"What do you think, (s,p)? Are we over analyzing or are we right?"

The boys eagerly waited for your answer, for your input. Surely someone from the outside would be able to better determine the situation the brothers found themselves in. Well. . .should have been able to more like, as the response you gave was not what they were expecting.

A rushed, "Igotgo!!!", was all they got before watching you thwip away at the speed of light, leaving the turtles to look at each other confused and quizzically.

". . .Wait, so you guys don't have a crush on (y,n) too??", Mikey questioned with furrowed brows, innocently confused by how they could not.

Raphael groaned loudly as he and his brothers devilled into another childish debate on why they totally didn't have feelings for you, a familiar smell that had sparked the argument coincidentally wafting lightly into their senses upon the wind in the direction of which you swung off.

~xXx~

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

༉‧₊˚. 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 || 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

― pairing: sam winchester x plus size!reader

― summary: sam winchester was never comfortable with pda, but while on a hunt, sam is shaken with the harsh reality that he's needy, and the only person that can fix it was you.

― warnings: kissing, making out, dry humping, marking, teasing, needy sam winchester.

― wc: 1288

⋆ a/n: more old writing sigh, but i guess i can say i kind of like this one but i kinda didn't know a lot about sam's character when i wrote this because i was only in the earlier seasons then, but now since i've watched the show three times, i feel like i can say that i know his character like the back of my hand!

masterlist | AO3

You had no idea what was up with Sam that day, but he couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself.

He wasn't usually a PDA type of person, opting to keep the kisses pg, meaning only cheek, temple, or forehead kisses. You had no problem with it, because if he wasn't comfortable with doing it out in the open or if he was afraid it would make him look unprofessional, you had no reason to try and push him to do anything he didn't want to.

When the affection happened in private, it just made it all the more special, both of your senses heightened and a lot more pleasurable when you two made love.

You never usually joined the brothers on hunts per Sam's request, only staying behind in the hotel room to offer some emotional support afterwards; but this time, you felt like going on an adventure. Dean was more than happy to humor you, but Sam was a bit more skeptical. He knew that you were your own person, that he truly had no say over what you did, so all the hunter asked was for you to stay close to him; easy enough, right?

At first it was a little difficult seeing how there were many places you three had to go, and it was giving Sam some anxiety, not only that, but he was feeling a type of way that he couldn't put his finger on. He thought it may have been is psychic abilities, but one touch from you and his skin lit on fire, he instantly knew that he was horny. When he got into your shared hotel bed together, his crotch pressed into you full rump, it took every bone in his body to not jump you right then and there, to keep his wondering hands placed tightly in yours.

You could sense something was off with your lovely boyfriend when you had gotten into the Impala, and instead of Sam sitting up front with his brother, he chose to sit in the back with you, one hand on your thigh. You found it a bit strange, but nonetheless welcomed the out of the blue affection. But you didn't welcome it when all of you split to go investigate different parts of an abandoned house, Sam hot on your heels.

As you were turned around, you felt Sam wrap his arms around your waist, his head buried in between your shoulder and your neck.

"Sam?" You questioned, the energy detecting device in your hand slowly lowering. He dragged his large hand down your fluffy stomach, resting it over the zipper of your pants. "Sammy?" You asked again, but this time your voice was higher pitched. He always acted this way when he was needy, but it was never out in the open like this, not when somebody could easily walk in and see your compromising decision.

"I just— I just want you so bad. . . I don't—" Sam rambled, pulling down the zipper of your fly. "You couldn't wait to do this?" You breathed, your head slightly tipping back. "Why did you think I picked the farthest room in the house?" Of course he lead you hear with an ulterior motive, why wouldn't he? He was smart, strategical, and you'd be lying if you said that you were tempted to give in.

"Sam, we can't, I'm sorry." Your hands fell over his sneaky one's, pulling your zipper back up and placing his hands back on your waist. He audibly groaned when you turned around threw your arms around his neck. His pupils were blown out, his expression was that of a kicked puppy. "Baby, you know that I want this as much as you do, I always will, but not in public." You sighed, pushing some of his hair out of his face. "I know. . . Can I— can I just kiss you?" He asked, his hands sliding lower before resting on the swell of your ass.

"Dean's gonna be real mad that we haven't got anything," You teased running your fingers through his hair, but you showed no hostility as his lips ghosted over yours. "It'll only be for a couple of minutes. . ." He mumbled, pressing his lips onto yours. It felt so great to kiss you, like your touch was slowly extinguishing the fire that had been burning in his stomach for the past two days. He couldn't help that his palms gripped your ass aggressively, rubbing you crotches together. You moaned quietly into his mouth, Sam hiking up your thigh so that he could get a better angle. His growing erection was pressed against your heated cunt, the friction driving both of you nuts.

"You said only kissing. . ." You breathed against his lips, arousal becoming more prominent in your panties. He only groaned in reply, his head tipping back so that his neck was exposed to you. You attached your lips onto is most sensitive spot located just under his ear, Sam bucking his hips against you. You were muting yourself by making marks that wouldn't easily be seen, but Sam was forced to bite his lower lip to silence himself. The worst part about doing this in not only a potentially haunted house, was that it was extremely empty, sound basically bouncing off the walls. You knew Dean would never allow Sam to live this down if he were to catch the two of you.

The tingling sensation of an orgasm was barely in your grasp, but it was enough to detach yourself from his neck and collarbones, only placing a kiss there which your lipstick left a mark.

"Sam, ____?" Dean called out. "You guys got anything?" Your eyes widened as you pushed Sam off of you, giving him a look of apology. "Uhh— no, there's nothing here!" You shouted back, licking your sleeve and wiping the makeup off his lips. "Alright well I explored all of downstairs and most of the upstairs and I got nothin', so I think we're done here." His voice was a bit closer, but now by a lot. "Okay! So are we gonna go?" You asked, straightening up Sam as he stood there with a stupid smile on his face. "Yeah! I'm goin' to be in the Impala, so you guys better hurry up!" He concluded, his voice growing fainter as he walked back down the stairs."Sam," You growled, "I'm going to kill you." You glared, now wiping off your lips for any smeared product.

"I'm sorry honey, I got a bit carried away." He apologized, but he didn't even sound remotely sorry. You just scoffed, grabbing your things with the intention of leaving. "Sure." He only laughed, following close next to you. "Don't act like you didn't like it," He teased. You only rolled your eyes, but it provoked a small grin on your lips. "Well I hope this'll sedate you until we get back home." You poked, both of you now walking down the old stairs. "Maybe, but seeing how your butt is looking in those jeans, I may be tempted to do it again." You groaned, "I'm going with Dean next time."

As you guys were about to get into the car, your eyes landed on your lipstick mark that you had placed on the side of Sam's neck. You felt your stomach fall into your ass but it was already too late, Sam had gotten into the front seat of the car while you got into the back anxiously. You watched Dean look at Sam's neck before smirking wolfishly, making eye contact with you in the rearview window.

"Looks like you guys got a lot of things done." He said, his voice full of amusement.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy

[imjustdreamingig]

If you want forever, and I'll bet you do

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

summary: Feelings are out, you're still rambling, and Steve thinks you're wonderful.

A/N: when the world thought i abandoned them, i came back... HORRAY!!!! so this is probably my last instalment to this little series, what a joy it has been to write. i'm really proud of this one and am so excited to see how I'll continue to progress in my writing journey. thank you for all the love the last 3 fics got, you have no idea how much my hear soared when I got a notif from this site. i adore you all. pls lmk if you have any suggestions for future fics!

warnings: sfw, swearing, fluff, making out

You don't think your posture has ever been better than right now, sitting in Steve Harrington's living room, hands firmly clasped and placed in your lap. Your eyes quickly scan the beige colored walls, noting the lack of family pictures. In fact, the decor of the entire living room seemed to be more staged than personal, almost as if wanting to give the illusion that this was indeed a home, but not quite hitting the mark.

Steve walks back in from the kitchen carrying two glasses of water and places them on the table in front of you. As he's about to take a seat beside you, he lets out a shocked gasp before hurrying to the cabinet next to the window, pulling out two coasters.

He chuckles nervously as you eye him contemplatively. "My mom is a real stickler for these," he says after he sits back down, running an anxious hand through his hair. "She'll notice the rings the water make the second she walks through the door."

You let out a hum in acknowledgment, not quite sure how to continue the conversation without making him more tense. You notice his shoulders are sort of hunched in, and he's running a hand through his hair again.

Without thinking, you reach out to grab his wrist, pulling it away from his brown locks. Steve looks at you in surprise, mouth slightly parted.

"You're going to ruin your hair even more and I know for a fact you spent at least half and hour on it this morning," you say, reaching out to fix a piece that has fallen into his eyes. Steve laughs, "Hey, I'll neither confirm or deny."

You feel yourself becoming a bit more relaxed with the friendly environment that Steve's presence brings, slowly sinking into the couch rather than sitting as if the Queen of England was going to walk in at any second. That's the vibe you were getting from his house; meticulously clean to the point you almost questioned Steve if someone actually lived here.

When Steve picked you up earlier, you surprised yourself by not feeling those intense fight-or-flight instincts as you watched him run up to your front door.

Aside from accidentally making fun of his music taste on the car ride over, "Of all people Steve, I did not expect you to like Blondie." "What!? They're great!" and you hitting him with the car door as you opened it because he wanted to open it for you, "Your face! I'm so sorry, I didn't even see you there!" "You barely touched me I swear, I just wanted to be nice!" you waited for the usual rush of anxiety to fill you whenever you were near Steve.

You waited for it to appear during the car ride, you waited for it to appear as you walked into his house, and you're waiting for it to appear now.

It didn't.

That doesn't mean that you're not nervous, but it's more of an excited-nervous. The kind of nervous you felt before doing a big presentation in front of your class or performing in the school play. Steve knows how you feel about him and you know how he feels about you, there's no reason to be nervous around him anymore.

Now it's all about what's next. And because you think you can predict the outcome of this study/talk-it-out session, you feel a a flutter of emotions overtake your body, but instead of causing you anxiety, it's causing you excitement.

However.

You absolutely were not going to be the one out of the two of you to address the elephant in the room (aka the reciprocated crush thing). If Steve wanted to talk about it, he would have to start that conversation. Steve was eager to talk about it yesterday, so he should be eager to talk about it right now... Right?

"Listen, I would say we should get to work on the project, but I don't think that's gonna happen today," the boy in question says.

You direct your gaze to your bag thats on the floor and eye your copy of Pride and Prejudice before glancing up to look at Steve, who was already staring at you. He looked so at ease, one elbow leaned against the couch cushion with his fist pressed against his cheek.

He is so pretty.

You turn on the couch to face him and match his pose before saying, "I don't think so either." You didn't realize until this moment how close the two of you were sitting.

Steve says nothing for a moment as he just stares. You note this is the first time in a while that you're not blabbering nonsense at the boy, you usually talk a lot. Steve notices it, too.

"You know, I never took you to be a quiet person," he comments. "I'm usually not," you respond, "I just feel— I don't know, for once I don't feel like talking, I don't feel the need to fill the silence."

"Woah, who knew you could be so poetic." You lightly smack his leg as he teases you. "Oh, shut up, Harrington!" Steve's laughter subsides quickly and he peers down at your hand that's still on his leg. He swallows down the lump in his throat before picking it up, slowly caressing your knuckles with his thumb.

"You make me so nervous, did you know that?" he whispers before looking up at you again. You feel your cheeks heat up even though you know no color is showing on your face. The look that he's giving you is one that you've never seen before, and you've spent too much time of your time staring at him according to Robin.

"I've made the Steve 'the Hair' Harrington nervous? Wait 'till the girls hear about this." You try to lighten the mood a little, but Steve barely cracks a smile, getting a mere tiny lift of the corner of his mouth in response. His thumb never stop caressing your hand.

"I hope that isn't how you see me, at least not now." You shake your head, "Of course not, I'm sorry, not really sure why I pulled that joke right now." Steve shakes his head fondly and wags a finger at you. "You're something else, you're so different. I can never tell what you're thinking." You blink twice. "Uh, is that a bad thing?" you question.

"Absolutely not!" he exclaims. He suddenly lets go of your hand and flops back on the couch, now laying horizontally, with both hands covering his face as he lets out an sigh. "Steve!" you laugh.

"I've never met someone like you before, usually I have girls just throwing themselves at me—before you say it, I know how that sounds just gimme a sec— but you, god, the more I saw you and the more I learned about you and through Robin and your insane excuses, the more hooked I got."

Your heart is beating way too fast that you're positive it can be heard from three houses down. Holy shit, am I getting my own love confession? Steve sits back up straight and his face is one of amused exasperation. "You've made me go crazy, what have you done to me?"

You suck in a gasp. "Well, my mom says the same thing whenever we fight actually," your mouth is spitting out an answer before your brain can fully catch up. You have no idea how to respond to this love confession—oh my god a love confession—that your mouth is just running on autopilot. "Lately, she's been on me about organizing my bookshelf, but like it's my bookshelf in my room, she doesn't have to look at it, and I'm categorizing and cataloguing my books, so of course it's messy, but she wants to pick a fight when I'm actually cleaning for once, so I do-"

Steve lets out a bark of laughter, "Oh Jesus Christ, just shut up."

And all of a sudden, you're being kissed. Passionately. With two hands holding the sides of your face. Your eyes are wide open while Steve's are closed, both your arms are raised slightly not quite knowing what to do with them.

The kiss ends before you can even process that it was happening. The only way you knew it occurred was because of the warmth on your cheeks left behind by Steve's hands and the slight sheen his lips have from your lip gloss.

"Steve," you start and in real time, you see his face flush with a lovely shade of pink, covering his face and creeping down his neck. "I'm sorry! You were just rambling and I didn't know how to help you calm down and I've wanted to do that for a long time but I should've asked you first before-"

It's your turn to cut him off as you lean in and capture his lips into yours. For a second Steve freezes before his mind and body catch up. He lets out a groan before manoeuvring you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist and his hand cupping your cheek. One of your hands is gripping his bicep which holy fuck he is so strong and the other is resting with the hair at the nape of his neck.

His lips are soft and warm and you can taste the mint of the gum he had been chewing as you deepened the kiss. You can actually appreciate this kiss, having had some time to properly process it and melt into it. Fuck, he's such a good kisser.

Unfortunately, because the need to breathe starts to affect you more with each passing second, you separate his mouth from yours with a soft sigh. He leans his forehead onto yours, both arms gently holding your waist now. You stay like that for a few seconds, basking in the afterglow of the most intense kiss you've ever had in your life, especially considering it was with Steve.

Once you put just enough space between the two of you so you're able to see his entire face properly, you let out a small giggle, which turns into two, which turns into three, and eventually your whole body is shaking with laughter. Steve is looking at you incredulously as you place your head on his shoulder before he's joining you, you're laugh just being too contagious.

"What!?" Steve exclaims. "Am I that bad at kissing or something?" In between fits of giggles you shake your head. "No, on the contrary, it's because you're an incredible kisser." The full blown laughs have finally ceased to a few chuckles and you pry your head away from Steve's shoulder, only to look at him, feel the bubbles of laughter resurface, and place it right back in the same position.

Steve kisses the top of your head and starts running his fingers down your back, causing goosebumps to appear wherever they trailed. "You'll have to fill me in then, babe." The nickname earns another tiny giggle on your part. "Not everyone has that crazy mind that you do." He can practically feel you rolling your eyes at him.

"It's just crazy to me that the one thing I wished would happen to me this year actually happened. I wasn't worried about grades or whatever, I just wanted this. And look! It happened!" You remove yourself from your hiding place to look at Steve. "Me from three months ago would probably go into cardiac arrest if I told her this happened."

Steve smirks. "So basically, your solid plan of running away from the guy you liked to make sure this," he gestured between the two of you, "happened was a success."

You let out a squawk of indignation. "Hey, I was gonna say something to you eventually!" Steve is making a face that can only be translated as are you serious? before relenting and admitting, "Ok fine, maybe I wasn't. But the thought was there! That counts. Right?"

Steve snorts, "Sure babe, of course it does." You let out a pleased hum before a glaring at him seriously. "Just to make sure, this means we're dating right? Because I don't want to get the wrong idea and then mark this day as our anniversary and then our one month comes up and I want to do something small, but cute, and you're all like confused because we never explicitly said that we were a couple, and then I'm all mortified so yo-"

Needless to say, it wouldn't be the only time Steve would stop your ramblings that night with a kiss. And he planned on doing it a whole lot more.

[zomb-rabbit]

Rabbit

Rabbit I'm begging you to do stalker headcanons with Mh or EMH guys (you don't gotta ofc! But w o ah)

🐟

AAAA IM SO HAPPY U LIKED THEM !!!! I WAS RLLY HAPPY W HOW THE TOBY ONES CAME OUT :)))) also,,,, watch me hit u w ALL the guys !!!!!!!!!!!!!! (nsfw can come later if u wish fishy, i skipped it cus this is alr a super long post BFJSJFNJS) (also i got to use my rainbow dividers i have saved up cus there's so many ppl YAYYYYYYY)

[📹⛓️‍💥🚬👁️☠️🐇]

Stalker!Brian Thomas / Hoodie / Tim Wright / Masky / Evan Myers / HABIT x gn!reader headcanons :)

Brian ;

ok we know Brian likes to record

so expect there to be at least one camera on you a majority of the time

sometimes he'll leave it in a tree or placed just right behind a fence post, zoomed in on your bedroom window so he can document you and your routine even when he's busy

he's so thoughtful 😸😸😸

definitely the type to perfectly curate a "meet-cute" for the both of you, writing down the coffee place you stop off at on mondays for a pick-me-up, the stores you go to that have your favorite brand of something, he calculates his every action with you long before it's happened.

he knows what he's doing is wrong, but unlike Toby, he's not exactly ashamed of it. if anything he likes the added excitement that you could still find him out

this is one of the times him and Hoodie kind of blur together a little bit, both in morals and actions

Brian is fully willing to do whatever it takes to keep eyes on you and to keep you under his thumb and his alone; it doesn't matter who gets in his way

Hoodie ;

also a big fan of recording, but tends to get much more risky with it

likes the feeling that you might catch a little camera that's nestled in between some trinkets and books or a pile of blankets you keep on your couch

he is a creepy creeper . he wants to watch EVERYTHING

gets his feelings hurt when you close your curtains cus you feel eyes on you (you're right, but still :(()

it takes a lot to deter him from doing everything in his power to keep watch over you

he's not even sure of his own motives, really. sure, he wants to keep you safe and make sure no one else is watching you, but most of the time he's just there to watch.

you're like a doll to him, something to entertain him.

Masky ;

this isn't even part of this i just wanna say the vibe for stalker Masky (and just him in general tbh) for me feels a lot like the intro to My Meds Aren't Working by Dystopia . very slow, calculating, stuck in your own head but still zeroed in on one thing

and it's you ofc !!!!

i think Masky is one of the more scarier guys to have stalking you on this lineup honestly. hot? yes absolutely. terrifying to see constantly out of the corner of your eye, sitting at the bus stop outside your job, standing in the parking lot of the gas station by your apartment complex and staring up into your window? YES VERY

he's haunting. he doesn't go up to you, will go completely brick wall at you if you try to come up to him, and you can never tell what emotion is going on behind his eyes. the few times you've walked closer to him, likely on the street in the earlier stages, he looked hungry. like he was waiting and watching for your guard to be down to do something.

if he knows you'll be out, he'll get into your house to steal some of your clothes- likely your underwear (creepy crawler) and a sleep shirt

you will never see him without the mask on. point blank. not to smoke, eat, anything. he is not human or himself when he's around you; he needs to absorb everything about you.

i don't think of him to be the type to film you, would rather be there in person 24/7. it feels more personal to him.

Tim ;

one of the few guys that feels guilt about what he's doing- he knows how scary it is to feel watched all the time. how awful it is to find out you were right.

he’s embarrassed of himself; he’s prided himself on being stoic and independent for so long that this sudden urge to love you and watch you and know you gives him waves of shame

watches from afar, would definitely try and avoid letting himself get too close to you in person. he’s ashamed of it, but he can’t help himself- he needs you, even if at a distance. 

steals clothes you’ve slept in so he can try and satiate his yearning to be close to you without actually needing to be so vulnerable, with you or anyone

his near dependency on you reminds me of It Will Come Back by Hozier, his obsession is fed by breadcrumbs from the few in-person up close encounters he’s had with you. smiles when he comes into where you work, nervous little waves when you catch him looking at you at the store, soft 'excuse me!'s when you pass by him

you drive him up a wall (lovingly)

Evan ;

Evan feels guilty, but for the ‘wrong’ reasons

i say ‘wrong’ because he’s more concerned with you inevitable introduction to the whole Habit mess, not with the morals of stalking and obsessing over you

despite his guilt, he can’t get enough of you. his persistence rivals Brian's; it’s almost immediate that he tries to get you with him

latches onto you for fear of you leaving- honestly less of a stalker and more on the obsessive side. not good at keeping his hands to himself. 

you might be one of the only cases where he tries to bargain and/or work with Habit, in an attempt to keep you safe or keep you near him out of desperation if you're not listening to him when he tries to convince you to stay with him essentially 25/8

touchy obsessive little critter . give him what he wants before he goes sicko mode (being 10 feet away from you at all times)

Habit ;

does not hide himself AT ALL

will actively be letting you know he's watching

seeing him behind you in mirrors, rabbit motifs everywhere, a random blood splatter in plain sight that no one else seems to see.

he watches, he knows, and he learns

what things make you the most paranoid, all the ways he can slowly introduce himself in a more. friendly light to get you to trust him. to love him.

he's what's best for you, whether you like it or not. it just might take some time for you to get there

ironically for him, think 'The Best Is Yet To Come' by Frank Sinatra. it's just a matter of time before things get so much better. for the both of you, of course!

[shinski-chan]

I LOVE YOU, BUT I HATE IT WHEN...

synopsis: a scenario where you decided to do the "i love you, but i hate it when..." trend with enhypen!

paring: enhypen!boyfriend x reader

word count: 2.9k+

notes: crack, fluff, exaggerated reactions, bickering, arguing, petnames, lmk if i missed anything...

author's note: apparently, this trend is all over my tiktok fyp and i suddenly thought of writing for the members. enjoy!

HEESEUNG

you were both lying on the bed, heeseung completely absorbed in his game while you were scrolling through your phone.

a trending video popped up on your fyp, and you got the perfect idea of making hee do it with you.

"love, let's do this..." you shifted closer, shoving your phone in his face.

"wait... no, no..." he muttered, not even glancing your way.

"LOVE!" you yelled, and that’s when he finally turned to you, blinking as if he just noticed you.

"yep?" he asked, acting like he hadn't just ignored you for the past 2 minutes.

"seriously?" you said with a heavy sigh. he just shrugged and turned back to his game, the word "defeat" flashing on his screen.

"what was it about?" he asked, putting his phone down and finally looking at you.

you repeated, "i said, let’s do this!" showing him the video.

he glanced at the screen for two seconds, then shook his head.

"we ain't doing that."

you raised an eyebrow, making it clear there was no room for arguments.

"who goes first?" he asked, sighing dramatically.

"you go first. i’m giving you the spotlight," you said, smirking.

he rolled his eyes but couldn’t help chuckling. "i love you, but i hate it when you always try to make conversation while i’m playing my game, and then expect me to comprehend and react to whatever you just showed me after playing it once."

your eyes widen as you look at him in disbelief, your jaw almost dropping.

"what about earlier?! so, you hated me deep inside when i was shoving the phone in front of you?!" you shouted, crossing your arms.

he laughed even harder to the point that it echoed across the room.

"i’m just kidding, love!" he said, reaching out to pull you close.

"no, that’s it. we’re done." you said dramatically, tossing a pillow at him before stomping towards the door.

as you reached the door, you paused, turned back, and glared.

"i hate it when you always act like you’re busy with your game, but i know you’re just avoiding me!"

heeseung doubled over, practically dying of laughter as you walked out of the room.

JONGSEONG

"do i go first or you go first?" you asked jay, and he spun his gaming chair before giving you an answer.

"ladies first," he said with an exaggerated tone, making you chuckle.

"alright, i love you, but i hate it when i am busy with my game and you always tell me to go to sleep just because you're gonna sleep," you said, waiting for his reaction.

his lips immediately curved into a playful smile, feeling guilty.

"what can i do? i love being around you," he said, but you just laughed.

"alright, your turn," you said. he raised his brows.

"you're done?" he asked, to which you nodded quickly.

"okay..." he trailed off, squinting his eyes as if trying to list all the things he hated about you in his mind.

"i love you, but i hate it whenever we go out on a date, and if i ask you what you want to order, you'll say 'anything,' but then when i order anything, you'll ask me why i ordered it" he said with full emotion, and you just laughed.

just as you were about to take your turn...

"i love you, but i hate it when you always force me to choose between two things you like, then get upset when i pick the one you like less."

"i love you, but i hate it when you ask for my opinion about something, but when i answer, you always look at me like i'm giving you a lecture!"

"i love you, but i hate it when—"

"stooOooppp!" you said, placing your index finger on his lips to stop him.

"are we still playing, or are you completely ranting?" you asked, making him laugh as he pulled you to sit on his lap.

"what did i do?" he asked, gently squeezing your thigh.

"we were supposed to take turns!!" you said, smacking his chest.

"oh, is that it? welp... my bad," he said, and you both laughed.

JAEYUN

jake ran towards the living room; he grabbed a pillow and pulled it over his face like he was trying to hide.

"are you just gonna sit there and avoid me all day?" you asked, tugging the pillow from his face.

"babe, i swear, you're just going to come up with something that'll make us argue again," he mumbled from behind the pillow.

"no we're not," you replied as you continued to tug the pillow, but he held on like his entire life depended on it.

"no way!" he said, shaking his head dramatically.

with that, you keep pestering him, and after a few minutes of wrestling for the pillow, jake finally sighed.

"FINE!" he said in defeat, throwing the pillow aside with all exaggeration.

sitting up straight, he looked at you and started, "i hate you, but—"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HATE ME?!" you exclaimed, immediately smacking him with the pillow.

"i said you have to say 'i love you' first before saying what you hate about me!"

jake burst out laughing, holding his stomach. "alright, alright."

he reached for your hand, still giggling uncontrollably. "take two!"

you shake your head, biting your lower lip to keep yourself from laughing. "you're impossible."

jake cleared his throat before he began, "i love you, but i hate it when you always come up with something that makes us argue in the end..."

he leaned forward dramatically before continuing, "you would always ask stupid hypothetical questions like, 'what if i'm not your girlfriend, who would be your girlfriend this time?' then if i gave you an answer, you would get mad, and i would always end up apologizing for something you made up!"

you burst out laughing, hitting him repeatedly with a pillow because you knew he was right.

"no, i don't!"

"YES YOU DO!"

"why does it feel like you've been keeping that ever since?" you asked, almost out of breath because of how exaggerated his reaction was.

he held his chest; his expression was so serious, making you laugh harder. "I DO!" he shouted dramatically, earning another pillow smack.

"shut up!" you said, covering his mouth with your hand as you giggled.

jake laughed into your palm, grabbing your wrist and gently pulling it away. "love, let's not do this..." he begged.

you were shaking with laughter, unable to get over how he put his all into ranting.

"i love you," you said, stealing a kiss from his lips.

"i love you more," he replied, pulling you into his embrace.

"so we're going to do this challenge called 'i love you, but i hate it when...' so basically we'll tell each other i love you first before you tell them what you hate about them."

SUNGHOON

you explained while looking at sunghoon who was staring at the floor in the bedroom.

"babe," you said, swaying your hand in front of his face, then he made his eyes bigger before turning to you.

you frowned, watching him do weird stuff. you were already used to this mood of his, but sometimes, you couldn't help but feel like he was overacting.

"are you still with me?" you asked, and he nodded his head without a word.

"alright... then, i'll go first..." you trailed off, unsure if it was really the right thing to do.

"i love you, but i hate it whenever i ask you to come with me for a grocery or something, then you'll give me an answer 'if you want me to.' bro????" you said, looking at him, feeling a little bit embarrassed because he was just staring at you.

"why aren't you saying anything?! this isn't a 'we listen and we don't judge' challenge!!!" you dramatically said, shaking him, but he just laughed.

"but babe, that's the point. if you want me to come, then i'll come. if you don't, then i won't," he defended.

"that's not the point because if i'm asking you to come, it means i want you to come. do not give me an 'either-or' answer" you tried to argue, but there's no point in arguing with him... he only nodded his head like you said nothing.

"i love you, but i hate it when you leave your stuff unorganized. you always tell me they have their own places, but why do i always see them scattered all over the place? plusss everytime you're getting ready for an occasion and you’re rummaging through your closet, trying out different outfits... you always leave everything on the bed without putting them back, and i always end up cleaning everything!" he says, his voice rising slightly for joke purposes, and you laughed out loud, feeling guilty.

"alright, alright...you win..." you said because you knew how much of a clean freak he was, and that was really an irk for him.

but then you noticed him staring at you again, completely silent, like he didn’t know what to do next.

"what? why are you staring at me like that?" you asked, trying not to laugh. but the longer he stared, the harder it was to hold it in.

finally, you broke out into a laughter, holding your stomach as he blinked at you.

"you're so weird, babe!" you said between laughs, as you smack his arm, but he just shrugged.

"you're the one laughing, though," he mumbled, which only made you laugh harder.

"what is it this time?" he asked, putting his phone down as you opened the door fully and walked in.

SUNOO

"the ‘i love you, but i hate it when’ challenge!" you said, grinning playfully.

he squinted his eyes at you, clearly suspicious. "you’re asking me to say all the things i hate about you?"

"exactly!" you said with a firm nod.

"i don’t hate anything about you," he replied flatly, shrugging.

you blinked at him, narrowing your eyes. "i know you’ve got a lot up your sleeves! don’t lie to my face."

he burst out laughing, leaning back against the headboard. "well... i guess i do," he admitted, a playful grin spreading across his face.

you gasped dramatically, sitting beside him. "spill!"

sunoo held his chin thoughtfully before finally speaking. "okay, i love you, but i hate it when you use my skincare products and leave them in the bathroom instead of putting them back in the fridge."

"that’s because i’m always running late!" you defended, but he immediately shook his head in disapproval.

"nope, that’s not an excuse! do you know how many times i’ve had to rescue my toner from dying of heatstroke?!" he exclaimed dramatically, his eyes widening like you’d committed a major crime.

you couldn’t hold back your laughter, gently smacking his thigh.

"alright, my turn!" you declared. "i love you, but i hate it when you open snacks, eat a few bites, and leave them on the table without even wrapping them up!"

sunoo immediately shook his head in denial. "no, i have an explanation for that!"

"no excuses!" you said, placing your index finger over his lips.

"this isn’t a ‘we listen and don’t judge’ challenge," he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"i love you, but i hate it when i find your lashes literally everywhere—on the sink, the table, the couch, even on my skincare bottles!" he exclaimed, looking at you as if you’d committed another grave offense.

you doubled over laughing. "they have their own life!" you teased.

he sighed, shaking his head while giving you a judging look. "be thankful that i love you."

"then, thank you," you teased back, earning a light smack with a pillow as he joined in your laughter.

jungwon groaned as he sat up straight on the couch. "i can't believe i'm doing this again," he muttered, clearly frustrated, but you couldn't care less.

JUNGWON

"come on, don't act like i always force you to do things..." you said, tugging on his arm.

he looked at you for three good seconds before he sighed in defeat and turned to face you.

"i love you, but i hate it when you always tell me what to do when i'm literally doing the chore. i was standing there, doing the thing, and you show up like a supervisor and then tell me, 'wash the dishes.' i am literally washing the dishes!" he said, his voice dripping with frustration.

you laughed, looking at him. "well, i've got to check if you're doing things right!"

he furrowed his eyes at you as if it offended him personally. "checking? you really call that checking?! it makes me want to throw all the plates away..." he muttered under his breath, half-joking.

"i love you, but i hate it when you always ask me where your missing things are, then i'll answer you, but when it's my turn to ask if you've seen my stuff, you scold me instead?! i mean how does it connect to the question, have you seen my stuff?"

you covered your mouth laughing uncontrollably at his statement.

"because you always forget where you put your stuff!" you shot back, your jaw almost locking because of how much you laugh.

"but let me ask you what does it have to do with the question where? have you seen my stuff? then you'll answer, that's what happens when you're not paying attention, baby??? it doesn't add up!" he argued, and you couldn't stop laughing. you didn't know if you were still playing or if he was addressing all his rants.

"alright! alright! it's my turn!" you said, covering his lips when he tried to open his mouth to add something more.

"i love you, but i hate it when i ask you a simple favor, like making a small decision, and you just give me that 'whatever' answer!" you shot back, raising your eyebrow.

"it's your fault. you're the one who can never make up your mind," he argued, shrugging his shoulder while giggling.

"that's not the point. i need you to make decisions; it doesn't matter which one you choose; i just want you to decide!" you exclaimed, and then he laughed, nodding his head.

"i love you, but i hate it when you ask me if i'm mad, and when i say no, you keep pushing me as if you're trying to say that i am really mad when in fact i am not!" he said.

"wait, it's still my turn! cheater!!!" you said, hitting him with a pillow, but he immediately dodged it, pulling your wrist, which made you land on his chest.

"alright, but i love you though," he said, planting a kiss on your temple.

"whatever you say, i'm still right." you said leaning on his embrace.

"fine, but you have to buy me some nuggets later," he said, wrapping his arms around you.

ni-ki groaned, his fingers hovering on his mechanical keyboard, his headphones securely on. "no, no... there's one in the bush... yes, wait for me..." he said, too immersed in his game, communicating with his teammates through his mic.

RIKI

"babe," you tugged his hoodie again for the nth time, but this time more insistently.

"riki!" you repeated, but he didn't even flinch.

"baby, let's do it later... please, i'm still on the game..." he said with his low-toned voice; his eyes were pleading.

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "so the game is more important than me now?" you asked, your voice dripping with irritation.

you walked back to the bed with a huff, feeling neglected for what felt like an eternity.

with a sigh, ni-ki finally took off his headphones, putting them down on his desk.

he walked over to where you were lying on the bed, flopping down beside you.

"fine, let's do it now," he said, pulling your wrist, but you pouted.

"no, i don't want it if it's forced," you said, but he just chuckled.

"i love you, but i hate when you act like you're so grown up, but then you throw a tantrum when i don't give you enough attention," you said, your brows furrowed.

"what are you talking about? that's what you're literally doing to me right now," he shot back, making you laugh.

"i love you, but i hate it when you act all mature like that, but you're just as childish as me." he shot back, staring at you.

"no, i am not. i love you, but i hate it when you always act like you don't need help but then get upset when i don't offer it," you replied back, your eyes narrowing.

"i don't really need help, though! i just want you to offer!" he defended.

"then why are you upset? that's not fair!" you shot back.

"because it's the thought that counts!" he said dramatically, making you laugh.

"i love you, but i hate it when you always think that i need you to take care of me 24/7, but i want to do things on my own tooo. stop treating me like a kid" he complained, his voice calm but laced with sulk.

"but you are a kid!" you teased.

"no, i am not. i'm a grown-up man; you're the one being unfair here," he said, flicking your forehead.

"i love you, but i hate it when you never pick up your phone when i call, but the moment i stop calling, you text me with 'i miss you' like???" you said, narrowing your eyes at him, and he laughed.

"when did i ever do that? i always answer your calls!" he said in denial.

"you always do thattt!" you exclaimed, and he finally pulls you into his arms.

"alright, you got me there," he sighs, finally raising the white flag.

©shinskichan

[12amintoronto]

𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 ... omar marmoush x reader

──────────────────────

wc: 1.8k

synopsis: in which you and your husband, omar, finally meet the little one that you have been expecting together.

contents: fluff, sfw, married, dad omar, mum reader, super soft vibes for the babyy, emotional

notes: request from @kixxkmzz this was so sweet to write i'm literally sobbing bc writing this resurrected my baby fever. i gotta lock innn 🥹🥹

──────────────────────

it had been nine months of waiting yet it felt as if no time had passed at all once it was finally three of you.

for omar, it wasn't enough to just be there and present in the flesh while you were with child.

he began observing his newfound duty. his lifelong role. a dad.

it meant doing all he could to provide the utmost comfort for you and the little life that had been growing within for all those weeks. your health and the little one's health meant more than anything.

it meant preparing his heart to give the love that it was absolutely overflowing with.

"soon enough, you're going to bring the greatest blessing of our lives into the world, habibti," he would say to you every night in a soft whisper, as you two cuddled before sleep, while his hand gently rested on your bump.

and that you did.

that morning when the sun shone bright as you delivered this little-yet-so-big blessing that you and omar had been anticipating and nurturing at the absolute best while still in the womb... you were overcome with emotion, knowing your life was now changed so beautifully by yet another life...

...the one you and omar created, at that.

the way omar's thumb gently rubbed your cheek as he leant in ever so close to you.

the way his other hand's fingers intertwined with yours as he offered it without second thought for you to squeeze with your own hand at any time you'd wince.

the way he spent all that time whispering to you the most important affirmations that he'd never want you to forget, for he means them from the bottom of his heart.

"you are so strong, my love."

"habibti, i've got you. you're so incredible."

"i know you can do this. deep breaths together, sweetheart."

all that grounding... his efforts to calm you amidst this concoction of physical pain and emotional strain...

...allowed you to exhale in time.

"ya allah." omar murmured, his voice breaking softly through his tears as he heard that tiny cry for the first time.

you could've sworn you felt those tears of his fall onto your own face for he kept his face so close to yours during this moment.

your nurse, who'd been an angel towards you throughout this whole thing, brought your firstborn to your chest gently, placing the child there with so much care.

you, yourself, had felt your eyes begin to well with tears. there was your baby.

"here she is~" your nurse said softly, with a knowing smile, for she knew this was how you and omar wanted to find out the gender.

that was all it took for omar to smile an even bigger smile against your skin, his breaths shaky alongside yours as he cried with you, as you two found out the gender of your firstborn in the most natural way.

no commodified, suspenseful event that could have been held at an earlier date, raising the question of pink or blue...

...just you and your husband, relishing in whatever answer it was going to be, at the one moment of insurmountable excitement and sentimentality.

"she." omar whispered. you looked through your eyes that were already squinted for you wept joyously, and there graced the most adorable smile across his face.

you didn't say anything. you knew you didn't have to say anything because this was bliss... it was as if all the pain and hardship you had to endure for these months were all worth it. because to you, they were.

you felt omar kiss your forehead, and then your lips, just as delicately as the backs of his fingers grazed your cheek repeatedly as he spoke softly;

"she's perfect."

you could swear both your heart and well as omar's had broke in the most positive, miraculous way possible for the fact that this was all really happening had hit you guys as new parents.

everyone member of your little family in that room was crying, and that was a beautiful thing.

──────────────────────

enough time had passed for you and omar to now find yourselves in that golden hour. the first quiet, beautiful moment you could share with your baby girl. afternoon sun was streaming through the sheer drapes of the room, and the sound of the three of you's breathing and occasional soft spoken words filled the room.

omar never left you and baby's side, nor did his eyes ever leave yours or hers. the gaze that his rich brown eyes held flitted between you and the precious child that lay asleep on your chest.

"habibti, look at our little angel..." omar said in a light tone, in complete awe.

"i'm looking, my love. she's sweeter than i could have ever imagined."

omar got up on the lightest of footsteps to shift the armchair he was sitting in even closer to you, careful not to make even a slight sound... his eyes widening even with each step he'd take, for he didn't want to wake the baby up.

he sat back down, sighing as he drank in the sight of you, his beloved wife, with his daughter who was nothing short of perfect, fast asleep on your chest in your arms.

omar's gaze softened as he brought out his hand in a slow, reverent motion towards the baby, giving a featherlight touch to her teeny little fingers.

you pouted. he was already the cutest dad ever.

"hi, my beautiful girl. it's me... baba." omar said in a hushed voice, taking in the baby's tiny little features... already trying to figure out which ones she inherited from who. the fact that he referred to himself as "dad" in arabic made your heart warm up even more intensely.

it wasn't long after a little pause... that omar quietly sniffled, both of you guys' tears falling freely now. all because of the lovely, innocent little baby girl you guys created together, that he was overjoyed to finally be meeting.

"y/n..." he started, as he tilted his head to look at you. "you did so perfect. you brought us such a little angel."

the emotions were too much to bear as you tried to add some lightheartedness to the situation, as you rolled your eyes with playful intent. "omaaarrr-"

"my love, it's the truth. i give you all the credit. all my praise..."

was it so that omar loved you so much... that you were given the greatest sense of security in his affirmations? his affirmations that let you know that you and all you've had to endure are worth more than gold... that let you know it's only you in his life he wants to create such treasure with.

you barely had to search omar's eyes and lovestruck demeanour to know what he really wanted to live out... what he'd been waiting to do ever since having found out he'd be a father.

"would you like to hold her, my love?"

you gently retracted your hands that were draped over the little child on your chest, and omar - stunned, but so enamoured, made the gentle move. ensuring to support her fragile neck, he slipped one of his large hands underneath, the other gently lifting the rest of her.

slowly, steadily, he brought his little daughter up to his chest, cradling her in the safe and secure embrace that emanated from his arms.

"welcome, my sweet girl... i see you're having a lovely nap~" he whispered to the baby, in a voice so soft that only you and him could hear.

"i promise to protect you forever. baba loves you."

he leant in closer... listening attentively to the little child's soft breaths. the first of many she would take throughout the course of her life, which omar is so excited to guide her through.

you giggled as you took in this moment that was a first for omar. he was terrified, but ultimately enchanted. he looked back up at you with the sweetest of smiles, admiring the way you glowed after bringing your little one into the world...

he watched as you brought our your hand slowly to touch your sleeping daughter's cheek with a single finger ever so softly, then looked back at her before he continued to speak.

"and that's your mama, angel. she's the bravest woman i know."

"awww, omar."

"and you're gonna grow up to be so brave and beautiful like her~"

the rest of the day was much like this. quiet and solemn, the only noise being you and your husband's whispers of love and the adorable coos of your newborn.

you took notice of the beauty in the littlest of things.

the way omar would count the baby's little fingers.

the way omar would whisper little lullabies in arabic, which soothed you just as well as it soothed the baby.

the way omar would stroke your hair and watch the scene before him, as you closed your eyes in peace as you allowed your baby to latch onto you and gently feed for the first time.

the way omar carefully settled into the bed so that you could share that first ever cuddle the three of you all at once, the baby nestled safely and cutely in between the two of you, supported in you guy's arms.

so many lovely little "firsts."

after just revelling in the beautiful silence, your hearing was graced with omar's luscious egyptian accent as he spoke;

"y/n... you know, i've never felt so vulnerable and strong at once...

...i feel so protective of this little girl that's only been here for a couple of hours...

...yet she owns my whole heart already."

you smiled, trying to fight the stinging of tears in your eyes once again. "you're so cute, babe. it's like she's stealing your heart more than i did."

"who knows, habibti~" omar lovingly joked, his eyes still glassy with emotion.

you laughed a soft laugh, as omar rested his forehead against yours, leaning in to kiss you tenderly.

"thank you for this miracle, y/n." he whispered, looking at you, then down at you guys' newborn daughter who slept soundly in your arms.

the commitment in his voice. in his eyes. in the outpour of his heart. in the way he vowed to persevere as a father, and help you through it all as a mother... it let you know something that no other revelation in the world could let you know.

this was just the beginning of something - no, someone, that you and omar promise to cherish...

...as long as the two of you live.

and he sealed that promise as he snuggled into you, also acknowledging his little one right there as you held her... holding onto her teensy hand.

"my girls. forever my reasons to live."

[aklaustaleteller]

On One Condition

Klaus feels bad for messing up Y/n's exam preparation schedule, so he asks her what it is that he can do to 'earn her forgiveness'. Yet somehow, he manages to put up a condition when she asks him to help her with an art project...

Warnings - none, really.

Word Count - 1.4k

Masterlist | please reblog the fic if you like it!

So, I was rewriting an old fic when I decided to write a little backstory, i.e. this fic, and I hope you guys like it! I'll be posting part two within the next two days so yay!

Update: You can now read part two here!

She was something else, a feisty one who liked a good chase. And Klaus should've noted that from miles away. But he was too deep in now, and he wasn't going to back down until he had her.

He was waiting outside the school to catch Stefan, have a chat with him and warn him against trying to harm him because telling him off meant telling off the entire group, and Klaus found that lovely.

And he had just caught sight of Stefan when he saw her behind him, her hair bun not so tight as hair stands fell out and framed her face. She was walking with another girl who seemed to be trying profusely to convince Y/n of something -- probably a party if Klaus were to guess but he felt himself tuning in when she walked in a closer range to him.

"I really cannot do it, Vicki. Please try to understand that I'm myself giving exams right now," he heard her say, and then saw as she put her hand on her shoulders. There was softness in her voice that he'd never wished previously to be directed at him.

Bringing her in for a hug, Y/n explained herself again, as if she felt bad for denying whatever it was that Vicky wanted. "I would've helped you out had I not missed out on my preparation earlier. I’ve quite literally been studying the night before for each exam." She smiled, with what emotion Klaus couldn't quite see, but he found it beautiful, nonetheless.

"Why don't you ask Elena? I'm sure that way you'll bump into Jeremy a couple times as well," Y/n grinned, passing the squinting brunette a quick wink before turning back towards the exit with a sigh of relief.

Though it only took a couple steps for her to bump into Klaus, not so accidently. She'd seen him the moment she'd gotten out of the gates, and the fact that she had to pass him in order to reach her car only made her feel... more positive, let’s say.

She hadn't gone out of her way to slam into him, but he had. And the only other thing she has to blame is her spiteful walk that led the one library book she'd borrowed to topple out of her grip.

"Klaus, back off," she gritted, quickly picking up her book and moving once he did.

"It's not my fault, you know, that you bumped into me," Klaus said with a lure in his voice that suggested he just wanted to rile her up. "I'd apologize to me," he shrugged, a lopsided grin pulling up on his face when he noticed her turning.

"I'd tell you to go fuck yourself but that'd be a cruel and unusual punishment," she bit back, pressing her key to unlock the car.

"Please, save your breath. You'd probably need it to blow up your next date," Klaus teased, remembering the night Klaus had crashed her date and scared off the guy by doing nothing, really.

Sighing, Y/n gripped the steering wheel of her car and closed her eyes for a second. "Say something else and this book will become a lethal weapon," her voice was agitated as she warned him, and when he truly backed away with a proud grin on his face, she finally pulled back and drove home, daring to spare him a glance in her rear-view mirrors, an angry blush creeping up her neck when she caught his eyes.

Once she reached home, she didn't bother to lay out her clothes before jumping into her shower. Still, she buttoned up a loose striped cotton shirt and pulled her underwear up her legs. It didn't take her long to just decide on a pair of pyjama shorts.

After a good bowl of salad for lunch, she brought out her schoolwork to just do it on the porch considering the nice weather. But of course, that was a mistake because soon into her immersive study session, she was disturbed by loud clashing noises coming from the house across hers, Elena's house.

Taking a deep breath, she was just getting up when she caught sight of Damon and Stefan inside the house, speeding towards each other. It was purely for the dramatics, she was sure, considering the fact they wouldn't kill each other, they simply didn't have it in them.

She just felt sorry for Elena's dishes, maybe some of her furniture as well.

Twisting the knob she had just pushed the door in to go back inside the house when she heard a voice behind her. "Too noisy, aren't they?"

Klaus.

"You already messed up my preparation schedule once, Klaus. Do not dare to do it again," she said calmly, though her grip on the knob was probably tighter than normal.

With that, she decided to cross the line and enter her home. Then she turned around to face him, but he didn't seem to be in the mood to mess with her either.

"I came here to apologise, and perhaps, make up for the troubles I've caused you," he admitted, looking at her with such sincere eyes that she could've given in right then.

"And how do you plan on doing that? Plus, if this is a joke, I still have that book with me."

"You tell me what it is that will earn me your forgiveness," he said dramatically, making her look down to hide something from him, maybe a smile.

Opening the door wider, she looked at him and then hesitated a little. "Don't make me regret this," she said. "Come in, please."

Klaus was caught a bit off guard but managed to get inside, his eyes wandering right away to take in her house.

"I'm not sure how to word this really, so I'm just going to say it." Taking a breath, she sat on one of the dining table chairs and urged for him to do so too, getting a little flustered when he took the one right by her side and shifted so that he was turned towards her.

"What is it, love?"

"This might be a little ridiculous for you but it's very serious for me," she told him while maintaining eye contact to make sure he understood the situation.

Klaus simply nodded for her to go on, now leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

"I know you paint, quite impressively, might I add but that's not the point here," she quickly shut the topic before Klaus could tease her.

"The point is, I have this art project that I said yes to under pressure because my favourite teacher asked me to. But were you to see even my handwriting, you'd know I'm no good at it. The most I can draw is a stick figure and even that's wonky sometimes," she admitted bashfully.

"I used to have a friend who'd do it for me, but she left town last year and now... I don't really have anyone who would," she let out a breath at that, her eyes closed in anticipation of his answer.

"So, you wish for me to help you out with this said art project?"

Sitting stiffly, she nodded.

"Okay then. I'll do it... but what is it?"

"Oh great!" She cheered; happiness evident on her face. "It's supposed to be this super zoomed in image of either a grapefruit, or a pomegranate."

Klaus leaned back in his chair then, sighing as he considered it. "I will do it on one condition," he proposed.

"And that is?"

"You will stay with me in my studio when I'm painting it," he shrugged, as if it wasn't so much a big deal.

"But were you not doing this for my forgiveness?" She narrowed her eyes, but when he began to get off the chair, she struggled for some answer to come out of her mouth before he could leave.

"Okay, okay! I will!" She agreed immediately, sitting back down in defeat when he remained standing, a smile on his face.

"I'll go now." He said, walking backwards towards the door and he could see the uncertainty in her eyes. He could've teased her about it but decided against it.

"Come by my house tomorrow, around three or four… your wish," he said before turning to open the door.

He turned back to see her reaction and a smile crept up on his mouth when he saw her smiling back at him.

"I will," she told him while waving him goodbye, stopping just before he sped off with his dead heart beating a mile an hour. 

[hellsslibrary]

Hi! i was wondering if you can do sub! Asmodeus

"True egoists understand where the greatest achievements of the world should be kept. Where? In their hands."

#a.n. : What can I say? You waited, bitches, for like... Six months? (Affectionately)

!!Warnings: dom!male reader, sub!Asmodeus, bondage, blindfolding, wax play, mirror(?), sex on the floor, no penetration, hand job (to Asmodeus), pain like from wax(?), pretty wholesome, open ending.

A sigh escapes Asmodeus's lips as he lies on his back, bound and blindfolded, trying to catch what you're doing in the background. Every nerve in his body is tense as he tries to settle on the pillows on the floor where you put him earlier.

He had never felt such tension before, it was completely new. Why did he feel that way? The demon doesn't know, he just knew that it was just a great feeling.

His head jerked towards the sound of your footsteps, even though he couldn't see anything, he wanted to make it clear that he was watching anyway... Figuratively. He wanted to see you, just a little bit. To feel, touch, talk, anything, just to feel your attention.

"Are you desperate already? We haven't even started... Now try not to twitch, handsome, okay?" He hears your whisper, nodding with a smile, lying down more evenly, taking a deep breath.

"Of course, do whatever you want with me. I'm all yours," it breaks from his lips and a smile blooms on your lips, which he cannot see, but clearly feels.

His body twitches when he feels something hot falling on his chest. And then again. And more... Forming some kind of figure. Asmodeus sighs convulsively, feeling the pleasant smell of vanilla blooming on his skin as the wax drips onto his torso.

His head tilts back when the wax hits his nipple, making you giggle when you see his cock twitch, and then you squat down next to his upper half of his body, running your fingers through his strawberry blonde curls.

"You'll look so perfect when I'm done... Be patient a little bit, I'm almost done," with every word you said, more and more drops of hot liquid fell on him, almost instantly hardening on his heated, silky skin.

Asmodeus presses closer to your hand, feeling the desire to jerk closer or move away, he just wants something. That overwhelming feeling of your eyes on him is the best thing he's ever experienced. He never wants it to end.

A storm of feelings raged in Asmodeus' chest, so intense and deep that he was afraid to drown in this sea of passion.

The light touch of skin, the gentle whispering of words, the radiance of eyes that he felt like in his gut – all this only intensified the flame burning inside him. He didn't want this feeling to disappear, because it was his source of excitement, his life force.

Every cell in his body was drawn to it, every thought was obscured by this powerful wave of emotions. The demon knew that this feeling had changed him, it revealed his true self, absorbing him completely. He felt that it was something more than love or passion – it was a bond of souls that united him with him forever.

"Are you thinking, Asmo, is everything okay?" You ask, interrupting the flow of his thoughts by removing his blindfold, which immediately makes him wince, but he sighs with relief.

"Yes... It's just unusually pleasant. Very..?" The demon whispers, and then opens his eyes in surprise when you put him between your legs, putting the candle aside and he looks in the mirror.

There is a pleasant purr in his chest when he sees this stupid inscription, who else would write this on him?

"A heart with the first letters of our names inside? You are charming..."

The fifth brother's head turns to the side, gently kissing you on the cheek, sighing with displeasure when the burning in his hands reminded him of the ropes. You just kiss his cheek, sliding your hand down the curve of his waist.

"Can I...? Or should I untie you?" Asmodeus looks down at where your hand has landed, a slight grin blooms on his lips and he nods.

"Come on, make me feel good... The feeling of wax on the skin is not the most comfortable," Asmo chuckles, putting his head on your shoulder, moaning when your hand wraps around his hard cock.

"So wet... Are you sure the wax wasn't pleasant?" You ask, even though he only snorts, pushing lightly into your hand, which makes you squeeze his trunk in your fingers.

The soft, golden candlelight danced on the light walls, painting an ephemeral picture of intimacy. Among the lush pillows and blankets spread out on the floor, their gazes locked, two souls surrendered to the charm of each other's presence.

Your strong arms wrapped around the demon, hugging it to your broad chest. Asmodeus intertwined his own slender fingers intertwined with his own, as if trying to hold back the fragile but strong emotions surging from within. Time forgot its haste as they slowly swayed, their breathing mixing in a hypnotic rhythm that echoed in such a filled, but now empty space.

"Come on, baby... Will you cum for me?" Asmodeus sighs at your question, and his twitching cock perfectly answers your question and you gently kiss him on the thin column of his neck, pulling out a sigh of pure bliss... Which will break through a bunch more during this time.

[koshkamartell]

No One But Me

notes: I'm so sorry this has taken so long to write and post to you all. I had initially wanted to finish the epilogue and post it as one complete work, however it has stretched longer than I anticipated and I don't think it is fair to keep you guys waiting. I know it might be annoying that I'm posting this epilogue as two parts, so forgive me for that, but it might be more enjoyable this way.

warnings: some warnings have been omitted in order not to spoil parts of the story, dissociation, descriptions of episodes of depression, instances of PTSD, mentions of pregnancy, lots of angst and emotion, grief, mentions of past sexual abuse and assault.

When you arrive back to your home in Jackson the first thing you do is take a shower. You strip the layers of clothes from your body and leave them discarded on the floor in the corner, too tired to bother putting them in the clothes hamper. You remove the necklace from your neck and toss it onto the pile of clothes.

You stand under the blasting stream of hot water and groan with appreciative satisfaction as it pours along your neck and down your back. You lather your hands with a bar of soap and drag it over your arms and chest, then your legs and the rest of your body. You bow your head to watch the diluted soapy mix of blood and dirt swirl around your feet before disappearing down the drain. You stay under the water until every inch of your body is clean.

Your brain is blank, operating on autopilot, and all the scarce remaining energy within you is channelled into each slow, deliberate movement of your limbs. After the shower you dress in an old shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, then you pad to the kitchen to see what you can eat. Maria had dropped off a stew earlier, when you had just returned back home - she had lingered at your doorstep, concern etched all over her pretty features, only leaving once you reassured her you'd be okay alone.

You stand in the kitchen and eat a few spoonfuls of stew directly from the pot. Although you haven't eaten a full meal for several days your appetite is dulled by exhaustion, and a few bites seem to suffice, sating the twisting hunger pains in your stomach.

The lure of sleep is too inticing and powerful to resist any longer, and so you half stumble to your bedroom to finally collapse into your bed. Both your body and mind are so overcome with fatigue that you slip into a black dreamless state as soon as your head hits the pillow. You sleep for 12 straight hours.

••••••

The first few days pass by in a blur. Maria and Tommy take turns stopping by each day to check up on you, a meal from the mess hall always in hand. You barely talk during their visits, purposely avoiding their pitying and worried expressions. They don't hang around for long, just enough to check that you are coping and not in need of anything. They want you to take some time off work for a while, they say. You don't bother to protest.

During those first days your friends stop by several times, but you don't answer their knocks on your door. You aren't ready to socialise with anyone and you know they will overwhelm you with a myriad of questions about things that you have no desire to talk about. Tommy or Maria must tell them as much, for the knocks eventually cease, leaving you to the quiet comfort of your self imposed isolation.

You wake, eat as much of the food as you can stomach, then go back to sleep. This cycle continues for a week. On the seventh day you wake up feeling less disconnected from reality, your brain and body more refreshed, a calm clarity flooding through your system.

But the feeling is short lived, for as soon as your feet touch the bedroom floor you find yourself retching. You blindly rush to the toilet just in time to vomit a heap of yellow bile into the bowl. You gasp in between heaves, sweat beads forming along your hairline, and it doesn't take long for your stomach to empty itself from the gross acidic liquid.

Maybe you ate too much last night. Maybe the tomatoes in the stew were too acidic for your stomach. You'll have to be more careful next time.

You force yourself to take a shower, desperate for the relief the hot water grants your body. You stay under the stream until the hot water runs out, then quickly bundle yourself in a towel and go to get dressed. You still have no intention of leaving the house, for facing the world outside seems impossible right now - you want to remain in the cosy security of your cocoon for a little while longer. You make a mental note to do a load of laundry later and dress in a fresh set of pyjamas.

Today you opt for a change of scenery and decide to totter out to the living room and laze in your armchair. Your brain no longer feels so foggy, so you might even try reading a new book, if you feel ambitious enough. There's still a couple of library books on your shelf that you have yet to finish. You are just about to take a seat when a knock comes at your door - Tommy or Maria, no doubt.

You are shocked when you swing the door open and find Ellie on your doorstep. She looks dejected and uncertain, as though she isn't really sure why she's arrived at your home. She looks like an anxious child as she shifts her weight between her feet.

"Hey," she mumbles, her eyes not quite meeting yours.

"Hi," you whisper back. There's an awkward pause as you wait for her to speak. You've known Ellie long enough to know that she's struggling to articulate what she wants to say. You can't help feeling sorry for her - she must have so many questions and thoughts running through her mind, so many conflicting emotions battling inside her heart.

If it were anyone else on your doorstep you would turn them away, but you feel like you owe it to Ellie to talk. You invite her inside and insist on making a pot of tea for you both to share.

"You look like shit," she quips as she follows you inside. There's no malice in her voice; she's making a simple observation, and you're sure you do indeed look horrible. You haven't looked in the mirror since you've been back. Maybe you've been afraid of what you would see reflected back at you, that you will finally be confronted with the shame and guilt and misery that you've been suppressing.

"Why did you leave?" She asks sharply, leaning against the kitchen counter as she watches you prepare the tea. The safety of your home seems to have granted Ellie the confidence she needed, you think wryly.

You clear your throat, conscious of how rough your voice sounds from lack of use.

"Joel wanted to find somewhere else to live for a while," you answer surprisingly smooth, not meeting her eye.

It is the first time you have spoken his name and the word feels strange on your tongue. You fill a small saucepan with water, empty some tea leaves into it and then and set it on the stove.

"You didn't even say goodbye," she shoots back quickly, an edge of accusation in her voice. The hurt is evident in her voice; she probably thinks you willingly left without saying farewell to her.

"I didn't want to go," you reply softly. You turn the flame of the stove on and glance over to her. "I wouldn't have left without saying goodbye. You know that, Ellie."

Ellie stares at you for a moment with an air of wariness about her, a slight pout formed on her young face. She looks like she wants to believe you but something is holding her back.

"Did he make you?" She asks quietly.

Her question makes your stomach clench.  You don't want to denigrate Joel or expose the ugly truth of his actions, but you think you might too tired to be tactful or diplomatic for long. You wonder if she's heard any talk around the town. You wouldn't be surprised if there is gossip being spread around.

You understand that she must be feeling frustrated, that she probably hasn't had anyone around to talk about it all with. Poor Ellie, you think. You resolve to try your best to provide a safe space for her, as long as she doesn't probe you too much.

"Yes," you answer simply. "But he wasn't in a good place mentally after your....argument. He wasn't thinking clearly."

"He never thinks - he just does whatever the fuck he wants, without even thinking about anyone else!" Ellie bursts out angrily. She crosses her arms and huffs out an irritated grumble. "He's a fuckin' psycho."

You sigh softly and pull two mugs out from one of the kitchen cupboards. You have nothing to say back to that, nothing to argue in response. You cannot deny she speaks the truth atleast to some extent.

A tense minute of silence passes between you before Ellie speaks again.

"Did he hurt you?"

It catches you off guard. Your movements falter, your grip on the mugs wavering slight. The ceramic clink sharply together and you have to quickly set them on the counter before they fall to the ground. You glance at her and try to school your expression to one of confusion. She meets your eyes with unwavering focus, sharp and expectant.

"No," you blurt a little too sharply. "I mean, what do you mean?"

"I mean, did he hurt you?" Ellie says slowly, empathically, a biting edge to her voice.

Ofcourse he had, but what would the point be to expose her to that truth? It wouldn't fix anything - it would only further damage the already shattered foundation of her relationship with Joel and cause her to feel more animosity toward him. Why add more fuel to the fire?

Besides, just to what extent Joel had infact hurt you, both physically and emotionally, was your pain to bear, your trauma, and the thought of sharing it with anyone felt wrong.

"No," you answer flatly, the lie slipping from your tongue with surprising ease. "He didn't."

You both fall silent, unsure what to say next. The atmosphere in the small space of the kitchen becomes thick, like the two of you are holding your breath. Then the water begins to boil and you quickly act to remove it from the stove, grateful for the distraction. You position a steel strainer over one of the mugs and pour the water through it, then do the same with the second mug.

"Did you love him?" Ellie asks, her voice now low and gentle. She looks down at the ground, too vulnerable to meet your eyes.

"I did," you respond in a soft whisper, eyes fixed on the tea. "I really did."

When you're finished, you slide one of the mugs over the Ellie. She tentatively looks up at you as she grips the handle of the mug.

"And now," she questions with the slight raise of an eyebrow. "Do you still love him? Or do you hate him?"

You pick up your mug and give a delicate blow on the liquid.

"No, I don't hate him," you admit in a hushed voice. You ignore the question about love.

"Well I do," Ellie growls, her face suddenly darkening into a contemptous frown. "He's a fuckin' liar."

You shake your head gently and look back up at her. "He loves you more than anything in this world, El. I'm sure he had good reason to do what he did."

"Bullshit!" She scoffs angrily. "He was just too selfish to tell me the truth."

"He probably wanted to protect you. He would die if anything were to happen to you." You try to reason. You still don't know the exact details of what happened, so you hazard a guess at what Joel's justification would be. "He was probably scared he would lose you if you knew the truth."

Ellie says nothing and walks from the kitchen to the living room with the mug in her hands, blowing on the hot liquid to cool it down. You follow her and the two of you sit on the couch, one on either end.

"I just feel so betrayed," she admits, her voice low and laced with frustration and pain. "Like, he fuckin' lied to me all this time. And I knew something wasn't right, you know? I fuckin' knew it."

You nod slowly to indicate you're listening, trying to ignore the guilt gnawing in your insides over the fact you had just lied to her yourself. Ellie looks down at her cup of tea and shakes her head bitterly.

"I'm so angry at him," she mutters.

"You are allowed to be angry, El. People make mistakes. Maybe you need to talk to him, hear it from his perspective."

Ellie takes a slurp of her tea. "I dunno. I got no idea when that will be. Uncle Tommy says he's not coming back."

You say nothing. You knew that Joel wasn't going to be back in Jackson for a while, if ever - Tommy had told you so when you returned, an effort on his part to reassure you that you would be safe. You were neither relieved nor pleased to hear the news. In fact, since being back you hadn't had much of a chance to process what had happened to you, or your feelings. Everything has been locked away deep inside you, self preservation working overtime.

"You and Joel aren't together any more, are you?" Ellie questions hesitantly.

You both stare down at the mugs of tea in your hands, too uncomfortable to meet each other's eyes.

"No, we aren't," you reply simply, your voice devoid of any affection.

"I guess you don't wanna see me anymore, seein' he won't be around." Ellie mumbles.

"Oh, El," you breathe out, trying hard not to let the pity you feel cloud your expression when you finally look over at her. "Whatever happened between Joel and I...that doesn't affect our friendship. I will always want to see you. You mean so much to me. "

It is the most sentimental and emotive you have ever been with the teenager and you are unsure how she will react to such an emotional display. Ellie has never been the kind to express anything sugarcoated, and she rarely communicates without her usual sparkling wit or sarcasm. You worry that you've crossed a boundary with her.

There's a few beats of loaded silence between you, then she gives a little sniff and nods her head once, still not meeting your gaze.

"Good," she says plainly, maintaining a detached exterior.

You swear you can detect the slightest trace of relief in her voice. You don't push the topic any further. The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while and sip from your mugs of tea. Neither of you mention Joel again.

Ellie gives you a tight hug when she departs from your home and you sense the great unspoken affection within the gesture. You give her shoulder a gentle squeeze, a reassurance that you will always be there for her, and when she leaves you feel a tiny ache of tenderness inside your heart.

Although Tommy tried his best to downplay the whole saga, Joel's absence within the patrolling community became somewhat of a scandal. Tommy had to call a meeting amongst all the patrolmen to address the rumours and gossip that had been circulating. He asserted that Joel was in good health but needed a break from others for a while; he would be living outside the gates for the foreseeable future but would be actively communicating through radio and keeping watch from his remote location. The exaplanation seemed to appease everyone's curiosity and the community eventually continued on without dispute.

It wasn't a lie, either.

Initially he was going to stay at the raider's cabin alone but Tommy convinced him to live closer to the settlement with the reasoning that it was safer and he would have access to food and supplies when needed.

Although Tommy was disgusted and horrified by the snippet of insight into Joel's abusive behaviour towards you, he still cared about his older brother. He didn't feel right about Joel living so far away, isolated and alone. He worried that Joel's already precarious mental state could easily worsen if he was left by himself without any purpose in his life.

Joel agreed to act as a sentry at the cabin checkpoint a few miles outside Jackson. He and Tommy remained in contact through a radio walkie talkie to report any signs of danger around the area. It was a beneficial arrangement for everyone; it afforded Jackson extra security and in exchange Joel was issued a ration of food supplies once a fortnight, delivered by Tommy.

It went without saying that Joel shouldn't step foot through the gates of Jackson so soon after what happened. Tommy couldn't trust that Joel wouldn't do something reckless if he did and Tommy wanted to respect you and your right to feel safe.

But to his surprise it was Joel himself who voiced that it wasn't a good idea for him to be in the community. Joel just couldn't be around people for a while. He needed space and time to himself, away from forced social interactions, away from all the guilt and shame, the ruination of his life.

Joel didn't admit it to Tommy but another reason for his self imposed exclusion was because he couldn't bear the thought of seeing you or Ellie. He was sure he would die on the spot if he caught a glimpse of either of you. Witnessing either of you continuing your lives without him would only serve to prove that neither of you needed him, and for Joel that would be akin to torture.

He spends his days in the small cabin by himself, the radio walkie talkie serving as the only connection to what had been his home for the last five years. He patrols the surrounding area twice a day. Tommy gave him a few paperback books to read to pass the time, and Joel ends up reading and rereading them within a couple of weeks. He savours his rationed food and eats modest meals, the only remotely comforting thing he seems to have out in the wilderness.

You should be here with him. This is what his plan had been all along - living a simple and quiet life surrounded by nature, far away from everyone else, just you and he. He feels frustrated and angry; no, he's actually fucking shattered, completely, to the point of abject dissociation.

You're back in Jackson, living your life without him, probably so carefree and happy that he wouldn't even recognise your smiling face as belonging to the woman whom he had loved so passionately. Ellie would be the same, so young and exuberant, not missing his presence for even a second. He imagines the two of you going about your day, laughing and spending time with your friends, Elle rearing the sheep while you tended to the children's education.

Joel is often lost in nostalgic daydreams about you and Ellie during the daylight hours. He reminisces about the times he spent teaching Ellie chords on his guitar and the movie nights where they would watch the same VHS tapes over and over in the living room. He thinks about the all the times they shared dinner together while Ellie recited ridiculous jokes and anecdotes. Those memories make Joel smile. Oh, how he wish he could experience them again.

The memories of you, however, are far more painful than pleasant. He thinks about the early days when you first starting seeing each other, how passionate and romantic it had been in the beginning. He recalls the infatuation written all over your face, all shy smiles and giggles, your supple lips against his. His heart and body ache as he remembers the feel of you in his hands, pliable and eager to please, so willing to submit to him.

He misses the softness of your skin and the taste of your mouth, the wet warmth of your cunt and your sweet moans in his ear. Sometimes he jerks his cock with your name on his lips, luxuriating in that moment of fleeting pleasure before he's left feeling empty and pathetic once more.

He dreams about the two of you almost every night. Some dreams are like nightmares; recreations of you and Ellie turning and walking away from him while he was unable to move, his feet cemented to the ground and leaving him helpless and hysterical. Those dreams leave him with that familiar gut wrenching devastation which cause him to jolt awake gasping, his cheeks already wet with salty tears.

In those times Joel reaches across the bed in blind search of your body, desperate to feel the weight of you next to him. He had never acknowledged it but your presence in his bed had been a source of comfort to him, especially during the nights when peaceful sleep would evade him. Now you are gone from his life and his bed, he feels more alone than ever.

He has other dreams, rare ones where you and Ellie forgive him and hug him and kiss his cheeks. Those are far more bearable. After those happy dreams he wakes feeling just a little less glum, just a little more inspired to keep living. The fantasies become persistent, chasing after him through the day as well as the night, never giving him reprieve for very long.

Despite his longing, Joel doesn't look at the polaroids. He doesn't allow himself to hold your panties in his calloused grasp or to twirl your ribbon around his fingers. He doesn't even open the shoebox once.

••••••

After wallowing in seclusion for another week you decide you need to get on with your life. Knowing you can't avoid people for much longer, you arrange for your friends to come visit you one afternoon to debrief them on everything that has happened. You dread it more than anything but you feel too guilty to keep evading them, knowing they are patiently waiting in the background for you to finally come to them and share your experience.

The group of women surround you in your cramped living room and cling to every word you speak, fascinated yet astounded by your story. You reiterate that Joel forced you to leave town when he was distressed and not thinking straight, that you hadn't wanted to go when you did. You omit so much, lie through the grit of you teeth so often, that it feels like a performance of sorts.

You hate yourself for it.

You tell them you and Joel are over and that you just want to move on. You try your best to don a fake smile. The women seem to accept what you say and don't ask too many questions. You catch Kate gazing at you pensively a few times, her expression unreadable, but you pretend not to notice.

The next morning you wake up with an itching compulsion to deep clean the entirety of your home, like a switch has been flicked inside your brain. Your body feels recovered and revitalised enough now, so you leap up and get straight to work cleaning your cottage from top to bottom.

You strip your bed sheets and put on new ones before rearranging the position of your bed and your set of draws. You scrub your bathroom and sweep and wash all the floors. You dust every surface and wash down the windows inside and out. You wipe down the kitchen from top to bottom and reorganise your pantry.

You work on autopilot as you move throughout the cottage completing each task. You are methodical and focused, so preoccupied with cleaning that your brain disengages from anything else. You continue until you are exhausted, knees aching and finger joints tight, and the fresh scent of lemon permeates your cottage. You meander between each room to survey your hard work, soaking up the gratification that comes from the knowledge that your space was now cleansed. It feels purified and fresh, untainted by the lingering energy of anyone else.

Like Joel.

His name echoes in your mind, causing an involuntary shiver to crawl up your spine. You suddenly become hyperaware of your own unwashed state, the dried sweat and muck on your skin and clothes now feeling unbearable. You quickly make your way to the bathroom and tear off your clothes, reminding yourself to do a load of laundry later.

You turn on the shower and wait for the hot water to kick in. As you stand there naked, ready to step into the alcove, an abrupt wave of nausea knocks you to your knees. You steady yourself on your hands and gag and dry heave, but nothing comes up. The queasiness eventually passes, leaving your body trembling and depleted.

You should have eaten something more substantial today.

You crawl into the shower and sit against the tiled wall, pulling your knees up to your chest. You wrap your arms around your legs and bow your head, letting the water cascade over you and fill your ears with a dull roar.

Only in this moment, when you feel so alone and vulnerable and weak, do you weep for the first time since coming back home. You cry for Oscar and the wretched way he died, for the immense guilt you feel that he died as a result of trying to help you. You cry for the memories of your days together, light hearted and joyful. You cry for the loss of a close friend, a shining light of hope in your life, for all that could have been.

And at last you cry, ugly and unabashed, at the realisation to why you've been feeling so ill, why your belly has recently started to swell.

2 months later

Joel is sat at the square table by the cabin window, a small handled blade in one of his wide hands. He studies the little chunk of wood in his other hand, rubbing his thumb over its smooth underside. He has only just started this new project but it is quickly taking shape. He hasn't yet decided if this new figurine will be a black bear or a panda.

He has recently taken up whittling, a hobby that he used to dabble in but hasn't indulged in for a few years now. There are so many hours in the day and patrolling and checking traps hardly puts a dent in the passage of time. The nights are even worse, seeming to tick by agonisingly slow, magnifying the cold empty space in his bed and within his heart. Whittling has become one way to distract himself from the pain, even if only for an hour at a time.

Joel carves and chips at the wood with surprisingly dexterity considering the size of his hands. He holds the wood with a gentle kind of reverence as he carefully shaves and shapes with his knife, his tongue lodged in his cheek while he concentrates.

Oh, how he wishes Ellie could see the latest piece he accomplished. It sits on the windowsill beside him, watching on as he works; a regal looking hawk perched on the top of a tree branch, it's proud chest puffed and its beady gaze piercing. He knows she would love it. He would be kidding himself to think he created it without her in mind.

Joel wonders what figure he would whittle for you. A cat, maybe. Or a turtle dove. Something more delicate and pretty thank eagle. You imagines presenting it to you, how your face would light up in delighted surprise and you'd kiss him and cling to him and----

Except that won't happen, he inwardly scolds himself. You fucked it all up.

Why didn't he this sooner? Why didn't he do something romantic like this earlier, when you were still his, when you still loved him? Why had he never made more of an effort to show you his love, in ways that weren't fueled by aggression and his need to dominate? He had always been so scared of losing control that he didn't allow, himself to open up, to show that side of himself to you, not until it was too late. Not until after he raped you.

He had everything he ever wanted with you and he lost it all. He lost you. Just like he lost everything and everyone else.

Joel frowns and shakes his head irritability, his self hatred smouldering like a hot coal. Living a solitary existence in the checkpoint cabin has given Joel more than an ample amount of time to reflect on the past, on his actions and the consequences of all his deeds. Sometimes he thinks he is slowly going mad, for he has not been alone like he is now for a very, very long time, and the solitude can be defeaning. It is peculiar for him not to have you or Ellie around, and some times he has to remind himself that he is no longer in Jackson, that he isn't just simply waiting for either one of you to finish work and come back home to him.

He's alone, completely and utterly.

It gives him time to think of the people in his life who have been significant to him, who he has loved in one way or another, the people who have managed to carve a home inside his heart. The ones whose faces and voices have been etched into his brain, haunting him like ghosts of the past.

He thinks of Sarah and her killer smile, of all the happy memories they shared as she grew up. He's able to smile at those memories of being a single father to such a beautiful girl, comforted to know that he did his best to be the best parent he could.

But it doesn't take long for those joyful recollections to become overshadowed by the feelings of panic and anguish that still seem so real even after more than 20 years have passed. He tries to push them from his mind but it seems impossible, like the repressed pain can no longer be subjugated and imprisoned in the deep recesses of his consciousness.

The agony rips right through Joel when he remembers the worst day of his life - the day his child was shot dead right infront of his own eyes. It tears his heart to shreds to recall the harrowing moment he held his dead child in his arms. He failed to protect her and keep her safe, failed to uphold such a crucial and fundamental part of being a father.

Joel's self hatred festers and grows inside his chest. He feels it creep up from his ribcage, like noxious black tendrils, to curl around his neck. It is suffocating, threatening to choke all the breath from his body.

I'm so sorry, babygirl. I'm so sorry.

The emotions he has stifled for so many years are finally unleashed and he cannot stop the torrent of tears that come flooding. He can no longer stop the deep seated guilt and sadness from rising up and swallowing him. He ends up on the bed, curled into himself, weeping for what seems like hours. He cries like he cried when you turned and walked away from him for the very last time. He buries his face in his hands and cries and howls until his guts and sternum feel hollow and his stomach threatens to retch.

Joel remains in bed long after his tears cease. His entire body feels drained and limp but the weight of grief has been lightened somewhat; there's an almost serene, numbed sensation cloaking him and he no longers feels like he is drowning or that his brain is short circuiting. It is a strange feeling, one that he is conscious of but uncertain of how to process. The respite from the heavy emotions stretches across several days, granting Joel some peace inside his mind.

The bouts of intense sorrow happen several times more. Like waves along the ocean shore, the grief comes crashing down and washes over him. He no longer fights it, instead letting it engulf him until he cries and releases the pressure of the agony that has accumulated within him. Each time the sadness ebbs away, Joel feels that same sedated solace envelope him.

He occasionally thinks of Tess, of the last words she spoke to him before he was forced to abandon her. Save who you can. He had always remembered her words, using it as the ammunition he needed to continue powering along to complete his mission of transporting Ellie to Marlene. And even though Ellie now hates him for murdering the Fireflies and lying to her, Joel feels not a shred of regret for his decision to protect her existence and save her. He fucking saved her, and in turn saved them both, for he would have surely died had she been sacrificed for a shot at curing the dreaded cordyceps infection.

Tess's parting words echo in Joel's ears whenever he thinks of that fateful day at the raider's cabin - the day when Oscar tried to save you and died, when Tommy led a rescue mission to find you, when he had ended up losing you forever.

He had failed to protect you from that raider, to save you from whatever depraved things he has planning to do to you; it had been Oscar, his rival for your affection, that had been your hero. It still fills him with great shame to think of the way you yelled at him with so much rage, stupefying him with the acidic truth of your words.

"That raider could have killed us all! He was going to hurt me and you did nothing! Oscar saved me from that raider, not you!"

He failed you. He didn't protect you from his own failings as a man and partner. His need for control, borne from the trauma of losing Sarah, had overshadowed his ability to nurture and cherish you. He's painfully cognisant of this now, only now it is too late to repair and heal your relationship.

Fuck.

He would do anything to show you how sorry he is, how much regret resides so deeply inside his soul to have hurt you. He would give anything for the chance to make up for everything he ever did to you, for one last chance to hold your face in the palms of his hands and kiss your lips and whisper his apologies.

It has been just over two months since Joel has seen your face. He can still picture you as clear as day, though. Your face is burned into his memory, all the defining features of your image; the plumpness of your bottom lip and the wide set of yours eyes, the shape of your nose and the angle of your jaw, the arch of your brows and the curve of your chin. He wonders if he will ever lay his eyes upon them ever again.

••••••

Nights are difficult for you to endure these days. Sleep is elusive, a goal you chase for hours as you toss and turn in your bed. When you do finally grasp a few hours of sleep you rarely get a decent nights rest. Sometimes you're plagued by flashbacks of the raider and his filthy face, his burning malevolent eyes and his rotted teeth. Sometimes you dream of Oscar dying in your arms and you wake up crying.

You occasionally dream of Joel. They aren't dreams of him tying you up or loading you in the wagon, or being rough and cruel with you. In fact the dreams featuring Joel are the most peaceful ones your brain seems to conjure; they are mundane situations where he's cuddling you on the couch or repairing broken furniture in your cottage, and he seems happy, even sometimes smiling. Sometimes two small children run into the room giggling, a boy and a girl with dark brown curly hair and large brown eyes.

More often than not you wake up with an aching pain inside your ribs. Your bed feels so spacious and cold. These deathly quiet late nights are the only time you allow yourself to consciously confess you miss Joel. You miss his warmth, the squeeze of his thick arms around your body. You miss the rise and fall of his chest against your back as he spoons you, the mumbled drawl of his accent in your ear when you are half asleep.

Each morning you draw the curtains open and allow the sun to imbue every room in your home with its golden yellow light. You open the windows and welcome the gentle breeze that drifts in, fresh and carrying the perfume of spring flowers from nearby gardens. You are determined to begin each day with a positive outlook, a sort of promise to keep your spirits afloat.

You had resumed your work duties once you felt mentally stable enough to be around other people. You still hadn't really processed much of what had happened at the raider's cabin, but by this point of time in your life your brain had adapted to managing trauma the best way it knew how; repression and compartmentalisation was sufficient enough to allow you to continue living without having a complete breakdown.

You slipped back into your role as a teacher relatively easily - the children showed no signs of knowing the real reason why you had been missing from school for a few days, and so their ignorance spared you any further discomfort. You enjoyed seeing their youthful faces light up with interest during the more exciting lesson plans, enjoyed hearing their cheeky laughter peel through the building and out into the yard.

You had dreaded going back to the library for the first time. When you unlocked the front door and passed through the threshold, the jingle of the bell above you caught you off guard. It's tinkling sound was like a stab to your heart.

"Is it weird that I miss that sound?"

You heard Oscar's voice echo in your mind and your eyes instantly filled with sadness.

You slowly trailed through the library, running your fingers across the surface of the front counter, feeling like a ghost haunting an abandoned home. Although Oscar stopped working there some time before his death, you swear you could sense his presence within the nooks and crannies of the building; you half expected him to come strolling out from the back room with a book in hand and that characteristically charming grin on his face.

Except for Tommy no one had known about the love triangle between you, Oscar and Joel. As far as everyone in town knew, Oscar had died trying to rescue you and Joel after Joel had persuaded you to try living outside the gates. Oscar's body was transported back to Jackson and buried in the town cemetery as a hero. That's what everyone believed.

"Stop it," you had scolded yourself under your breath. "He's gone."

You got to work dusting down the shelves and straightening the books and comics, then you sorted through the stacks of returned books behind the counter. Sometime around the mid morning a trio of children entered into the library and rifled through the picture books, their giggles and chatter fill the quiet empty space, and you smiled to yourself.

The presence of the children around you made you contemplate just how proud you are to contribute to your community, how important your role is to help maintain a safe, happy place for people. This is what you want to live for, you think, to be a source of comfort and love in this apocalyptic world.

One of your hands trailed down to rest on your belly, warm and delicate. The telltale prick of impending tears stung your eyes and you sniffed them back. You're going to be strong, you promised yourself. You can be your own hero now. Oscar had helped you to realise just how special and important you are, and you owe it to him to keep living and being happy.

Besides, you've now got a whole new reason to be resilient.

After the initial shock and panic eventually ebbed away, you recognised deep down that you weren't irrevocably distressed at the thought of being pregnant. It may be an entirely unexpected and frightening prospect, but you feel no need to wallow in helplessness. You can't change what has happened. You draw strength from your acceptance of fate. You simply go on living, just as Oscar wanted you to.

You don't tell anyone. You feel the grip of paranoia every so often, worrying that people can see right through your exterior, and in those times you scurry back to the sanctuary of your home and isolate yourself until your next shift at the school or library. Kate and Rhi and Jess try to encourage you to be social and invite you to lunch and dinner dates and drinks at the Tipsy Bison - they never seem deterred by all the times you politely decline.

It takes two months of being back in Jackson for you to finally feel courageous enough to brave a community event. Your friend, Cassie, is finally getting married after all the months of planning and stress. You make the mammoth effort to disguise your pain and help organise her special day with the rest of your friends. You and Rhi endeavour to find enough pretty table cloths and flowers vases to decorate the town hall tables with, and the day before the event you and Kate collect enough flowers to design a stunning bouquet for Cassie to walk down the isle with.

The afternoon of the wedding is encumbered by a swell of stiflingly hot weather. The lack of breeze exacerbates the humidity and the only relief you can find is in the large pitcher of cool lemonade sitting infront of you on the table. You pour yourself another drink and relish the sound of the ice clinking as the sweet liquid spills into the glass.

"It's so fricken hot," Kate groans beside you. She unfurls a hand fan and begins to fan herself in a dramatic fashion.

You watch her with an amused little smile. The fan is plastic with a pastel pink paper leaf, and considering its age it is in quite good condition. It matches the dusky pink colour of her blouse well. You yourself opted for a flowy skirt and top of a similar style in an effort to hide the slight bump of your tummy. You're grateful that you haven't had a bout of nausea so far this afternoon.

You take a big gulp of lemonade and hum with satisfaction at sensation of the cool drink sliding down into your belly. You lean back into your chair and nurse the glass on your lap and watch the wedding celebration taking place all around you.

The town hall is brimming with wedding guests; some sit at the clusters of tables arranged around the open space in the middle, where people dance to country music played by the town band. It's a merry affair, carefree and jubilant, with everyone smiling and laughing. Cassie beams as she dances close to her groom in the centre of the hall. She wears a crown of different coloured flowers ontop of her head, a creation that you and Rhi helped to fashion for her special day. She makes a gorgeous bride, you think, like a fairy queen.

Her newly pronounced husband gazes at her face with open adoration. He only has eyes for her, not even paying attention to anyone else around them, as if they are the only people in the world. You're happy for your friend, that she's met someone who loves her so much. He's a good man. He's good to her. Perfect soul mates.

You aren't at all envious of Cassie, for she deserves to be happy, but there is undoubtedly a part of you that feels forlorn witnessing this celebration of love and matrimony. It's a bitter reminder of all that you have lost, of all the potential that never came to fruition, and of the dreams you had dared to dream before all the mess Joel put you through.

You feel the unexpected prick of tears filling your eyes. Oh, not now. This isn't the time to cry. You sniff and bow your head to discreetly swipe at your waterline but Kate notices what you're doing.

"Hey," she leans close to you and clasps her hand over your knee. "You okay?"

You aren't sure what to say to her. Yes, you are okay - on the surface, atleast. But on a more fundamental depth you aren't okay. You are still internally reeling from the trauma of what happened to you just two months ago. How can you tell your friend that your head and heart are still broken and jumbled, that you are still tormented by the death of the man who loved you so dearly and you him?

How can you tell her that despite everything Joel did to you over the past year, that his absence has left a painful emptiness within your life? How can you possibly describe these things to her when you yourself cannot fully comprehend your own feelings?

Lying is so much easier.

You dab at your nose with the back of your hand and raise your head. "Yeah, I'm okay," you answer. Kate leaves her hand on your knee and gives it a little squeeze.

"Look at me," she implores gently. You do as she asks, although there's a trace of shame in your expression as you do. She stares at you with concern and sincerity for a few moments, studying your face.

"It's okay not to be okay, you know?" Kate leans a little closer and lowers her voice. "You're allowed to be sad. You are allowed to grieve for a part of your life, even while you celebrate someone else's happiness."

Her sage words penetrate your carefully crafted facade of composure and strike at the raw wound deep inside your soul. Kate did always have a knack for summarising a complicated situation into a concise observation, but never in an insensitive manner. Her ability to read you causes a lump to swell in your throat and a fresh wave of tears to threaten to unleash.

You bow your head down once more, unable to meet her gaze any longer, and slip your hand over hers. Kate interlaces her fingers with yours and squeezes delicately. "You can be sad for as long as you need to be."

With her free hand she pours you another glassful of lemonade. You allow a few tears to fall before wiping them away and inwardly resolving to save them for the privacy of your bedroom late at night. You spend the rest of the wedding reception sipping lemonade with Kate and taking turns fanning each other, all while watching with delight as Rhi struts around the dance floor.

Life can be good, you think.

••••••

3 months later

The weeks following the wedding were  when you really started to struggle with the pregnancy. You were regularly hit with nausea throughout the day, no matter how much you snacked, and you were constantly battling the urge to abandon your work shifts to go home and sleep. Was this normal? There were so many questions you had, so many things you wondered about. Was it normal for your breasts to feel so swollen? Was it concerning that all you wanted to eat was mashed potato and bread slathed with honey? Why did it sometimes feel as though your abdomen muscles were close to tearing apart?

You knew nothing of what to expect as your body was growing a new life. All of your scarce knowledge about pregnancy had come from an outdated book about women's health that you had found in the library. You studied your body in the mirror each morning, running your hands over your thickening abdomen, fretting over just how much longer you'd be able to hide your body until it would no longer be possible. You weren't sure how far along you could be - you couldn't remember when your last period was, so you couldn't really calculate an estimate.

There was no doubt that the weight of your secret was taking a toll on you mentally. There were times when you felt very alone, when you craved the comfort that comes after sharing your woes and worries with someone trusted. It was becoming too much for you to bear by yourself.

You thought of the people in your life that you would approach for help, who you felt you could trust to protect you and offer you the understanding and wisdom you so needed right now. It didn't take long for you to arrive at the natural conclusion that Tommy and Maria would be the first people you wanted to confide in.

They were trustworthy people, two important pillars in the Jackson community, always looking out for the wellbeing of others.Tommy had led the rescue mission that had ultimately saved you, and Maria had nurtured you when you came back to town. They also had children of their own and could counsel you about all the questions and issues that were causing you to toss and turn in bed every night.

You had planned to announce the news one evening at their home, when Ellie was present. You wanted the three of them to know first - it seemed appropriate considering you were all connected to Joel in some way, making you like a surrogate family.

You sit on the couch in their living room now, twisting your hands in your lap, steeling yourself for their unpredicted reactions.

"So why'd you ask to see us?" Maria prompts, angling her body to face you. "Is everything okay?"

You glance up at Tommy standing across the room. He is watching you with that characteristic expression of his, eyebrows knitted together and his beautiful dark eyes full of concern. Ellie sits in the armchair beside him, her eyebrows raised, awaiting your response. You take in a sharp breath of air and the answer comes tumbling from your mouth, candid and without emotion.

"I'm pregnant."

Maria is known for being a composed, staunch woman, however, your revelation has her demeanour momentarily slipping; her eyes widen and her mouth falls open in shock, a tiny gasp escaping from her. Ellie's reaction is similar, with her fingertips coming up to cover the bottom half of her face. Tommy suddenly expels a choked splutter, as if he has something lodged in his throat.

"Fffuuuuuck," Ellie manages to exclaim through her flabbergasted state. "Is it Joel's?"

"Ellie," Tommy mumbles in an embarrassed tone, shooting her a reproachful glare. Ellie gives him a theatrical shrug and gesticulates to you.

"What's wrong with asking that? She could've totally got a secret boyfriend since she's been back!" Ellie cocks her head to the side. "So uh, do you?"

"No, Ellie," you answer dryly. "It's Joel's baby."

"So are you gonna tell him?" Ellie leans forward in the armchair with her elbows resting on her knees. "Do you want him to know?"

You look down at your hands in your lap and give a little shrug. "Probably not right now," you admit quietly. "I don't know if it's a good idea."

"Whatever your decision, we will support you completely," Maria asserts firmly, reaching over to clasp her hand over yours. "We are here for you, whatever you need."

You glance up at her and give her a small smile, hoping she can recognise the relief and gratitude you feel at her words. "Thank you," you reply shyly.

"So you're just going to keep it a secret from Joel? Even though he's the father?" Ellie suddenly spits out, disapproval and disgust heavy on her tongue. You look at her as she casts her piercing gaze around the three of you. "More secrets?"

You know Ellie is still feeling sensitive about Joel lying about the real events at the hospital. You can understand why the idea of you concealing your own truth is triggering for her. But her outburst takes you by surprise, her disdain stinging you like the tail of a scorpion.

"Just for now, Ellie. It's for the best. Please don't be upset."

Tommy seems to snap out of his daze, the tension in the room prompting him to intercede. He stands up straighter and clears his throat to address Ellie. "Now El, that's her choice to make and she's got her reasons for it. Ain't no one else's opinion matters right now."

"He's right, Ellie," Maria interjects, calm and gentle. "Pregnancy can be a very challenging experience for a woman, not just physically but emotionally and mentally. If keeping the news confidential gives her reassurance that she's safe, then we should support that."

Your heart swells with appreciation for Maria. You turn your hand over to curl your fingers through hers. "Thank you," you whisper.

Ellie stands up from the couch unceremoniously, mumbling an excuse that she needs to go see her friend Dina. Her attitude hurts but you cannot blame her for feeling how she does. She doesn't look at any of you before she stalks out of the living room and slams the front door shut after her, the force of it reverberating through the house. You flinch and Maria gives your hand a comforting squeeze.

"Don't worry about her." Tommy takes a seat in the unoccupied armchair and stretches his legs out infront of him. "She'll come 'round soon enough. The way things were left with Joel...well, it's still raw. Don't take it personally."

"Maybe she needs to have a talk with him sometime," you murmer, staring at your hand still clasped with Maria's. "For some kind of closure."

Tommy hums contemplatively. "Yeah, well, maybe that ain't such a bad idea. Once she's ready, ofcourse."

"Ofcourse," you say in agreement.

A silence falls over the room, but it isn't an unpleasant one. Infact, you feel quite comfortable on the couch, Maria's presence beside you acting like a calming anchor, Tommy's laid back nature making you feel at ease. You look up at him and he flashes you a polite smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

It is never wise to make such comparisons, but you cannot stop yourself from contemplating the contrast between the Miller brothers. The men have such opposing personalities that you occasionally wonder how they are siblings. How does one possess such a benevolent and altruistic persona while the other is paranoid, brutish and ill-tempered?

You had sometimes wondered what Joel had been like prior to the outbreak. Maybe he had been an entirely different man, with a sense of humour and an easygoing nature. You know he had a daughter who was lost in the outbreak but you know no other details; it was Ellie who told you in confidence one day, but Joel had never talked of her, so you chose not to ask about her, despite wanting to know more.

You look at Tommy now as he speaks with his wife, and you silently analyse the features of his handsome face. There are clear similarities to he and Joel, such as the patchiness of their facial hair and the shape of their mouth, bottom lip full and sensual. But while the younger brother's mouth is more often than not pulled into a jovial smile, the older rarely smiles at anyone except Ellie.

It is their striking dark eyes, arguably the most attractive feature of both the brothers, that are strangely contrasted. Tommy's brown eyes always seem to emanate a sense of warmth and humility. Whether he is talking with a close friend or greeting an acquaintance, his eyes shine with a geniality that puts people at ease. You watch him now and notice how they soften even more when he looks at Maria,  with nothing but pure adoration in his orbs.

You aren't sure if you've ever witnessed Joel look at you in such a way, though it wouldn't have been more than a couple of times if so. Had he always been so stern and serious? If not, what had made Joel into the hardened man he is today?

"Tommy," you speak up, catching his attention. "Ellie told me Joel had a child before the outbreak. A daughter."

Tommy nods once, his eyes flickering back to Maria for a brief moment before he answers. "Yeah, he did. Her name was Sarah. She passed on outbreak day."

Sarah.

You have no clue what she may have looked like, but you can't stop your imagination from conjuring up an image of a young girl with round cheeks and sparkling brown eyes. Knowing how much Joel loves Ellie, you bet Sarah was the apple of his eye.

You hesitate for a few beats before you ask the question that you have wanted to ask Tommy since the moment you accepted the reality of your circumstances. "Was....was he a good father?" You ask, the unexpected tremble of your voice taking you by surprise.

You notice Maria's back straighten just the slightest and the way her gaze narrows at her husband, indications that she could also be intrigued to hear his answer.

Tommy exhales a soft sigh, a sad little noise, then gives a solemn nod of his head. "He was. She was his everythin'. He would've done anythin' for her." He keeps his eyes fixed on you, genuine candor written in the somber knit of his brows and his downturned mouth. "He worked his ass off to give her the best life he could. He loved her more than anythin' in this world."

Tommy inhales an audible breath and pauses, seeming to hesitate before his next words. "I know my brother has his faults."

His eyes drop down to the floor, a wave of shame and sadness visibly crashing over him. Maria doesn't outwardly react to his words and you momentarily wonder if she has any idea just what Tommy is alluding to. "I know he hasn't been a good man to you. But Joel was always a good father, there's no doubt about that. He was the best father to Sarah."

As you listen intently to Tommy's words you come to realise that there is no doubt in your mind that Joel was a good father to his daughter; you know just how deeply he loves Ellie, that he would be willing to do whatever he had to in order to keep her safe and happy. You knew, deep in your heart of hearts, that although Joel has many flaws, he is nothing short of a dedicated and loving father.

"When Sarah died...he just couldn't handle losin' her. He..." Tommy's voice becomes thicker now, and you can see how he is trying to choke out the words through the lump of emotion sitting in his throat. "He tried to end it all...to kill himself. He was so broken."

Tommy bows his head. Your heart skips a beat and your stomach suddenly drops. You feel a pang of something - a mix of sympathy and shock, perhaps -  strike behind your ribcage.

Joel tried to kill himself?

You think of how Joel looked that day you left him kneeling in the snow, when you had walked away from him after Tommy had come to your aid. You remember the devastation within his eyes, the hoarse desperation in his voice as he begged you to stay, the strangled sobs of defeat that followed. Joel must have looked similarly when he was preparing to end his life.

Witnessing him so distraught had not affected you at the time - you had been too traumatised by the events of your abduction to feel anything more than relief for the end of your nightmarish ordeal. You had found it easy to turn your back and leave it all behind, to leave Joel behind.

But now, imagining him in such a profound state of grief that he willing to kill himself, causes your heart to sieze within the confines of your chest.

"When it didn't happen he just kept goin' on, not carin' about anythin' but survivin'. He turned hard and cruel. He wasn't the same man anymore." Tommy continues softly. "I thought I'd never see him smile ever again. But then Ellie came along..."

He lifts his head and gazes at you, tears filming over his puppy dog eyes. "And she gave him a reason to be happy again, I think because he got to be a father again. And I think bein' a father is the biggest reason for him wantin' to stay alive."

You feel your own eyes fill with warm tears and your nose begins to drip. You sniff and tip your head back to stop from crying. Maria passes you a handkerchief from her pocket and rubs your back in soothing circles. Tommy wipes his nose with the back of his hand and sits up straight, his barrel chest puffing out.

"I don't want to influence any decision you make in any way, just answerin' your question, sweetheart." He clarifies earnestly. "And like Maria said, we'll support you however you need."

"Looks like you could eat something," Maria offers gently. "I got some leftover soup, you want a bowl?"

"Sure. I'd love that."

Tommy quickly stands up from the armchair and adjusts his belt buckle. "Stay there, ladies, I'll get it."

He darts out of the living room and to the kitchen before you can even thank him. You and Maria exchange glances and she chuckles.

"Getting a bit too heavy in here for him, I guess," she grins. "Once the dam breaks it's hard for Tommy to hold back the waterworks."

"Really?" You wipe your nose with the lacy white handkerchief. "Has he always been so...open with his feelings?"

"Nah. I mean, he is a man, after all." Maria gives you a smirk and settles back into the cushion. "When I first met Tommy he was alot more restrained. Except when it came to his anger." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head ruefully. "He bottled up so much for so long that he didn't know how to deal with it, aside from starting fights at the Bison."

You gawp at Maria, shocked that a man as soft spoken as Tommy could have been so combative. Maria clocks your disbelief and snorts. "Oh yeah, you got no idea."

"What changed?" You ask timidly. "He's so... different now."

"As I'm sure you've guessed by now I don't tolerate that kind of macho bullshit," Maria says with wry humour. "So I told him if he wanted anything to do with me then he better work on his repressed shit, or else he could get lost."

Your eyes widen and a small, startled gasp slips from your mouth. "Really? You said that?"

"Ofcourse. I liked him, but I haven't got the time to deal with that nonsense. I wasn't going to be the one to clean up his blood everytime he mouthed off at the wrong person."

You twist the handkerchief in your lap and clear your throat. "So, what happened then?"

"He agreed to work on himself. Stopped drinking so much and started talking about why he was feeling so much anger and sadness."

"Wow," you whisper in awe.

"Don't get me wrong," Maria adds quickly. "It didn't happen overnight - it was a long road, and we fought alot. But Tommy wanted to change and he made the effort to."

You swallow the lump that suddenly forms in your throat. So Tommy's nature hadn't always been so opposite to his older brother's temperament; he had just chosen to improve himself, to actually deconstruct his emotions, and that is why he is the warm hearted individual he is today. Although you feel awestruck, you cannot help the niggling disappointment that Joel had not followed Tommy's lead. Would he be like Tommy if he had?

Then Joel's voice suddenly echoes in your mind; it hits you like a bomb and your whole body stiffens on the couch.

"I been tryin', you know that, don't you? Been tryin' to show you how I feel and make it up to you."

Had he tried? Yes, you supposed so, at one time. He had tried to more patient, more affectionate, more loving, but it had been too late. You remember when you hadn't returned the same level of effort that Joel had felt spurned and ended up treating you even worse than before.

Maybe Joel just wasn't capable of properly loving you in a healthy way, without the jealousy and hate that plagued him so much. Maybe he just didn't love you enough to keep trying to change, like Tommy had for Maria.

"Soup's heated up, ladies," Tommy's honeyed voice chimes from the kitchen, breaking through your thoughts. "Bring yourselves to the table."

Maria shoots you a smile and stands up, taking your hand and pulling you carefully up with her. "Let's get you and baby fed."

••••••

You revealed your secret to your friends a few weeks after the wedding. You anticipated their surprise and concern, and although you dreaded it, you dealt with their bombardment of questions with as much patience as you could muster.

Yes, you were okay.

Yes, the baby is Joel's.

No, he doesn't know.

They all gathered you in their arms and embraced you in a group hug, promising to support you and be the best aunties that your baby could ever dream of. You cried, your heart heavy with the magnitude of your circumstance, but there was also a sense of relief that coursed through you to know you wouldn't be alone in this journey.

You weren't able to hide the bump of your belly for much longer, especially in the warmer weather. Sweat made the material of your clothes cling to your skin, outlining the curves of your body, and it had become obvious to anyone who looked at you that you were pregnant.

The majority of the Jackson community are conservative folk and the news that someone is pregnant out of wedlock is a subject of scandal. Although people talk and gossip, as they tend to do in all towns, no one ever directly approaches you to ask questions or dig for information. Some people throw you occasional looks of curiosity (or what you thought was scrutiny) and whisper to each other behind their hands, but your friends are quick to defend you from the unwanted attention. More than once Rhi confronts someone about their staring, raising her voice at them to mind their own business and fuck off.

You don't really care about other people's opinions, anyway. You are beginning to feel more excited as the days pass, more in wonderment of your body and the slowly developing physical changes that you can see in the mirror. You still couldn't truly grasp the concept that your own body was growing something so precious within it.

Life continues.

You see your friends most days and Maria invites you over for dinner once a week. You don't see much of Ellie, only when you bump into one another in the street or the mess hall. Tommy and Maria tell you she's busy with her duties and spending time with friends, but you wonder if she's purposely keeping her distance from you. It secretly pains you, but you remind yourself that Ellie needs time to process everything that has happened recently. You wonder if she has spoken to Joel yet.

You don't talk about Joel to Maria or Tommy or anyone else, but lately you have found yourself thinking of him at random times of the day. You wonder if he is safe, if he is managing life okay without Ellie with him.

You wonder what he would think of your belly. When he finds out the news will he be angry? Will he be happy? Will he be full of regret?

You hadn't been able to really analyse your emotions or even think about Joel until now. You're aware that there has been some kind of shift in your brain recently - there is a clarity, a sort of empowering positivity that surges through you. Perhaps you feel so supported and safe now that you no longer need to avoid triggering thoughts or memories.

The times of introspect sometimes come in unsuspecting little pockets when you least expect. They present themselves in flashes of memories throughout the day, sparked by a phrase someone says, something you spy, or a certain scent that catches your nose. His existence once again manages to pervade your life even when he's not around, like the throbbing scar of a freshly healed wound.

One morning on the walk to the school you spot a speck of vibrant blue flash within your peripheral vision. You stop and redirect your steps toward where the twinkle of colour has materialised from - in a shaded spot on the ground, at the edge of an unused store building, partly obscured by a tangle of weeds. You can guess what it is almost instantly and a stuttered gasp of surprised joy hitches in your throat when your eyes confirm it.

It's your favourite flower. Forget Me Not.

You tread over to the store, with its window fronts shuttered and the wooden front door cracked and dusty looking, and bend down to inspect the cluster of flora. Amongst the weeds are three thin green stems that each carry a bunch of small star shaped blue flowers. Despite how sparse the collection of flora is, it adds a much needed pop of colour within the muted backdrop of the dusty street. It's simply beautiful, you think.

You kneel down slowly, a hand under the shelf of your belly, and begin working to extract the fragile plant with your hands. You are careful not to crush any of the petals as you unwind the dry weeds that have twisted around the stalks.

You break off the more tougher weed tendrils and then yank the weeds with a tigh pull so the roots give way, freeing the fragile flowers from its grasp. You chuck the tangle to the side and dust your hands together to rid them of the dirt.

All that is left now is the delicate pedicel. You sit back on your heels and admire it, a hint of a smile on your face. Maybe you could dig it up and take it home with you and plant it in your own garden; you haven't seen this particular flower in such a long time, and here it is, growing in a neglected spot where it will surely be drowned in a dirty clump of weeds, no one to tend to it and nurture its beauty.

Then, without warning, the quiet baritone rumble of Joel's voice drips between your ears.

"Forget Me Not. The flower. It's your favourite."

The smile instantly drops from your face and you screw your eyes shut. You remember when he had said it, the night he had confessed to know you better than you thought. You remember the shock of his words, how bemused you felt that he had somehow learned and retained such a random fact about you.

The residual hurt and resentment from that time returns once again, like a sharp stab to your heart. Had he been more observant than you thought? Had he actually cared about who you are as a person, just choosing never express it, atleast not until after wreaking so much damage?

You open your eyes again to gaze down at the blue flowers. Your fingertip gently strokes over one of the soft petals. No, you think bitterly. He had never cared about you, not really, not as a woman with your own autonomous dreams and needs. All he wanted was to own you.

You decide to leave the plant. It could end up thriving right where it is, happy with the shaded dirt and neighbouring weeds and shrubs. There was no reason to uproot it and disturb it. Maybe it even liked being there, despite the unispring setting and no one to really admire it. After all, you knew all too well what it was like to be plucked from the comfort of your familiar surroundings and taken somewhere entirely foreign.

You push yourself to stand back up, letting out a small grunt as you wobble slightly once back on your feet. A rush of dizziness momentarily clouds your head but it disappears quickly. You should have eaten a bit more for breakfast, perhaps. You were feeling more sluggish lately, more inclined to laze in bed for longer in the mornings. You wish you could forfeit your duties and go back there right now, but you soldier on. You sigh softly and steel yourself for the day ahead. Your hand gently rubs over the bump of your belly as you walk the rest of the way to school.

tag list- @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed @kewwrites @romanarose @fan-fiction-floozy @anoverwhelmingdin @unknownsuser101 @shesarealcarpentersdream @sheeeeeppp-blog @uncassettodiricordi @axshadows @puduvallee @gossipgirl-03 @oldenoughtoknowbetter @mandoloriancookie @missannfairy @bean-security @kewwrites @mrszdjarin

[cheriecoke]

if we're asking for nanami thoughts then i just wanna know how he'd act if you came home llate from a mission or work jwjbsbs i need this rn

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ SAFE & SOUND — nanami kento

contents: gn!reader 🤍 heheh i didn't mean to write a whole little drabble but i cannot resist something like this ! sfw & a little bit of angst for kicks and giggles — 700

given the nature of being a sorcerer, nanami can't help but get worried when you're running late. he watches the clock tick, minute after minute passing while you still haven't answered his calls.

he's nervous, of course he's nervous. but he doesn't want to be annoying. he knows you can take care of yourself, knows you're strong and capable; and he doesn't want to seem like an overprotective boyfriend. even if it terrifies him that he can't get a hold of you.

instead, he'll just wait for your response, pace the apartment with his phone in his hands and pretend like everything's fine.

kento tries to stay calm. but 45 minutes have passed, and you still haven't answered him.

he's not usually an anxious man, not usually one to let his emotions get the best of him; but his palms are sweaty, his hands shaky, and he can't remember the last time he's felt so on edge.

the dinner he made earlier is already cold, even his own, which he can't bring himself to eat now.

kento's beginning to wonder if he needs to start making calls. there's no need for him to overreact, not when he hasn't been informed that your mission went awry. perhaps satoru knows where you are, shoko, one of the students.

or maybe not. if he doesn't get an answer soon, he'll consider going out after you.

he waits for ten more minutes. the seconds drag on and on.

kento's finger hovers over gojo's contact name. he contemplates.

but the door unlocks just before he can click it, and you're stepping through the threshold, shaking off your coat like nothing's wrong. your hair's a little wind-blown, but otherwise, kento can't spot anything off about you. there's no noticeable wounds, no pain in your expression other than exhaustion.

he's to you in just a few steps, dropping his phone back on the table to take you into his arms. you don't even have time to take your shoes off before he's crushing you to his chest, a heavy hand on the back of your head, pressing it near his heart.

you can hear it hammering in his ribcage, an erratic rhythm that makes guilt flower in your stomach. already, you feel so horrible, you'd been in such a rush to get home.

"kento," you say softly, apologetically, and he swallows, kissing your forehead. he's trying to pretend like nothing's wrong, like he wasn't just scared out of his mind, but you can see right through it. "i didn't mean to worry you."

it doesn't take a genius to realize he'd been afraid, not with the way he can't take his hands off of you.

he breathes, kisses the top of your head. "you didn't call me back."

"my phone died. i didn't get the chance to." you feel so, so awful, especially since you know that this has always been his greatest fear.

time after time, he's lived while other sorcerers die, and you know, even if he doesn't tell you, that he's just waiting for it to be you next. for it to be you lying on that steely table, leaving kento all alone, hardened to the world, perhaps forever.

"i'm so, so sorry, kento," you say, pressing your hand against his chest, feeling as the rhythm of his heartbeat dies down. "i was going to call you back as soon as i finished the mission, and then–"

"shh," he squeezes you tight once more, reassuring, "it's okay. it's not your fault, sweetheart."

"i should've been more prepared." your features pinch together. "i should've charged my phone before i left."

"it's okay," kento says again, and you're not sure when you became the one that's being consoled. "the important thing is that you're home safe and sound."

you swallow down your guilt, kissing his collarbone, the closest part of him that you can get your lips on. "i don't like worrying you."

finally, kento pulls away. you can see the distress that's slowly fading, the way his hands stop their nervous shaking. he brushes a piece of hair away from your face, smiling softly. the expression is almost sad, but there's so much love there, so much affection that you ache.

"well there's nothing we can do about that," he says, kissing your forehead before slinging an arm over your shoulder. "i worry about you all the time."

you open your mouth to argue, but it dies quickly. your rebuttal is futile, hypocritical. you worry about him just as much.

"i'm going to be just fine," you tell him as he leads you to the kitchen, where the cold food is sitting there, waiting. "i'll always make it home to you."

he smiles, and squeezes your hand once. "i sure hope so."

[cherrreid]

YOU ARE THE ONE I WANT, AND I THINK YOU KNOW IT ! j. kent x writer!reader

✷ CATEGORY : HEADCANONS !

✷ jon kent with a reader who writes !

✷ TAGS: aged up!jon kent. fluff. angst(?). mutual pining. slowburn (they’re already in love but still pining). emotional vulnerability. insecurity. yearning. unspoken feelings. jealousy-ish. self-doubt. dramatic moments. emotional intimacy. heavy on the tenderness. awkward and shy confessions. a lot of longing. jon being a soft romantic. reader’s writing as an emotional outlet. jon gets overwhelmed by feelings. heavy emphasis on emotional connection. jon being overly invested in reader’s writing. some mild heartbreak (but it’s cute). jon being totally in love but unsure how to express it. ooc. idk but a lil le gasp jon. they're fucking oblivious. but like. aware...ish. reader lets him borrow her notebook. reader writes using a pen. reader writes using her laptop.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 NOTES !

001. req by @auriieee ! my girl. ilysm for reading my guidelines, some anons(those who,,,, uh, say stuff) don't.

002. this has been on my drafts for a month now.

003. tgis ws oldold & i forgot ab it. i only remembered it when i ws talking w someome earlier & they mentioned his name😭

jon fell in love with you the instant you compared the sunset to something else besides him.

he was like:

"so she doesn't believe i'm the most glowing thing on earth??"

& then promptly spun out of control when you read him a love scene you'd written & the lead guy wasn't remotely based on him.

he just sat there acknowledging, heart completely in pieces.

like yeah, he's invincible. but not to your writing.

he's a total yearner(shush. caroline agrees) but he doesn't know how to say it, so he just kind of exists near you.

lurking in your doorway while you write.

like, he's hovering beside you on the couch, glancing down at your notebook like it's holy scripture.

"do you need something?"

"no! just, uh… you look really pretty when you're thinking."

he dies inside every time he says stuff like that.

you write tragic, romantic, slow-burn scenes & jon reads them with one hand on his chest as if he's physically assaulted.

he appears at your apartment in the middle of the night like:

"i have to ask… was that one line about the boy who waited five years for her… was that me??"

you're half asleep. you blink.

"jon, it's literally a vampire story."

"but emotionally?? it's about me, right??"

he desperately wishes to be in your world.

he's constantly attempting to insert tiny things into your workflow.

"wouldn't it be cool if your main character flew?? just saying."

"hey, i know it's your story, but maybe the guy should have blue eyes. & like… a thing for girls who also writes."

you're kidding him about it, but the truth is▰you already wrote a guy like him. you just didn't tell him.

jon melts when you write love like it's tender.

because he's always worried he's too much. too strong, too quick, too powerful to be tender.

but your works make love sound like trust, like quiet mornings & hands held tightly.

he reads those sections three times through, wondering if that's how you perceive him.

& when you write one about a boy who doesn't want to hurt the girl he loves, but she kisses his hands & says:

"you could never,"

he has to literally close your notebook & breathe it in.

you don't know how much he needs you to be his muse until he finally breaks.

one day, you praise a character in your new draft & exclaim:

"he's like… boyfriend material."

& jon just shatters.

"why isn't he me?"

you blink.

"i'm in love with you. i've been in love with you since you compared the sun to a character. i feel again when you made me read that line about how she loved him 'like the sea loved the shore▰desperately, & with no promise he'd stay.'"

& he stares at you like you're the reason stars burn.

he is so gentle with you while you're writing.

wraps a blanket over your shoulders. serves you tea.

flees to paris to purchase for you that one pen that you favored (he won't acknowledge that section).

but never hovers. respects the distance your writing requires, even if it's killing him to be not on your lap.

usually, he just lies on your bed & hears you type, grinning like a fool because you're there.

& when you finally pen a boy with black hair, a chest too expansive for his heart, & a quiet sort of heroism?

you don't say it's him.

you don't need to.

he kisses your hand, your forehead, your shoulder.

then says:

"you love me in words. i've waited forever to hear it."

jon is so melodramatic about your notebooks.

they're holy to him. like, capital-s holy.

if one slips off your desk, he'll leap across the room to catch it in mid-air like he's rescuing a baby.

"this is the notebook,"

he whispers.

"the one with the story about the guy who can't sleep unless he hears her voice."

"jon, that one's literally about insomnia."

"yeah, well▰still... resonates."

if you ever claim to have writer's block? oh he's on it.

he'll fly you to sunset for "inspiration."

buy you croissants from that one romen bakery because "maybe sugar jumpstarts ideas."

read you old love sonnets with his hand on your knee & hopeful glint in his eye like maybe this'll get her in the mood to write… about me.

he makes so much effort. you need to kiss his cheek out of sympathy.

jon's whole soul departs from his body the first time you read to him something fresh & muddle over words.

you're blushing, you're behind the page, voice all soft & hushed.

& he's sitting across the table as though he's receiving a strike of electricity in love.

he'll clutch at his own shirt just to calm his racing heart.(like i said, he's dramatic.)

"keep going,"

he breathes, like if he says it out loud, he'll spoil the magic.

"please."

he places small notes in your writing materials.

merely sticky notes with remarks such as:

"this line made me feel like i was floating."

"i want to be loved the way she loves him here."

"is it okay if i hope this guy is me?"

you get to keep them all. some even hidden away in your journals. (he doesn't know that. he'd burn up.)

jon completely re-reads his favorite sections of your stories when he's off saving the world.

like he'll be halfway around the world in the middle of a mission, & when it's over, he drops wherever he is & opens his phone to your pdfs or docs.

scrolls to that scene. the one in which she tells him she's been in love with him all along▰& just exhales.

"she understands," he tells himself, grinning like an idiot while flying over a mountain.

your words devastate him most when they are too real.

like when you write about the pain of being loved halfway. or how it can still feel lonely to be adored.

he reads those lines & suddenly realizes▰

he's not the only one yearning.

& when he finally connects the dots, finally sees it, he knocks on your window at 2am just to ask,

"was that last piece about me?"

you don't answer right away. just take his hand, pull him in, & whisper,

"it always is."

jon gives the gentlest forehead kisses when you're writing.

he doesn't interrupt.

he simply leans in, plants a gentle kiss on your temple or crown, & rests his chin on your shoulder.

"you're brilliant,"

he tells you.

"i hope you know that."

you try to act like it doesn't rattle you, but your fingers freeze on the keys every single time.

if you're nervous or,,, upset about your writing, jon is your loudest, softest cheerleader.

he never lets you spiral.

he gathers you into his arms & grumbles things like,

"the world doesn't need perfect writing. it needs your writing."

& "you don't even realize how many people you've saved with your stories."

& when you do finally believe him a little bit, he smiles & says:

"good. now finish that chapter so i can cry again."

"that saves lives?"

"uh huh."

& when you finally write a story where the girl says she's in love with the boy who'd catch falling stars just to make her smile▰

you don't even have to give him a name.

jon appears at your door the following day, a cookie shaped like a star in one hand & his heart in the other.

"so uh,"

he says, his ears flushed.

"you writing about me now?"

you laugh, hug him, & say:

"i've been writing about you since page one."

© minorlyatfault, 2025

[winchester-girl67]

Imagine... Dean Coming To You For Comfort

Summary: Dean looks for comfort after a nightmare. He enjoys being the little spoon. 

Requested by anonymous: “could you write a fic where dean just needs some comfort from the reader? it could be platonic and dean just had a bad day or a nightmare and doesn't want to be alone and wants to be held without asking"

Pairing: Dean x reader 

Word Count: 902 

Warnings: language, nightmares, implied violence (hunting a vamp nest), brief mention of a gun reader keeps under the pillow, a little angst, emotional hurt/comfort, cuddling, fluff 

A/N: Found this in my wips, it's a little short but sweet. Enjoy. 

_____

“I said, I'm fucking fine, okay?!” 

Dean's words echoed in your ears. You'd only asked him the once and he just snapped at you, so when you got back to the bunker you beelined for your room and slammed the door. 

You didn't get food, you didn't shower off the motel shower from a few hours earlier like you usually would, and you didn't get any sleep either. ‘Monopoly’ speaking, you did not pass 'GO'. You just pouted in your bed. 

The hunt could've gone better; it also could've gone worse. 

You stared at the ceiling, still awake and wondering how to reproach Dean. He was clearly not fine but until he was able to admit that, there was no getting through to him. Dean was just too stubborn when he was in these moods and honestly you were a little, too. You wanted to help, but you didn't want to swallow your pride and walk down that hall just to have him yell at you again. 

You weren't a masochist. But you still laid there, in bed, overthinking everything that went wrong with the hunt. 

First of all, you should've brought Sam with you, or Cas. Dean said it would be simple enough though with the two of you. It wasn't and you almost got killed. Dean, of course, wasn't letting himself forget it. You could see that written all over his face on the ride home. 

Stopping your mind from racing wasn't easy. You counted the dots on the ceiling tiles as you listened to the ticking of Dean's wristwatch on your arm. He'd synchronized it to the time on his cell and given it to you before the hunt so you could stay structured in your plan against the vamp nest. 

It was smart, until it wasn't. There were more than you expected and you always jumped the gun and went in first. Standing still wasn't the easiest thing for you to do with all that adrenaline pumping in your veins. And you were used to hunting alone. Before the Winchesters came into the picture. 

Needless to say, everything that went wrong after that was about ninety-percent your fault. The other ten was simply a miscalculation.

You'd known the Winchesters for quite some time but moving into the bunker with them was fairly new. In the back of your mind, you hoped Dean wouldn't ask you to move out. You kinda liked not being completely alone anymore. The world was tough and they felt like family already. It would break your heart for sure; shatter any trust you had left. 

Your bedroom door creaked open slowly on its old hinges and a shadowed figure peaked its head inside your room. You held your breath for a moment and gripped the cool handle of your gun underneath your pillow. 

Always on guard. Even if the bunker was the safest place you'd ever been. 

"Easy, Y/N, it's just me." Dean said, pushing the door open the rest of the way so the light of the hall revealed his features. 

His expression was soft, too soft -broken like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders and the nightmares to prove it. His hair was disheveled and he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. 

"Just wanted to check on you, I'll let you get back to sleep. Sorry I woke you, sweetheart." Dean breathed deep and slowly started to shut your door. "And sorry I yelled." 

"Wait," you sat up and placed the gun on the night table next to you before switching the light on low. "Come here. Close the door." 

You flipped back the covers, shuffled over to make room and patted the mattress beside you. Dean wiped the frown from his face with his hand and did as you said. He shut the door and settled into bed next to you. Tense and unmoving once he rolled onto his side facing away from you. 

He couldn't ask, but he didn't need to. 

You clicked off the light and tugged up the covers to his chin. Your palm rubbed over his shoulders and half-way down his back, then circled up again until you felt his muscles begin to relax. 

"That feels nice," he breathed and sniffled a little. 

You continued your motions for a while longer until his breathing evened out, you could tell he was still awake but knew he didn't intend on talking things out. That wasn't Dean. So instead, you rubbed up and down his arm and molded your chest into his back, settling into your position as big spoon. You squeezed him and held his hand against his chest. 

"Thank you," he sighed and weaved his fingers through yours. 

Dean didn't talk about feelings if he didn't have to. And for someone so 'tough', more often than not, he liked to be the little spoon. Especially to your big spoon. 

There was an unspoken understanding that neither of you were ever to bring it up in the light of day. But things were just different at night and being vulnerable and open didn't feel as achy and oozy. 

Feelings were allowed to be felt in the dark. 

He'd be gone before you woke, starting breakfast and roasting coffee in the kitchen, but for now your pieces could hold his pieces together. 

And maybe you could both finally get some sleep. 

_________________________ Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28 @backseat-of-deans-67chevy

SPN: @hobby27

[writer-freak]

If requests are open, could I request gekko + your favorite valorant agents with a significant other who gets panic attacks? Your writing is so lovely!

Characters: Gekko, Yoru, Reyna and Jett

A/n: Thank you so much for the request I hope you enjoy this <3. Also I think some of the women in Valo don't get enough love so I included Reyna and Jett

Gekko Gekko immediately notices when something’s wrong. He is even softer then usual as he crouches in front of you, his hands gentle as they find yours. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over your skin. “You’re safe, I got you.”

He doesn’t rush you, just stays close, offering quiet reassurances while his little buddies hover around you, sensing your distress. He starts talking about random, lighthearted things, maybe how Wingman got into trouble earlier or how Dizzy almost knocked over his drink. His voice is calm, steady, trying to give you something to focus on.

Once you're ready, he guides you to the couch and wraps you in a warm blanket. “How about a movie marathon?” he suggests, a grin tugging at his lips. ���Or, better idea, I make you whatever you want to eat, and we turn this into a full-on spa day. What do you say?”

He makes sure you’re comfortable, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before heading off to prepare your favorite food. When he returns, he settles beside you, rubbing your back or belly, or in general doing whatever you need. And with his little creatures cuddled up around you both, he makes sure you don’t feel alone, his presence reassuring.

Yoru Yoru isn't great with words, but he knows something’s off the moment he sees you struggling to breathe, your body tense and shoulders trembling. His jaw tightens, his usual cockiness pushed aside as he quietly kneels in front of you.

“Hey,” his voice is lower, more careful than usual. “Look at me.”

He gently takes your hand, placing it over his chest. “Breathe with me,” he instructs, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly, waiting for you to follow his rhythm. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push. Just stays there, grounding you with his presence.

When your breathing steadies, he squeezes your hand before letting go, standing up like nothing happened. “Tch. You scared me for a second,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know I'm not the best at the whole emotional talk thing…but, you’re not dealing with this alone. I’m here, okay?”

Then, without waiting for a response, he drops his jacket over your shoulders, his way of comforting you without making it obvious. “You’re cold,” he grumbles, avoiding eye contact. “And don’t even think about arguing.”

He stays close, even if it’s just sitting beside you in silence, his presence making you feel safe.

Reyna Reyna acts fast. The moment she notices your breathing pick up and your hands trembling, she pulls you into her arms, one hand cradling the back of your head. “Shhh, mi amor, I’ve got you,” she whispers, her voice warm and steady.

She guides you to the bed, settling you in her lap as she strokes your hair. “Focus on me,” she murmurs, her lips pressing soft kisses along your temple. “You are safe. Nothing can hurt you while I’m here.”

She doesn’t let go until your body relaxes against her. Even then, her hold is strong, protective, her fingers tracing gentle patterns along your back.

When your breathing evens out, she tilts your chin up, studying your face with careful eyes. “Better?” she asks, and when you nod, she smirks. “Good. Now, we rest.”

No questions, no pressure, just Reyna keeping you close, her presence an unshakable shield against the world.

Jett Jett notices something’s wrong immediately. She sees the way your hands shake, your chest rising and falling too fast. Without hesitation, she moves in front of you, crouching down with her usual bright smile dimmed into something softer.

“Hey, hey, you with me?” she asks, her hands gently resting on your arms. “Let’s take it slow, okay? Breathe in, like this.” She exaggerates an inhale, holding it for a moment before exhaling. “Now you.”

She stays with you, repeating the breaths until your body begins to relax. Then, in true Jett fashion, she nudges you playfully. “You scared me, you know,” she says with a small grin. “But it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

She moves beside you, pulling you into a side hug, rocking you gently. “Whenever I freak out, I do something super dumb to shake it off,” she admits. “Wanna try? We could run around, throw pillows at each other, just do something silly.”

If you’re up for it, she’ll make sure you end up laughing. If not, she stays close, running her fingers along your scalp, whispering how strong you are and how proud she is of you.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

[shallowseeker]

i love that steve yockey wrote michael's dialogue like that, "i'm gonna write the opposite of what dean thinks for every character in order to hurt them" which means you can reverse everything he says and learn his true feelings about each character. genius.

I think this is definitely a clever part of the writing. (Yay Yockey!)

Michael is good at twisting things to create a diversion/undermine his enemies. (Maybe even better at it than Lucifer, heh.)

I think another part is that AU Michael understands absolutes better than duality. He’s picks out and amplifies the negatives. I’m reminded of Cas’s line in season 9 about human emotion: 

CAS: The ebb and flow of human emotion - Dean, I've been on earth for a few years, and I've only begun to grasp it. 9x09 Heaven Can’t Wait

AU Michael doesn’t grasp it. Not really.

He runs around asking everyone, “What do you want?” and if there’s any complexity at all to that answer, he brands that person/angel “lost,” “weak,” or “unreliable.” This is why he allies himself with vampires at the end of 14x01. Because he can’t comprehend shades of gray or nuance.

Humans feel a billion things every day. Moment to moment. But every fleeting discomfort, every microsecond of frustration, every scrap of resentment or bitterness? To Michael, these get magnified into absolutes. (This is often how demons present their truths: through the most uncharitable interpretations possible.)

///

Loved ones are burdens

A more honest answer might be that our loved ones are, in fact, both beloved and burdensome. We trade strengths and share burdens, but that doesn’t mean they come without weight.

It’s only in relationships that are more figmentary, kept at arm’s length, or those that have ended and become idealized—like memories of people who never truly had a chance to be seen for who they really were—that we see relationships without real baggage.

This is especially true in a world like Supernatural.

///

Dean wasn’t happier without Sam in his life

AU MICHAEL: And, Sam—oh, Sam... You know, Dean was his happiest when you quit hunting, leaving him with your dad, just the two of them. See, deep down, he knows that you will always abandon him, again and again.

I think it’s probably true that Dean was occasionally relieved when it was just him and Dad, but mostly because it was a break from the turbulence and in-fighting.

At the same time, he felt abandoned by Sam, maybe jealous that Sam reaped all the rewards (education! freedom!) of Dean bearing the family burdens.

Yet, Dean also wanted what was best for Sam and was genuinely happy to see Jessica Moore in his djinn dream. More often than not in the series, Dean encourages Sam toward happiness, though not at the expense of what he perceives is a balanced work-life obligation the people in their lives that depend on them.

But it’s certainly not true that he was happier without Sam, nor that he wished it had been only him and John all the time.

///

Dean’s not with Cas because he “owes” him but because he loves him

AU MICHAEL: You only tolerate the angel because you think you owe him, because he "gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition." Or whatever. But since then, what has he done? Only made mistakes, one after the other.

Michael mocks the line about being "gripped tight and pulled from perdition," showing us that this is a line Dean recalls often, perhaps replaying it in his mind over and over.

(AU Michael also coos: “Oh, Cas… I believe in you!” in an earlier scene, and it seems to me that he finds Dean’s emotions a bit… amusing.)

But to my point—maybe the bad parts are a little bit true. Feeling indebted to Cas might be intertwined with Dean’s gratitude, and it’s definitely true that Dean harbors real resentment over Cas’s mistakes. However, Michael can’t completely parse the complexities of Dean’s feelings for Cas. He can’t reconcile the bad with the good. It’s an alien’s perspective.

But Dean… The way Dean talks about love in Optimism shows us that he can handle all the complexities and put them into words. He feels a deep gratitude toward Cas for saving him, and he recognizes that Cas’s mistakes are part of the endurance of real love—not the idealized, immature kind.

Interestingly, while Sam and Jack are visibly shaken by AU Michael’s words, Cas doesn’t seem affected in the same way. Not only does he remain unruffled when he steps in to assure Jack that Michael is “loose with the truth,” but he also quickly picks up on Michael’s barbs as a deliberate strategy—he calls it out: “You’re stalling.”

By saying “Poughkeepsie,” Sam helped Dean break out of his loop of simplistic vampire hunts. But by mouthing off to Michael, it’s Cas who helps Dean rally his self-confidence. Cas's steadfast trust in Dean serves as a source of strength.

I personally think this implies that Cas and Dean have talked through their mistakes more in-depth than we think, even if they haven’t fully discussed their “feelings" per se.

They trust each other, even when they’re feeling completely downtrodden or vulnerable. Even when "their instincts might be screaming otherwise," you know?

///

Finally: Of course Dean loves Jack

We have to remember that AU Michael’s attack is two-fold, here. Unlike with the others, Michael is absolutely seething about Jack turning him down on family bonding time in 14x09 The Spear.

AU MICHAEL: “A moment of familial weakness. It won't happen again."

What Michael probably really wants is to undo the murder of his brother, Lucifer. But Jack is unwilling to become Lucifer’s replacement. So Michael wants to cut Jack as deeply as possible. As punishment.

AU MICHAEL: Like, I know how sad he was when you died… on the outside. On the inside, well, it's not that he was happy— he just didn't care. 'Cause you're not Sam. You're not Cas. You're a new burden that he was handed. You're a weak, helpless thing. You think that they care about you, love you? You're a job, a job none of them wanted.[…]

Ergo, following that mindset, maybe Michael’s a little bit right. Maybe part of Dean does see Jack as "another burden handed to him” and he might even he worried about Jack’s newfound weakness—but it’s also more complicated than that.

And it’s true: Jack isn’t like Sam or Cas, but it’s not because he’s not family. It’s because he’s a different kind of family. While Sam has grown into being a brother, an equal, Jack is and will forever remain wholly “son.” That’s a scarier bond. It doesn’t just come with love but with responsibility, hope, and an undeniable weight.

And as for Jack’s death—while Dean may have initially reacted with emotional numbing and shock, he was devastated. Time has shaped Dean's reaction to grief, and he is trying to do it right:

14x08 Byzantium via @spnscripthunt-inactive

//

Appealing to the “you’re just a burden” is something Zachariah also made good use of in his nightmare-land from Dark Side of the Moon:

ZACH!MARY: I never loved you. You were my burden. I was shackled to you.

5x16 Dark Side of the Moon

///

Oops, I rambled.

Anyhoo, that a wounded Dean echoes any of AU Michael’s words is, to me, a testament to how deep his psychological wounds are (late 14 through season 15).

The series told us over and over again about the psychological ruination that results from being the vessel for an archangel… with many humans implied catatonic afterwards. (The series also spent the majority of season 14 showing us how much being glued to Lucifer wounded Nick...)

But yes, I do love the double-speak in the writing and how it often implies the opposite of what’s being said. That’s so much for bringing this into my ask box!

///

One more bit about indirect dialogue:

I also loved when Dean was hurling word-daggers in at Bobby, Cas, and Sam in 5x18. Dean was mocking his unique relationship with each of his loved ones:

Mocking his belief in Sam’s strength:

DEAN (to SAM): I just…I—I don’t believe […] In you. I mean, I don’t. I don’t know whether it’s gonna be demon blood or some other demon chick or what, but…I do know they're gonna find a way to turn you.

& Pretending he doesn’t see Bobby as a father:

DEAN (to BOBBY): You’re not my father. And you ain’t in my shoes.

& Making light of his deepening feelings with Cas:

DEAN (to CAS): Well, Cas, not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that… I got laid.

/////////////////

Finally, I can’t help that point out that fleeting moments of resentment and even longer moments of being angry/upset/disillusioned with our loved ones isn’t a big, abnormal thing. It’s just very human. And healthy.

(In SPN-world, it’s coded as more concerning when we see the opposite, when characters insist someone is perfect or never lets them down. This is a SPN “poughkeepsie” pattern that I mentally shuttle into the “pure” bucket. See: Harper, Amara, Chuck etc)

///

But fleeting moments of negativity are real. Which is to me what makes Jack’s murder of Mary so very sad:

"Only for a second." :(