#left candybar

[lafflanes]

gave some of my side toons new accessories :]

[chvoswxtch]

stakeout

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: going on a stakeout with frank doesn't go anything like you thought it would.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of guns, a lil steam ;)

word count: 9k

a/n: fun fact: I originally started writing this specific idea as a standalone fic months ago & then when i started doing this series, i knew it would be perfect for it, & i've been excited to finish it & share it with y'all ever since. grab a snack & a drink, get comfy, bc this is almost 30 pages of yearning & pining for our favorite soft bad boy frankie. thank you so much to my darling angel @spoodermain for being my wonderful beta reader & offering your genius feedback that really made this part shine. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

How you had managed to talk Frank into letting you join a stakeout with him, you still weren’t sure, but it was nothing like you thought it would be. The entire three hour drive upstate was nearly composed of pure silence, only interrupted by trivial questions on your behalf, and answers in the form of monosyllables and grunts on his. The two of you had been sitting in his truck for almost six hours now, parked off on the side of a dirt road a good distance away from what looked like an abandoned warehouse that you hadn’t seen anyone enter or leave from.

You were going absolutely fucking stir crazy.

“Why can't we just go in?”

Frank let out a deep exhale through his nose, glancing over at you out of the corner of his eye in pure annoyance before returning his attentive gaze back to the warehouse.

In his defense, you had asked this question at least five times already.

Letting out an impatient sigh of your own, you turned your body slightly in the passenger seat to face him while gesturing loosely to the warehouse with your hand.

“Frank, we haven't seen anyone in hours. We could go in, take a look around, and probably be back before anyone even-”

“Hey hey, no. Ain’t no we. Alright, you’re stayin’ your ass right here. And I already told you why. It’s too out in the open. I got no way of knowin’ if there’s anyone in there watchin’, and I can’t tell if they got some kind of security system ‘round the place-”

“So call Billy. See if he knows-”

“Bill ain’t the head of security for the entire goddamn world.”

Frank’s snappy quips and his irritated tone had you throwing your hands up in exasperation, and you dramatically sank back into the passenger seat of his truck, glaring out your window as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Fine. Then I guess we’ll just keep sitting here in fucking silence and you can keep brooding.”

Frank let out another heavy exhale from deep within his chest, and you could practically feel his intense stare against the side of your face.

“Look, I know this ain’t the most excitin’ thing, and you can’t sit still to save your goddamn life, but this is how we do this smart, and it’s how I keep you safe, alright? I ain’t takin’ any risks with you. I know patience ain’t your strong suit, but I need ya to try for just a little longer, alright? We don’t see any movement in the next hour, we’ll call it, and try again tomorrow. See if we can come up with another plan. Yeah?”

“Fine.”

Frank let out a tiny chuckle at your bratty response, and all of a sudden you felt something land in your lap. You glanced downwards as a crease formed between your brows, seeing an extra large version of your favorite candy bar. When your eyes flickered over towards Frank in curiosity, you noticed that he was already eyeing you with an amused smile. He shook his head slowly, returning his line of sight to the warehouse with another soft chuckle.

“Eat that and quit poutin’.”

A light scoff left your lips when you picked up the candybar and tore open the wrapper, suddenly noticing the way that you had been ignoring your body’s alerts of hunger. 

“I’m not pouting.”

“Whatever ya say, sweetheart. Just remember, you asked to come along.”

“And you let me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Frank shook his head again in response to the pure sass dripping from your voice, and you caught the way the edge of his mouth tugged higher upwards into a wider grin.

“Thought this would be the one time you were quiet for some reason.”

Letting out a dramatic scoff of bewilderment, you reached out to smack your palm against his broad shoulder, which only caused laughter to bellow from deep within Frank’s chest. You doubt he even felt your feeble smack through the black denim layer of his jacket. Rolling your eyes playfully, you looked away with a tiny victorious grin after noticing the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed like that. 

He looked so carefree; like that usual heaviness he carried around wasn’t weighing him down, just for that small moment. Frank had such a beautiful smile, and it made you feel like the luckiest person in the world every time you got to witness it. 

Taking a small bite of your candybar, you muttered under your breath, making him snicker.

“Asshole.”

»»———　　———««

Forty five minutes later, a police car silently pulled up behind Frank’s truck, and your heart started to hammer wildly in your chest. The flashing of bright red and blue was almost blinding in the opaque darkness surrounding the empty dirt road he had pulled onto. The truck was parked far enough away from the property that the flashing lights shouldn’t have alerted anyone that could be inside, but the explanation as to why the two of you were here in the first place was a whole other problem.

Especially considering that you were technically “missing”.

“Shit.”

Frank hissed quietly as he stared at the patrol car in the side view mirror, his full lips settling into a hard line as he reached underneath his seat to retrieve a pistol that was hidden. Your eyes immediately widened as the silver metal became illuminated by the faint moonlight, and you glanced frantically between Frank’s stoic face and the cop car in the rearview mirror.

“What are you doing?”

Frank hastily brought his index finger to his lips when you whisper-yelled at him.

“Preparin’ for a problem.”

Frank’s eyes remained narrowed on the reflection in the side view mirror as he pulled the hammer back on the pistol, the sound of it cocking in place only fueling the speed of your tumultuous heart rate.

“Put it away!”

Scrunching up his dark brows, Frank turned his head slightly to stare at you incredulously as if you had just said the most ridiculous statement in the history of the English language. 

“What?”

“Frank-”

“You got a better goddamn idea?”

Great. You’re not even supposed to be here, and now you’re about to either go to prison or die in a shootout.

Your eyes frantically searched around Frank’s truck for something that could help the two of you out. As Frank rested the gun against his chest with a firm grip on the handle and his index finger pressed along the barrel, an idea suddenly popped into your head that made your stomach flip.

“Put it away.”

Frank turned his head and stared at you curiously when he heard the firm tone of your voice, but his confusion quickly morphed into pure annoyance. He scoffed, opening his mouth to protest before you turned in your seat to face him.

“You asked if I had a better idea and I do.”

Frank stared you down for what felt like an eternity. His features were set in a harsher version of their normal broody appearance, and the hardness in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine. A muscle feathered in his jaw as he ground his teeth, stealing one last glance at the side view mirror before stashing the pistol back underneath the seat, grumbling a string of curses under his breath.

“Now what? What’s this grand fuckin’ plan of yours, huh?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the door to the patrol car swing open. Quickly dashing across the truck bench, you ungracefully climbed onto Frank’s lap. His entire body immediately went rigid, and he looked absolutely stunned as he stared into your eyes. 

“What-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you grabbed onto the back of his neck and leaned in to firmly press your lips against his. Frank stilled completely beneath you for a good thirty seconds, and you could feel the tension practically radiating from his body. You started to worry that maybe you should have at least given him a snippet of your plan before-oh.

Oh.

A warmth suddenly spread across your thighs and it took a second for your brain to register that it was from Frank’s hands. They experimentally roamed up the expanse of your thighs until they slowly climbed up your hips, settling on your waist in a firm but delicate grip. All the previous anxiety that was buzzing in your veins seemed to be drowned out by the sensation of the tender pace of his lips finally responding to your chaste kiss.

God, his lips were as soft as they looked, and so warm. There was a bitterness to the way he tasted from the copious amounts of freshly brewed black coffee he had consumed, but it was cut through by lingering sweet mint from the gum he had spat out earlier. 

The gentleness of his touch and his uncertain kiss was surprising for someone who was so rough in so many other aspects of their life. You couldn’t help but grab a small fistful of the collar of his gray henley while you melted into his strong chest, your fingernails lightly scratching at the back of his neck with your other hand, holding him as close as physically possible. A low groan sounded quietly in the back of Frank’s throat when you dragged your nails against his skin, and it traveled straight to your-

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Jumping at the sudden intrusion of noise, you turned your head to see a young officer staring between you and Frank awkwardly, the end of his flashlight hovering over the glass of the driver’s side window. When the window was slowly rolled down, the seriousness of the previous situation broke through the haze of lust you had found yourself in, and you suddenly remembered why you were in Frank’s lap in the first place. Before you could scramble out an explanation, Frank’s rough voice cut through the timid silence and startled you.

“What?”

The young officer jumped backwards immediately from the way Frank practically barked at him, and you turned your head to stare at him in surprise. His chest was rising and falling quickly, his thick brows were knit together in pure frustration, and you could see that familiar flame of rage burning in his eyes.

He looked pissed.

Looking back at the officer, you let out a nervous laugh as you pressed your palm flat against Frank’s chest in an attempt to calm him, flashing the young man a soft smile.

“I’m sorry, is…is there a problem?”

He gulped as his eyes flickered from Frank’s unwavering hardened glare to you, nodding slowly as he uncomfortably gestured behind himself with his thumb.

“I…sorry to uh…interrupt. It’s just…well…this is private property. You’re…technically trespassing.”

Hearing the aggravated grunt that sounded from Frank as he opened his mouth to speak, you quickly covered his mouth with your small palm and let out another nervous laugh, trying to keep the officer’s attention on you.

“I’m very sorry, that’s um…that’s my fault. It’s…it’s our first night with a babysitter so, we got a little…carried away. I’m sure you can understand?”

There was a hopeful tone to your voice as your lips parted into the most convincing charming smile you could muster at the moment, hoping he would take the bait so that you and Frank could leave without a scene being caused. When the young man’s lips parted into a light smile, you felt a sense of ease wash over you. 

“Of course, I can definitely…understand.”

But that ease was short lived when you caught where his line of sight went, and felt Frank’s grip on your waist tighten possessively.

As the young officer spoke those words, he made the mistake of letting his eyes wander over your chest in a shameless way, and you panicked when you felt Frank lean forward, reaching with one hand underneath his seat while also shielding your chest from the man’s prying eyes with his large body.

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?”

The officer instantly took another large step back, holding his hands up in surrender and mumbling a string of apologies as Frank started going off on him, reaching for the handle to the door. You quickly grabbed his jaw in your hand and forced him to look at you, staring into his furious glare with wide eyes as you whispered frantically through gritted teeth.

“Frank, stop it.”

Glancing back over at the young man, you let out a soft laugh as you waved your shaky hand dismissively. 

“I’m really sorry, we’ll just…leave. We’ll leave. Have a good night.”

Quickly rolling up the window, you scurried back into the passenger seat and swiftly put your seatbelt on. When Frank didn’t move an inch, you turned your head to look at him, seeing a twisted up concoction of anger and confusion on his features. You hysterically gestured towards the steering wheel as you gawked at him.

“What are you doing? Drive!”

Frank’s jaw hardened as he let out a heavy grunt, turning the keys in the ignition and flashing the officer one final death glare before peeling off onto the dirt road in the opposite direction. Once the patrol car was out of sight, you let out a deep breath of relief and held your face in your trembling hands as you tried to calm your nerves.

Your mind was racing with all the worst possible case scenarios. What if that officer was with the Defenders of Freedom too? Is that why he was on that road? Did he get Frank’s license plate? Is he telling the others that the two of you found their base of operations? What would-

“That was good quick thinkin’.”

Frank’s gravely voice cutting through the silence made you realize that neither of you had spoken in the past ten minutes. Turning your head to look over at him, your brows knit together in puzzlement.

“What?”

Frank’s eyes darted over to you timidly, only for a moment, before settling back on the road in front of him.

“Your…plan.”

His voice sounded somewhat strained, and you noticed his features were blanketed in an expression you couldn’t fully make out from the faint glow of the street lights. He almost looked…shy?

Shy was not a word you would ever normally use to describe Frank Castle.

There was suddenly a feeling of heat nipping at the tops of your cheeks, and you were swiftly aware of the lingering sensation of your lips tingling from the kiss. 

Is that why he couldn’t hardly look at you?

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.”

Frank arched one of his thick brows as his eyes flickered back over towards you once again, his full lips pursing slightly as he nodded.

“Yeah…I s’pose they do.”

There was a layer of questioning in his tone, and you leaned back in your seat as you looked anywhere but at him while clearing your throat.

“It usually makes people look away, or want to get as far away from it as soon as possible.”

A quiet grunt of agreeance sounded in the back of Frank’s throat.

“That’s…smart.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between you and Frank, and the small unoccupied space in the middle of the truck bed suddenly felt like an ocean separating the two of you. Tension hung thick and heavy in the miniscule space of the cab like an awkward fog that you couldn’t have even sliced through with the sharpened hunter’s knife on Frank’s hip.

For the next half hour, the quiet thrum of the truck engine was the only sound disrupting the tense silence.

»»———　　———««

Stepping past Frank’s large frame into the motel room he had rented for the night, your eyes immediately landed on the bed in the middle of the room.

The bed.

The one. 

Single. 

Bed.

Glancing over your shoulder at Frank, he caught where your gaze had gone, and there was a sheepish expression on his face.

“Last room they had.”

Doing your best to appear nonchalant about the situation, you gave a slight nod of your head in understanding as you surveyed the room. The dingy wallpaper was beyond faded and peeling where the torn edges pulled away from the top of the wall. What had once probably been a tasteful shade of tan looked more like a muted shade of gold. The queen size bed in the middle of the room was covered in a multi-shade paisley quilt that the word ‘ugly’ couldn’t even begin to describe, and contrasted sharply with the hunter green carpet beneath your feet.

“You didn’t make a reservation?”

The joke you attempted to make to lighten the mood fell flat as Frank eyed you with an unreadable expression, dropping his black duffle bag onto the floor with a slight thud.

“Wasn’t expectin’ company. It ain’t the Ritz, but-”

“Frank, it’s fine. I was joking.”

“Right.”

The uncomfortable silence and awkward tension were absolutely killing you. 

Things had never been this weird with Frank, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. So you did the one thing you always did when you didn’t want to deal with an unpleasant situation.

You ran away from it.

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

About halfway through rushing towards the bathroom, you abruptly halted in your steps when you realized that you couldn’t shower because you didn’t have anything. You had slept at Frank’s last night, and you couldn’t go by your place this morning since it was an active crime scene. 

You had no clothes. No toothbrush. No nothing.

“Shit.”

“You alright?”

There was a cautious tone to Frank’s deep voice, but it was clearly laced with concern when it nestled in your ears. You turned around to face him, your lips pulled into a tight expression that was supposed to resemble a smile, but probably looked more like a grimace.

“I just realized I don’t have anything.”

Frank cocked his head to the side slightly while he looked over at you, curiosity and confusion swirling around in his deep brown eyes.

“We couldn’t stop by my place this morning…and we left kinda in a hurry…so…”

All of a sudden you could see realization dawning on Frank’s face. His features softened considerably, and he quickly glanced at the small analog clock on the nightstand by the bed. It was late, and you were nearly in the middle of nowhere in some small town upstate about twenty miles from the location Frank had been given. There was nothing around the motel except a rundown gas station and a little twenty-four hour diner.

Frank turned his attention back to you, and his dark eyes wandered over you for a second before he met your gaze again. There was an apologetic expression on his features as he reached down to grab his duffle bag, walking over to set it down on the edge of the bed while he unzipped it and started to rustle through it.

“Here, I got some stuff you can borrow-”

“It’s okay. I can just-”

“Ain’t a big deal. I got extras of some things. Can’t promise anythin’ will fit or smell pretty.”

Frank glanced up to flash you a tiny smile as he held out a small pile of things towards you. As you reached out to take the items from him, your fingers lightly brushed against his, and you felt a spark shock through your system. Looking up at him, your lips tugged into a tight timid smile while you nodded.

“Thanks, Frank.”

Without waiting for a response, you dashed into the small bathroom for some privacy, hoping you’d be able to get yourself the fuck together.

Any attempt you were going to make to try to push that kiss from earlier out of your head was completely ruined when you began to lather his body wash in your hands to rub it into your wet skin, being careful to avoid getting any suds in your hurt hand, and comb it through your hair, since Frank was apparently a two in one kind of guy. Even though the temperature of the water was a degree short of scalding, the areas of your body that had been caressed by Frank’s large hands burned hotter.

He had touched you, really touched you, beyond the point of just trying to sell your distraction. He didn’t have to kiss you back the way he had. He could’ve just let his lips stay modestly pressed to yours until the officer walked up.

But Frank seemed to have lost himself in the kiss just as much as you had. 

So why was he acting so strange now? If he wanted that kiss as much as you did, why was he acting more reserved with you now than he ever had before? Was his perceived passion blown out of proportion by your greedy and selfish imagination? 

Or did he simply regret it?

The whirlwind of questions and convoluted doubt only got worse when you slipped his clothes on. 

His clothes.

Frank had given you a long sleeve black t-shirt that was ridiculously soft and comfortable. You had recalled seeing him wear it on several occasions. While it fit him snugly, the sleeves hung comically off your hands, and the bottom of it reached the middle of your thighs. Your eyes had momentarily widened seeing that he had given you a pair of his black briefs, but they fit you somewhat better than the sweatpants he had offered. 

It felt strangely intimate to be in Frank’s clothes. Granted, wearing someone else’s underwear is kind of intimate, but it also made you feel…comforted in an odd way. You were completely doused head to toe in the familiar scent of Frank, and that made you feel safe in a way that you had only ever felt with him.

When you stepped out of the steamy bathroom, Frank was sitting on the edge of the bed with his phone in his hand, staring down at it intently. He perked up when he heard the bathroom door creak open, and his eyes instantly snapped over to look over at you. His dark brown eyes roamed slowly over the sight of you in his clothes, and when he finally met your gaze, there was a look there you hadn’t seen before.

But it made your knees weak.

Trying to dispel the thick layer of tension in the air, you cleared your throat as you slowly walked over towards him and handed the pair of sweatpants back with a soft smile on your lips.

“I gave them my best shot.”

Frank’s eyes softened slightly and he let out a light chuckle, taking the sweats from you to place into his own lap.

“Everythin’ else work alright?”

“Yeah…yeah, um…thank you.”

“Sure. We’ll find a store first thing in the mornin’, get ya some stuff. How’s the hand?”

Frank held one of his large hands out towards you expectantly, and without even thinking, you placed your injured one on top of his.

“It’s fine. I wrapped it.”

He pushed back the sleeve past your wrist to inspect your handiwork, delicately turning your wrist from left to right to examine the placement and tightness of the layers of gauze covering your wounded palm and fingers. He made a subtle expression of pride, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours with a nod of approval. 

“Not bad.”

“I had a good teacher.”

Frank looked up at you with slightly raised brows, and then a quirk of a smile curled at the edge of his lips when it clicked that you had learned by watching him tend to your hand last night. 

“S’pose you did.”

When Frank let go of your hand and rose from the bed, he moved to step around you, and you watched him toe off his boots by the door before starting to rummage through his duffle bag again. He had ditched his black denim jacket, and it looked like his shirt was straining against the expanse of his large back. When your eyes wandered upwards, your breath caught in your throat seeing a faint pink vertical line on the back of his neck.

The one you had left with your nails.

A surge of heat instantly spread across the tops of your cheeks, and between your thighs, as the phantom touch of Frank’s firm grasp on your waist burned once again on your skin. You had fantasized so many times about sitting on Frank’s lap and kissing him like that, but your imagination could never compare to the real thing. Your lips started to tingle again at the memory of his warm and soft lips responding eagerly to your kiss, and your ears rang loudly with the echo of his low groan that had sounded in his throat. 

You were all of a sudden painfully aware of the fact that you were getting wet in Frank’s underwear. 

You had never been so affected just from kissing someone before. Not even when you made out with a boy for the first time. Or…any boy you made out with for that matter.

Hell, Steven couldn’t even get you that worked up with his hand in your panties and detailed fucking instructions.

But Frank…Frank just drove you absolutely fucking wild.

“What happens now?”

Frank turned his head to look at you over his broad shoulder when your soft voice cut through the stillness. You could hear the faint desperation in your own voice, and you knew it heard it too. Frank never missed anything. There was a hesitancy to his features, and irresolution swimming around in his eyes, like he wasn’t sure what exactly you were referring to. 

What happens with the investigation?

What happens tomorrow?

What happens next with us, Frank?

Frank carefully turned around to face you fully, and while his face appeared neutral, there was something glowing in his eyes.

“With what?”

His words were laced with pure curiosity, but there was a coveted challenge concealed within them. You didn’t have the courage to ask the question you really wanted the answer to, and you had a feeling Frank wouldn’t answer it unless he was prompted. Even then, there was a good chance he would avoid it. A sobering thought washed over you that you might not be prepared for that answer anyway, so you decided to play it safe.

“Well…we can’t go back there, right?”

Frank’s lips pursed into a somewhat thin line. He almost looked like he was disappointed by your choice of question. His pensive eyes studied you silently for a moment before clutching that same pair of sweatpants he had offered you in his large hand and stalking off towards the bathroom.

“I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

When the door to the bathroom firmly shut, you flopped back onto the stiff mattress with a heavy sigh and closed your eyes. 

It was going to be a very long night.

These sleepovers with Frank were not going the way you had fantasized about previously at all.

»»———　　———««

Ten minutes later, Frank quietly emerged from the bathroom, and your eyes doubled in size as your jaw nearly became fully unhinged. The dark gray pair of sweatpants that he had offered you were slung dangerously low on his hips, and a delicious white sliver of the waistband of his briefs were peeking out above them. His cropped dark hair was tousled in damp curls, and droplets of warm water cascaded down the expanse of his lean and toned figure. Frank’s skin looked so smooth, like an exemplary chiseled piece of artwork carved into tan marble; a Greek god perfectly immortalized in impenetrable stone.

Your rapacious eyes were particularly interested in a droplet that was leisurely making its way down one of his deep cut v-lines, only to become absorbed by the fabric of his sweats. While you were marveling at the view of the unveiled Adonis before you, a sight abruptly caught your attention.

There was a faint pink scar above his right hip.

In an instant, you were no longer staring at him through cherry tinted lenses of desire, but with a slight pang of sadness cutting through your chest. There were numerous scars marked on Frank’s body. Some were faded, nearly blending in with his normal flesh tone, while some were opaque, a clear striking contrast of pain endured in comparison to the untainted color of skin that had never known affliction. Some were deep indentations nestled in his skin, almost to the bone, while others casually crested above the sea level of undisrupted ripples of flesh. 

“I was a Marine.”

Frank’s deep voice cutting through the silence of the motel room swiftly redirected your line of sight to his face. He had a gray tank top in his large hands, and he subtly seemed to be wringing it with a twinge of nervousness. There was an unrestrained expression of aversion in his eyes, as if he didn’t know whether to hide the evidence of an unforgiving past, or allow you to consume this rare moment of vulnerability completely.

For a moment your eyes dropped to the chain around his neck. 

The gold wedding band.

You hadn’t seen a glimpse of it since that night at the bar, when you’d caught sight of him in your guest bathroom with a few of his shirt buttons undone. You still didn’t know if it was his or if it had belonged to his wife, or what happened to her, but it was hard to look at now.

You didn’t like seeing him look so uncomfortable, so you did your best to put him at ease with a tender smile on your lips as you looked up at him in genuine understanding and grace.

“That…actually makes a lot of sense.”

Frank glanced down at the shirt in his hands for a moment, an apparition of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as a dry and short chuckle escaped his mouth.

“I’ll try not to take offense to that.”

The elusive, light-hearted tone of his voice made you wonder if you could try to dismantle at least one of the many walls that he seemed to have up within him. You didn’t want to pry too much, but you’d had so many questions about Frank for months, and it seemed like he was finally giving you a rare window to get a few answers.

“Is…is that where those came from?”

“Most of ‘em.”

Frank kept his gaze averted downwards on the shirt in his hand as he spoke in a hushed tone, like his admissions couldn’t be uttered above a certain decibel level. It almost appeared as though it was easier for him to be vulnerable with you if he didn’t have to look at you. 

Was he nervous to see your reaction to his rare divulgence? Or was there something lurking in the shadows of history that he couldn’t face?

Was he thinking about your lips as much as you were thinking about his?

You had to focus. You weren’t sure how grand or miniscule this window of opportunity was with Frank. This moment could be just as magnificently fleeting as a shooting star escaping across the cosmos, and if you blinked at the wrong second, you would miss it. 

This could be your one chance to finally break through those meticulously crafted barriers of his. To unravel the chains of mystery that seemed to weigh him down, and finally erase that invisible line separating him from everyone else that he never seemed to let you cross. 

But, you couldn’t push too hard. If your curiosity was too intrusive, he’d immediately shut down. If you misstepped over the delicate minefield of his own temper, you risked an explosion. It had to be the most graceful balancing act you’d ever done.

You had to treat this like the most important story of your entire career. Carefully pose the questions as innocent conversation, instead of an interrogation, and give him the space to answer as generally or as detailed as he wanted to.

Billy’s advice seemed to echo in your ears at that moment.

You gotta let him come to you.

“How long were you in the Marines?”

“Did four tours.”

When you didn’t speak for a moment, Frank finally lifted his head to meet your gaze. There was a twinkle of amusement shining in his warm brown eyes at your evident confusion, and he let out a light chuckle as a crooked smile tugged across his lips.

“All in all, little over ten years.”

A faint blush layered over the tops of your cheeks at your own ignorance. Normally when you interviewed someone, you had the benefit of being able to research them beforehand. With Frank, you were having to make up everything as you go with the extremely limited knowledge you had of him, and of his experience. You knew virtually nothing about the Marines, or the military in general, but seemed to be feeling generous in offering explanations.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I was good at it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Frank glanced around the motel room for a moment, seemingly lost in his own thoughts while pondering the question that lingered between you. After a beat of silence, he sat down on the edge of the bed with a heavy exhale, just a few inches away from where you had been sitting cross-legged on the middle of the mattress, and turned his head to the left to look at you. 

“Did you always wanna be a journalist?”

Frank’s question took you by surprise. He didn’t often ask you personal questions about yourself, but you decided if you answered his questions honestly, maybe he would do the same.

“I’ve always been nosey.”

The corner of Frank’s full lips quirked up into a knowing smile, and you couldn’t help but let out a huff of air through your nose in a quiet snort.

“That don’t surprise me.”

Giving Frank a playful roll of your eyes in response to his comment, you lightly shrugged your shoulders, looking up at him with a faint smile on your lips.

“I’ve always liked story-telling. I’ve never really had the imagination to come up with my own, but I like other people’s stories, and I’ve always enjoyed writing. I thought a club would look good on my college applications, and I wasn’t very athletic or talented in anything else, so I decided to join my high school’s paper. That’s where I really fell in love with investigative journalism, which I realize sounds ridiculous given I was reporting high school ‘news’ but-”

“It ain’t ridiculous if it was important to ya.”

The sincerity in Frank’s tone coupled with the depth of his alluring gaze almost made you forget what you were talking about. It also made you suddenly aware of the fact that every time you downplayed yourself, Frank was quick to cut off your self-deprecation with a genuine sentiment. For a second, all you could do was stare into his eyes, until you decided to bare your soul in front of him.

“It was the first time I really felt like I was good at something. Like I…I had a purpose. I had something that was…mine. I could do something meaningful…something that mattered. It could be something I was proud of.”

Frank stayed silent while he soaked up the candor of your confession, like he was taking the time to commit every piece of it to memory. Sometimes you felt like he could see right through you when he stared into your eyes, and you felt incredibly small under his undivided attention. His head dipped slightly between his broad shoulders when he turned his head to stare down at his clasped hands for a moment.

“I never knew what the hell I wanted to do. I was a…bit of a troublemaker when I was a kid. My parents…they were older, ya’know? Couldn’t really do nothin’ to control me. I knew that, and took advantage of it. I was a real…”

“Asshole?”

Frank’s lips parted into a crooked smile, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I was gonna say prick. But…yeah. I was a little asshole.”

“Well thank God you grew out of that.”

Frank dropped his head slightly to stare back down at his hands again with a light chuckle. Your eyes followed his gaze, and you noticed a few scars covering his knuckles, resembling jagged designs carved into a tree trunk.

“I enlisted when I was eighteen. Thought…what the hell, ya’know? Was never any good at school or anythin’ like that…and I didn’t wanna get stuck at some…shit job. Thought it was my ticket out, ya’know? Get to travel, play with guns and tanks, that kinda shit.”

The light smile that had been on the edge of Frank’s mouth dissipated slowly, and his thick brows slowly drew closer in together while he rubbed his right thumb over the back of his left hand.

“Bein’ a Marine…it was the first time in my life I felt like I was worth a damn. Like I was really doin’ somethin’, ya’know? Somethin’ good…somethin’ important. I was good at it, damn good at it. Felt like I…like I finally found-”

“A purpose.”

Frank’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, and there seemed to be a shared expression of understanding between the two of you. You knew exactly what he meant, and he could see that reflected in your eyes.

“A purpose.”

He repeated those two words in a more quiet and contemplative voice, like he was repeating them more to himself than to you.

“So, how do you go from being a Marine to a bodyguard for a high maintenance journalist?”

“Just that goddamn lucky, I s’pose.”

The edges of Frank’s mouth twisted up into a sardonic smirk when he turned his head to look at you, and you were about to retort with a smartass comment of your own when you noticed something you hadn’t seen before.

Without even thinking, your hand reached out to trace a circular shaped scar on Frank’s left temple with your index finger. He didn’t go rigid when you touched him this time, not like he had in the truck. The smirk swiftly vanished along with the playful crinkles beside his eyes, and his full lips parted slightly while he stared at you intently as you lightly traced your finger over the mark. 

It was indented slightly, and you could feel the faint dip beneath your fingertip. The edges of it were tinted more of a blush shade, making it obvious this wound had been made more recently than some of the others adorning his skin. It almost looked like a bullet hole…and that idea had your stomach twisting into tight knots.

“What’s this one from?”

All of a sudden, Frank’s large hand wrapped around your wrist to push your hand away at the exact same time he turned he pulled his hand away from your delicate caress. His lips were now pressed in a line and that familiar hardness was back in his gaze. 

And just like that, whatever moment you two were having was clearly over. 

Frank suddenly stood from the edge of the bed and silently pulled his tank top over his head, slipping his large arms through the sleeve holes and covering his body with the dark gray fabric.

“We should call it a night.”

Frank’s voice was flat, and you felt a surge of frustration burn in your bloodstream. Every time you felt like you were getting somewhere with him, he pulled back. It was like you were constantly trying to carefully navigate your way up an unclimbable mountain, and as soon as the peak came into view, you lost your footing and fell to the bottom. 

He grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and tossed it onto the floor, and a crease of confusion settled in the middle of your forehead.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll take the floor. You can have the bed.”

You looked down at the queen size bed you were sitting on top of, a bed of which you barely took up any space, and then looked back over at Frank, who was in the middle of making a pallet on the floor.

“Frank, you don’t have to sleep on the floor. This bed is big enough for both of us.”

“Slept in worse conditions.”

You pinched at the bridge of your nose in pure irritation at both the insensitive implications behind his remark and his unrelenting stubbornness.

“So you’ve told me, several times. Thank you, by the way, for telling me that you think sharing a bed with me is worse than whatever the hell your setup was in the military. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet, Castle. I had no idea you were such a poet.”

Frank’s face twisted up in puzzlement and aggravation at the tone of sarcasm dripping from your clipped words.

“That ain’t what I-”

“I don’t want to hear a single complaint in the morning when you’re stiff and sore from choosing to sleep on the fucking floor.”

As you vexingly tugged back the thin and somewhat stiff quilt on top of the bed, you slid beneath it, the scratchiness of the cheap sheets against your bare legs only souring your mood even further. While you turned onto your side away from Frank and harshly smacked your hand against the button to turn off the lamp on the nightstand, he stared down at you with furrowed dark brows and a heavy frown in complete exasperation and perplexity.

“Oh for fucks-why is it always a goddamn argument with you?”

“Why are you always such an ass?”

“I’m an ass for tryin’ to be a gentleman and make sure you’re comfortable?”

Dragging your palms down your face with an irritated groan, you furiously sat up in the bed to look over at Frank with an exacerbated expression while the two of you raised your voices at each other in yet another argument.

“How are you making me uncomfortable if I’m offering, Frank? This bed is big, so big that you wouldn’t even have to breathe the same air as me. We could even put pillows down the middle just to make sure that we don’t accidentally touch in the middle of the night, because God fucking forbid-”

“Oh Jesus fuckin’ Christ, fine.”

Frank ripped the pillow off the ground and angrily tossed it onto the bed, tugging the covers back from the other side of the mattress to slip underneath angrily. He turned his head to glare at you as he harshly gestured towards himself in the bed.

“There? Happy? You gonna stop fuckin’ givin’ me shit, now?”

Returning Frank’s fuming glare with one of your own, the two of you seemed to be locked in an angry staring contest until you conceded and turned over again, dragging the unpleasant quilt up to your chin. You grit your teeth as you squeezed your eyes shut, letting out an aggravated exhale through your nose. 

As hot as your blood felt in your veins, there was also a nauseating feeling of disappointment settling in your stomach.

Frank wasn’t thinking about your lips. He wasn’t thinking about your kiss at all. If he was, it was him wishing it didn’t happen.

Maybe that was part of the reason he wanted to sleep on the floor and seemed so pissed off at you. He didn’t want to be near you. He was mad that you kissed him without his permission. 

You’d made him uncomfortable.

On the other side of the bed, Frank stared at the back of your head in the dim amber light of the room coming from the other bedside lamp. Turning his head to stare straight ahead blankly at the wall in front of him, he closed his eyes for a moment and let out a slow and heavy exhale as he grumbled a string of curses under his breath. 

After a few terse minutes of deafening silence, you could feel Frank shifting underneath the sheets, and his gravelly voice filtered in through the dense quiet.

“Look, I wasn’t tryin’ to hurt your feelin’s-”

“You didn’t-”

“Yes, I did. I wasn’t implyin’ that sharin’ a bed with you was such a bad thing, alright? I only meant I slept in worse places than on a floor, s’all.”

Frank genuinely sounded apologetic, and you felt a rush of guilt wash over you from the way you had twisted his words, jumped to conclusions, and reacted poorly. He let out another heavy sigh before speaking again.

“I just…wanted you to feel comfortable.”

The hushed tone of his voice made it sound like he was entrusting you with his deepest secret. Swallowing down your pride, you turned on your side to face Frank, looking over at him silently for a moment before letting out a soft sigh.

“Frank, you’ve never made me uncomfortable.”

He was laying on his back, his head slightly propped up against the headboard, but his face was turned towards you. He seemed to be searching your eyes for any thread of faultiness in your words that he could unravel. 

“I…I’m sorry I called you an ass.”

“You’re sorry for tellin’ me the truth?”

Frank arched one of his dark brows, and you could detect a faint smirk on the edge of his lips, even in the dim light of the room. You rolled your eyes as you laughed quietly.

“Can you just let me just apologize to you for making an ass of myself?”

Frank eyed you for a moment with a sly tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Aren’t good reporters s’posed to reserve their conclusions ‘bout somethin’ ‘til they got all the evidence?”

The low, hushed tone Frank spoke in to not disrupt the quiet peace that settled between the two of you made his voice sound sultry. That twinkle of amusement was shining in his eyes again, and you fought the grin that threatened to take over your lips.

Playful Frank was your favorite Frank.

“Are you implying that I’m not a good reporter, Mr. Castle?”

A low chuckle rumbled in Frank’s throat as he moved his right arm behind his head, closing his eyes while he turned his head to face upwards with a faint smirk on his lips.

“Considerin’ you’re trigger happy, and there’s ‘bout three guns within your reach, no. Absolutely not.”

“I am not-”

“Did you not just jump all over my ass a second ago over a misunderstandin’?”

Frank opened his eyes to look over at you, his thick dark brows raised slightly while that faint smirk remained subtly on his full lips.

Narrowing your eyes playfully, you poked your tongue against the inside of your cheek and lightly shrugged your shoulders beneath the quilt.

“Well, you gave me the conclusion that you were an ass the first day I met you, and you’ve only reinforced it since then. You also did just admit on record that you’ve been an ass since you were a kid, so.”

Another chuckle sounded from Frank as a grunt of agreeance sounded in his throat.

“I reckon you’re right ‘bout that.”

A few moments of tranquil quiet passed by between the two of you, but you were buzzing with questions on the inside. However, something he said abruptly clicked in your brain, and your eyes widened as you looked over at him.

“Frank?”

“Yeah?”

“Are there really three guns in this room?”

“Three on your side.”

Blinking a few times in dumbfoundment, your brows knit together as you stared over at him incredulously.

“What…what do you mean ‘three on my side’? How many are on your side?”

“Two, and a knife.”

“Jesus Christ, Rambo. Anything else?”

Frank let out a deep and amused chuckle at that, placing his left hand on his chest as he shifted slightly on his back to get comfortable.

“In the truck, yeah.”

“What? There’s more?”

“Go to bed.”

There was no firmness in Frank’s voice, just complete entertainment. You glanced around the dimly lit motel room cautiously, wondering where he might have placed them.

“Where are they?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Letting out a scoff, you turned your head to look at him in minor annoyance.

“What if someone tries to break in?”

“I’ll handle it.”

You narrowed your eyes at the mirthy smirk curling on the edge of his mouth.

“What if…five people break in?”

“Highly unlikely, but both guns on my side got a clip that hold 12 rounds. You done?”

An exasperated huff left your lips as you turned to lay on your back and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Isn’t it proper safety protocol to let someone know where loaded firearms are stashed?”

“They ain’t loaded.”

“You just said-”

“The ones on my side are loaded. The ones on your side ain’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You said it yourself. You’re nosey, and you never even held a gun before.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but to your irritation, Frank had a point. Not that you would admit that out loud to him. 

A few minutes of silence passed by before you spoke up again.

“You could always teach me.”

Frank opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to look at you, staring at you in a mixture of interest and confusion.

“Teach you what?”

You turned back onto your side to face him and lightly shrugged your shoulders.

“How to shoot.”

It was Frank’s time to stare at you in dumbfoundment. He arched one of his thick brows while he eyed you.

“You wanna learn how to shoot?”

“I mean…people are only trying to kill me.”

Frank didn’t return the playful smile that you flashed him, and it quickly fell from your lips. This was not going to be something he was going to agree to easily. You were really going to have to fight for this one. You had to show him that you were serious.

“If you hadn’t shown up last night, those men were going to kill me, Frank. I don’t ever want to feel that helpless ever again.”

The devout honesty in your voice was unmistakable, and Frank let out a deep exhale as he turned his head to look up towards the ceiling and closed his eyes again.

“Let’s deal with this shit first, then we’ll talk.”

There was a tiny surge of victory that coursed through you at that. It wasn’t technically a yes, but it also wasn’t a flat out no. You just needed to keep proving to him that this was something you were serious about.

You wanted to bring up the kiss, but you weren’t sure how to approach it. You didn’t want to ruin the peace your playful banter had brought about with Frank, but you couldn’t leave it alone. 

Why was he so goddamn hard to read?

Why was he still being so hot and cold with you?

Even if he was still your bodyguard, the two of you were way past the point of professionalism.

“Frank?”

“Hm?”

“I…I’m sorry…if I made you uncomfortable.”

The thin material of the pillowcase rustled loudly in the quiet as Frank turned his head to look at you inquisitively, like he had no idea what you were talking about.

“Earlier…when I…kissed you.”

There wasn’t a desert on any continent as dry as your mouth right now, and your heart was pounding so relentlessly against the sturdy ivory of your ribcage, you swore he could hear it a few inches away.

The cloudy ignorance seemed to dissipate from between his brows, and his features migrated to an expression of recognition. For a moment he didn’t say anything, and it made you realize you found his silence far more unnerving than his unwanted answers.

“You didn’t.”

There was such a confidence behind those two words that it nearly knocked the breath out of your lungs. Those two little words held so many portals of possibilities.

You didn’t; it just caught me off guard.

You didn’t; everything is fine between us.

You didn’t; I wanted to taste you.

Staring over at Frank, words seemed to completely vanish from your brain. You didn’t know what to say. You had no idea how to respond to that. The intensity of his piercing gaze sent a slight shiver tumbling down your spine despite the blazing warmth you could feel radiating from his body a few inches away from you.

The amber glow from the bedside lamp lit up his eyes like the golden hour of sunlight shining through a glass of whiskey. You wanted to get lost in him again. You wanted to take your rightful place on the throne of his lap, tangle your fingers in his hair like a crown, and let him rule over the kingdom inside your body.

“Frank.”

Was the delicate whisper of his name a desperate plea, or an enticing invitation? 

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he answered it.

For a moment, his mesmerizing stare dropped to your lips, and you swore you saw him start to lean in-

But then at the last second, he cleared his throat and turned over onto his side away from you, moving as close to the edge of the bed on his side as he could get. Frank’s voice was rough when it reached your ears, no trace of the warm and playful tone he had used just minutes ago.

“Get some sleep.”

That hopeful ember of desire that he had ignited in you had been completely snuffed out by his own hand before the flame could even catch, and the ambient light in the motel went out along with it leaving you in dumbfoundment and darkness.

tags: @twoshields @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @ferns-fics @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @yeah3459 @collaps3r @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @annalism @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98

[desiderio-dixon]

Darkest Before the Dawn

Chapter two : Wildflowers

Pairing : Daryl Dixon x f!reader (endgame), (unrequited) Glenn Rhee x f!reader

Series summary : When Glenn Rhee comes into your life, you become convinced he's a guardian angel sent by your late best friend. You think he's your soulmate. But then he falls for the farmer's daughter, and you find that your own angel may be a little more blatant than expected; wings and all.

Chapter summary : As time passes, you grow more concerned about the group in Atlanta. Daryl faces an internal conflict while hunting.

Chapter warnings : I believe just language? Please let me know if you notice anything else!

Word count : 1.6k (I wanted this one to be longer but it felt too cluttered, so the next chapter will just come in quick succession)

A/N : Thank you so much for all the positive reception on the first chapter! I'm open to starting a taglist for this series if anyone's interested. Just send me an ask :)

Series masterlist

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

When Carol returns, she hands you two mini Hershey's chocolate bars. "Courtesy of Sophia," She tells you with a gentle smile.

You gave your best smile in return. "I'll have to thank her later."

After eating the candy, you started to feel a bit better. Carol stayed with you until you declared you were going back to your tent, trying to catch a couple more hours of rest.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

When you awoke, a few hours had passed. Enough for the sun to emerge from the horizon and the camp to grow lively with the sounds of everyone starting their day.

Crawling out of your tent, you were satisfied to find that your head didn't spin. Really must've been an episode of low sugar; thank god for Carol. You should find both her and Daryl, to thank them for their help.

You find Carol pouring dry cereal into bowls for the kids at a picnic table. Mischievously, you sneak behind Carl to snag a freeze-dried marshmallow from his bowl. "Hey!" He calls, a pout heavy on his lips while you toss it into your mouth. You stick your tongue out at him, ruffling his hair. He makes a face, but sinks back into easy conversation with Sophia in no time.

Turning to Carol, you find her eyes already on you. She's staring at you with an emotion you can't quite place, but it seems sweet and somber simultaneously.

She pours you your own bowl wordlessly. When she hands it to you, you place it on the table behind you before grabbing her hands in your own. You regret the sudden movement instantly, when she briefly flinches before relaxing into your gentle touch.

"Thank you for earlier, I don't know what I would've done without you." You say with a genuine smile and a tone of exasperation. She nods, returning your smile. You let her hands go, sitting down on the bench with your bowl of cereal.

Sophia sits on your left, enthusing with Carl about one of her dolls, kicking her feet and shoveling spoonfuls of sugary cereal between words. You eat your cereal silently while you wait for her rant to come to an end. This is a very important topic, after all.

Finally, she concludes the telling of her doll's very intricate backstory. "Sophia," You call gently. "Your mom lent me a couple of your candybars this morning. I promise I'll bring you a king size bar soon!" You wink. She giggles and nods, ever the shy kid.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

After breakfast, you decided to try and track down Daryl to give him your thanks. Weaving through tents and trees to reach the far end of the quarry, you arrive at the Dixon campsite. To your displeasure, there's no Daryl in sight. Only Merle, sitting on a tree stump cleaning his rifle. He doesn't look up when you approach, and you debate just turning back. But, Daryl truly does deserve your thanks and you want to be sure he receives it. "Where's Daryl?"

Merle chuckles, hands stilling over the rifle on his lap. He looks up at you over his brow-bone with a smirk. "Wasn't sure my baby brother had it in him," His chesire grin only grows when you scoff and roll your eyes. It's not like that with Daryl and you're certain he knows that too. "Oh, cmon, sugar! I ain't one to get in the way of young love! Sorry to say, though, Darylina ain't here. Went huntin' before the sun." So that's why Daryl was fully dressed in the early hours of morning. You suppress a sigh of disappointment at your failed mission, knowing that would only egg on Merle's teasing.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

Word had spread quickly around camp about your early morning escapades (though you'd hardly label it that as it wasn't quite exciting) and you'd been sternly grounded; no runs for the near future.

As the group prepared for their journey to Atlanta, your heart felt heavy. Nothing quite prepares you for just how boring the apocalypse is, especially when your favorite person is going on a run without you.

You flick the rim of Glenn's cap, standing in front of him next to the van. He swats your hand away gently, always careful with you. This is the first time he's gone on a run without you since he found you, and you're not sure what to say. 'Goodbye, hope you come back alive.'? 'Good luck not getting torn apart by the living dead.'?

Glenn beats you to the punch. "I'll see you later." He says, casually. Something about the way it's so easy for him feels like a knife twisting in your gut. You know he's an optimist, you know he believes he's going to see you later, but it hurts to think that he's not as worried about never seeing you again as you are. Overall, you're reminded that you're nothing but a friend to him. One he's only known for a month.

"Yeah, I guess I'll see you later." You breathe, lump forming in your throat when he just grins at you before hopping into the back of the van.

You walk away before you can watch it leave.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

The day seems to drone on, time moving slowly. You're holding a variety of tools for Dale, handing them off to him each time he makes a request. He and Jim have their heads firmly pointed into the hood of the Winnebago. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Dale sighs exasperatedly. "Boy, that hose isn't long for this world, is it?"

Jim shakes his head solemnly. "No, sir." Dale hands you back a variety of tools for you to tuck into the toolbox at your feet. He slams the hood shut.

"Where the hell are we gonna find a replacement?"

"Maybe Glenn and I could find an auto store in the city." You offer, shrugging. Dale had made a great friend and mentor; you think you'd do just about anything to make that old man happy. Including risking your life for a damn radiator hose.

"It's late. They should be back by now." Amy yells over. You agree. There's been a nagging sense of concern in the back of your mind. Your trips never take this long.

Dale looks to Amy with an empathetic expression. "Worrying won't make it better." He tells her. The words weren't meant for you but you let them resonate. Worrying won't make it better.

When garbled speech starts to spew over the radio, Dale snatches it up. "Hello? Hello? Reception's bad on this end. Repeat, repeat." He yells into the radio. There's a crowd now gathered around, awaiting a response from the other end. You'd gotten a strange signal the day before but even still you were certain this time it was your group.

More unintelligible speaking comes through. "Is that them?" Lori asks. The next message is clearer. T-dog is speaking, something about trapped and the department store. Your heart sinks to the soles of your feet at what that may imply for their fate. Dale tries once more to get a clearer message when the radio cuts out completely, leaving everyone with a pool of anxiety in their chest.

There's minimal chatter before Shane shuts down the thought of sending help immediately. "No way," He says. "We do not go after them. We do not risk the rest of the group. Y'all know that."

Amy's face turns from scared to red hot rage. "So, we're just gonna leave her there?" You watch Shane, who frankly looks agitated by Amy's reaction. He runs his hand through his hair, the other one placed firmly on his hip.

"Look, Amy, I know this isn't easy."

Amy cuts him off before he can finish that thought. "She volunteered to go to help the rest of us!"

Shane sighs. "I know, and she knew the risks, right?" The question hangs in silence for a second before he goes on. "See, if she's trapped, she's gone. So, we just have to deal with that. There's nothing we can do." You scoff at that.

Amy has a stronger reaction. "She's my sister, you son of a bitch!" She yells before turning and stomping off. Lori goes after her.

"And what about Glenn?" You ask Shane. He doesn't answer. "You people wouldn't have half of the shit here if it wasn't for him." You spit. Just then, thunder begins to rumble in the distance, and you retreat to your tent to wait out the incoming storm.

In classic southern fashion, the rain comes and goes just as quickly. You decide to stay in your tent, worry implanting in the back of your skull keeping you from wanting to socialize. The cheesy romance novel you found on your last run is all the company you'll need for now. A nice distraction from the images of your friends, trapped in Atlanta, being torn apart.

You've read two chapters when you hear it. A blaring car alarm and rock music. Louder than anything you've heard since the bombs dropped.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

Daryl feels stupid. He barely knows you, certainly doesn't like you. But here he is, staring at a patch of wildflowers. You'd like them, he thinks. He's noticed that embroidered patch on your bag. Flowers of all different pastel hues, some spots stained with dried blood. He crouches over them, pulling his knife from his belt.

His fingers stutter where he goes to slice the stems. It's what people do, right? A 'get well soon' gesture. He's nearly cutting it when a groan sounds behind him. It breaks him out of his trance. Standing, he scoffs, stomping on the flowers. He uses the same knife to plunge into the walker's skull. He doesn't know you, and he's sure as hell not going to be seen carrying around a bundle of flowers to give to a girl.

[lover-girl-estxx]

Nick being angry at Nate for exposing his feelings to the reader. (Nate exposed Nick)

Fluff

Thank you so much 😊

Nothing To Be Upset About

(22)

"here" Nick said putting a soda and candybar on the corner "my favorites! thank you!" he smiled "yeah of course" "Richard was telling me about you're fight coming up, you start camp yet?" I opened the soda and leaned back in my chair "next week" I nodded "you gonna make me watch from a bar again?" I chuckled "maybe maybe not" I shook my head "Nick!" Nate yelled from the ring "duty calls" I smirk making him roll his eyes "smoke after?" he asked and I nodded "thanks again!" he nodded

"I don't get it, I watch you train everyday and Nate let's me go to his " I said handing the joint to Nate "it's just not the same" Nick replied I sighed, Nick took one last puff before going in side "wanna know why he won't let you to his fight?" Nate asked "yeah" I nodded "he likes you and you make him nervous" I laughed "your joking stop" I shook my head "i'm serious he likes you a lot" "why doesn't he say anything?I mean i've known him a year and I don't think he's ever even sightly said something like that" "have you met him? he can barely say hi to you" I gave him an unbelieving look "check his locker if you don't believe me" "I don't know the code" "it's Nina's birthday so his birthday" they share the same birthday "do it you'll see" he said then walked into the gym "you can't do that!" I yelled.

"going for a run be back" Nick said going by my desk Nate after "see you guys in a bit!" I smiled. After they left I went to Nick's locker I stood in front of it not really wanting to open it with out him, I sighed and put the code in 08 02 87 it opened. He had three pictures of me and him in there, I flipped one and looked on the back it had a small heart on it I smiled and put it back before closing it. I went back to my desk writing on a post it before putting it in his locker through the slit.

Met me at the skate park at 9? - Y/n

| Nick's POV |

I had the post it in my back pocket as I got in the front seat of our car Nate the passenger, "Y/n left a note in my locker wanted me to met her at the skate park tonight". I wasn't a great skate boarder but I was alright, I enjoyed it a lot and Y/n knew that which mean't a lot to me. Nate chuckled "what?" I asked driving down the road "I had a little talk with Y/n today.." he said looking at me through the corner of his eyes "about what?" he laughed and shrugged "take a guess" "Nate you didn't" "I did she wasn't upset" "what she say?" "nothing really" "you fucked everything up!" I said my voice getting louder "you had nothing to fuck up! you were being a little bitch about it!" "I had a friendship you dick! she's not gonna hang out with me anymore!" "she wants to hang out tonight!" "to tell me she doesn't want to see me again!" "you're out of your mind has ever done that!" "you ruined it just mind your own fucking business!" "there is nothing to be upset about!" "just stop talking your getting me even more pissed".

I set my bag on my floor and the note on my nightstand, I sat on the bed and ran a hand down my face. "are you gonna go?" Nate asked from my doorway "get out!" "i'm not in my still in my room" "leave me alone" I threw a pillow at him "your such a baby!". 8:24. Nina came and sat on my bed "what's wrong?" "your brothers an ass" "you were never gonna say anything" "how do you guys know that!?" she shrugged "if you don't go thats your last chance" "yeah yeah " "Nate was just trying to help " I sighed.

| Y/n's POV |

It was 9:40 and still no Nick so I made a bad choice to skate to his house. I softly knocked on the side door which was to Nick's room after a bit he opened the door "you made me skate by myself" I said with a smile "I-I was gonna m-meet you in a bit" "at 10:30?" he nodded and rubbed his neck "sorry" 'it's okay...Nate told me something today" "yeah i'm sorry he made that up" "did he though?" "yeah" he nodded "well than I guess you wouldn't want to know I like you too?" he put his hands on his hips "that so?" he gave a look I laughed, I cupped one cheek and the other on his waist then leaned up and pecked his lips he put a hand in my hair and brought my head back to him. I smiled "now can I watch you fight?" "yeah I guess" he shrugged and smiled before pecking my lips again.

[viridianstudy]

[Drew, after long hours of talking inside, and sitting, waiting, decide to move around a little.

Gales house is nice. Huh. Not bad... Not bad at all.

Suddenly slight, sharp pain. Drew Tactfully opens the candybar, and, eats it. ]

.... Only a little bit now.

[ The puzzle piece, laying flat on the table, opens its eye. It swivels from side to side before lifting up and turning left and right. It... doesn't move much more than that, though there's a low, quiet sound like that of a microphone turned on but not being used. ]

[dreamlanddeluxe]

im here and yea cell phone designs are cool too if the 3g networks were still active i'd probably use something like one of the mid-00s motorola candybar phones like the slvr

So real and so true these are my favorites:

Pictures left to right top to bottom are nokia 7600 motorola pebl motorola Startac rainbow and motorola aura. My absolute favorite is the nokia 7600 because I saw it in a science museum on a school field trip ones and it blew my mind and sparked a fascinating in phone design, strange ones specifically. I actually wrote briefly about the 7600 and aura in a assingment for my uni fashion design class and talked about how they were products of the brief designer phone era. Got a good grade on that

I also like the cybiko pda but it gets pushed back because it’s name has a stupid orgin. Cool design wise tjough

[smvkedd]

" don't worry , don't worry . i'm not doing anything i shouldn't be doing . feel free to take your first exit to the left and i am absolutely not hiding anything behind my back . " except a stolen candybar . a complete accident but after a childhood of crime and an adulthood of hiding from it , oliver was paranoid . " okay you got me ... i stole a candybar but i didn't mean to and if i go back and say that they're not gonna believe me and then i'm just a thief . " ( @silvcrspringsx / pandora )

[sharuruwrites]

Your Answer (Pt.1)

Summary: Which of the following simple phrases that can change someone's life? Take a guess.

A.) I love you B.) You matter C.) I'm sorry

Timeline: Gojo - 26, Shion - 25

Tags: Can get very angsty at the start and near the end, Gojo (annoyingly/adoringly), Shion being a Tsundere, Fluff, Shoko being tired of her friends' oblivious acts,

Words: 4.1k+

A/n: HEEEYYYYY, I'm back from my unannounced 4 month hiatus. Don't worry, this author is fighting tooth and nail with writer's block on a daily basis. Anyways, it was supposed to be a Megumi-ish centered chapter but the author still hasn't grasped of his character that much to think what would he be like in his childhood with Shion around. Because of this said problem, I was duking out with writer's block, and school.

EDIT: I kept forgetting to upload this chapter since January because my stuff doesn't show up unless its morning.

Special thanks to zark or xerox-candybar for beta reading this chapter because as always, she did a wonderful job.

Disclaimer: I don't own JJK

Masterlist

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

---------------------------------

One morning, a lone special grade sorcerer, Shion Gojo, spent some time in the quiet halls of the school library. Shion had long forgotten the opened book in her hand along with the untouched tea she made earlier. Instead of reading, she focused on the cherry petals falling like light rain from the nearby window.

‘It’s been 10 years since I’ve met Satoru, huh?’ Shion thought.

“Are you by yourself?” 

Shion turned her attention towards the direction of the voice, and it was Shoko. Much to Shion’s surprise, the ever-present dark circles on the doctor’s face weren't there. If Shion wasn’t mistaken, the last time she saw Shoko without them was before she enrolled into med school. 

“Shouldn’t you be at the morgue around this time?” Shion asked, watching the latter take a seat across from her. 

“I should be,” Shoko grabbed an unlit cigarette from her inner pocket, using it to point at Shion. “But I chose not to.”

“Shoko, you- ow !”

Shoko pulled Shion’s cheek with her free hand before letting it go. “Relax, I’m responsible enough to keep on top of my medical reports, and I’m not gonna smoke.” Shoko pointed at the fire extinguisher, knowing Shion wouldn’t hesitate to use it on her. “Besides, Watanabe-sensei is covering for me, which means I actually get to take a break.”

“I forgot that he was here.” Shion rubbed her cheek to numb the pain. “I thought he was stationed permanently at Kyoto now?”

“That was supposed to be the deal since I got my license, but something changed. I don’t know much about the details other than he’s going to be here for two months.” Shoko shrugged. “Hey, as long as I get more sleep at night, I’m fine with whatever.” 

“That would explain the lack of eyebags on you.” Shion blurted, causing Shoko to pinch her friend’s cheeks again. 

“Anyways," Shoko let go of Shion’s cheek once more. "You seem to be missing Satoru after just a few days." 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shion frowned slightly. “As you said, it’s only been five days since he left. He’ll be back from the mission in no time.”

“Then can you explain that ?” 

With her unlit cigarette, Shoko pointed at something next to Shion. Sitting next to her was a soft-looking white floppy long-eared floppy bunny, relaxing on a stack of books. 

Shion found it weird that the character was in fact a puppy, and not a rabbit. This information had caused a near-heated debate with one of the die-hard Sanrio fans at the same store. She could have sworn they're ready to kill her on the spot.

There’s nothing wrong with the said rabbit puppy plush toy. The signature black gakuran of JujuTech that the doll wore was a pain in the ass to hand stitch as she didn’t have a sewing machine. As for the blindfold, it was supposed to be white bandages, but she had leftover fabric from the uniform she made and-

Oh.

Shion shook her head in denial before turning her attention back to Shoko as the resident doctor awaited her explanation. “I still don’t see how this adorable toy correlates to me missing that long-lost member of three blind mice.”

“Gojo is right, you’re the walking definition of what ‘oblivious’ means.” Shoko lightly chuckled, seeing her friend’s face bloom into red. “However, that trait of yours is what makes two dumbasses pay special attention to you back in high school.”

Shion cleared her throat, seizing the opportunity to change the topic. “I assume you’re not here to reminisce about our high school days.” 

"Nope," Shoko replied. “ I just want to check on you. I’ve been thinking about that confession you made last year.”

"Why now?" Shion crossed her arms, suddenly guarded. 

“Time is considered to be a luxury for us, especially in this world.” Shoko paused for a second, carefully thinking about her next words as her index finger flicked the unlit cigarette. “Is it still the same? You’re still loving him because you think you have to?”

What had she said that night? Shion couldn’t remember, thanks to all that alcohol turning her mopey and shit, making her spill unspoken truths lies. The doctor didn’t have to take her confession so seriously; they were just drunken ramblings, and not meant to be accepted at face value. 

Did Shion love Gojo because–as she had said–she feels like she has to, because he deserves it? Or did she truly fall for him? 

She really wished that finding the answers for those questions would be easy, but it wasn’t. She blamed her lack of experience with love and romance. How was she supposed to know if she loved someone? It always seemed so simple in books--but despite her collection of romance novels, she had yet to truly understand it.

Some said that they knew they were in love with someone when they accepted their imperfections. They just learned to tolerate them.

Others said that that love was a gut feeling; something indescribable but recognizable as one grew older and wiser with experience. That definition certainly didn’t help at all. 

Gojo’s warmth…could she use that as her basis for understanding? Throughout the years she had known him, whenever he held her hand or hugged her, she felt safe and secure. As if he’s telling her everything would be alright.

No, it’s stupid to think that a mere touch could change everything she understood about herself. Maybe this love was purely platonic? After all, despite his hijinks, she respected him both as a person and as a sorcerer.

Shion fidgeted in her chair before placing her hand on her chest. “I do know the love I held for him is nothing more than admiration and respect. Afterall, I don’t deserve to be love and held in such-”

“Can you just stop for a sec there?” Shoko’s question interrupted Shion, the tone in her voice was laced with frustration. “Honestly, don’t you find it tiring to be so pathetic and weak-minded?”

Shoko took a deep breath, running her fingers through her hair before exhaling. 

“You know…” The doctor crossed her arms. “He can and will scorch anybody and anything that hurts you.”

The words made Shion feel time had significantly slowed. What Shoko is saying couldn’t be true, right? Of course it's not! The idea that Satoru Gojo would forsake his dreams and ideals for someone like her? That sounded like pure blasphemy. She wasn’t worth the trouble. 

And what if it were true? If anything, it would make her hate herself more than she already did. 

“That’s not true.” Shion shook her head frantically; a shaky breath was released next. “He just hasn't found a reason to end our marriage. A special someone…” 

“Really?” Shoko raised her brow, unwittingly mocking her friend. “Look me in the eye and say you’ll be fine if he falls in love with someone else.” 

Shion gulped down her nervousness, steeling her nerves as she held Shoko’s gaze. However, when she opened her mouth, nothing came out, and the long-awaited words lodged in her throat as her breathing became shallow.

Something crept into the special grade sorceress, and this ‘something��� was all too familiar to her: fear. The fear that everything she held dear would disappear from her grasp, all because she dared to acknowledge it. 

“How long will you still deny-”

“Shut up!” 

Shion’s raised voice cut through Shoko's question. 

The distressed woman hugged herself, digging her nails into her arms and shutting her eyes close. “I don’t want to hear any of it!” Shion said. “It’s not true! I don’t fucking deserve it! He deserved so much better!”

In a split second, the atmosphere became thick and heavy with tension. As Shion repeated those words like a mantra to herself, Shoko distracted herself with her own thoughts. 

To be honest, it was none of her business. Shoko didn’t even like to meddle in someone else’s affairs. However, after the stupidest choice that her friend made six years ago, Shoko decided to be neutral.

Yes, the higher-ups were a huge pain in her ass, but thinking about how to traverse through the messy and complex web of politics in the hidden world of Jujutsu was too much for her. She already had patients and cursed spirits to worry about. 

Thankfully, her role as a practitioner of reverse cursed technique saved her from the higher-ups breathing down her neck. And, to prevent future headaches or raise suspicion, she kept Gojo at arm's length. 

Call her selfish for being neutral, but isn’t everyone else? There’s no such thing as a selfless individual. Sometimes, a “random act of kindness” could be nothing more than an ego trip.

…so why was she sticking her nose into Shion’s marriage? 

Shoko would say this as many times as she needed to. It was tiring to watch Shion and Gojo’s whole charade: the two of them trying to be oblivious, denying themselves for their own sakes. 

Fuck, she needed a drink. She didn’t give a shit that it was still early afternoon. 

A constant buzzing of Shoko’s phone severed her line of thought. With her free hand, she picked up the call. 

“Hello? Yeah, I’ll be there in five.” Shoko shoved her phone back into her lab coat. “Watanabe called, and he needs me for something.” 

The sound of her friend’s voice broke Shion from her trance. Her head snapped back up, meeting Shoko’s unfazed expression. 

“Shoko, I’m-”

“Don’t apologize.” Shoko cut her off, getting up from her seat. “I pushed too hard when you’re clearly not ready to talk about it. I’ll make up to you the next time we meet.”

The clicking sounds of Shoko’s heels echoed throughout the library. With every step she made, the sound became fainter and fainter until silence had become Shion’s companion once more. She returned to stare at the seemingly endless shower of pink petals.

Somehow, the color had become dull and lifeless to her.

---------------------------------

Before she left the library with the plush toy, Shion got a call from Yaga to pay a quick visit to his office. She really hoped it’s not about the mysterious holes found in Tsukamoto’s brown fabric body. Plenty of students fell victim to it and she knew Nanami was one of those unfortunate individuals. 

Without much to anyone’s surprise, many sought for revenge on the cursed corpse, but Yaga was the only obstacle that prevented them from doing so.

"A crow came to my office with Alex's request attached to it." Yaga handed Shion a scroll. "He specifically asked for you to join him on a mission."

Shion loosened the tie around the paper before briefly scanning the contents. "Is something wrong with it? You don't usually hand-deliver my missions unless it requires extra precaution."

"Call it a gut feeling, but…" Yaga picked up the felting needle and started working on his cursed corpse's torso. "I think something bad is going to happen with this one. I suggest you think carefully before accepting Alex’s request.” 

It’s been a while since she last heard that name. Alex was an Interpol agent who worked part time as a 1st Grade Sorcerer. He mostly dealt with international cases related to curses, or suspected curses. They had last spoken about two or three months ago, after Alex had enlisted her help in Egypt. 

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME WE’RE GONNA DEAL WITH A FUCKING BOOBY TRAP!” Shion yelled. 

As the duo ran along the steep-yet-narrow hallway, a giant boulder rolled down behind them. Their mission was supposed to be straightforward–search this tomb to investigate a ‘sickness�� plaguing a nearby village. 

She hated the heat, the constant feeling of sand in her mouth and feet, and the camels kept spitting at her even though she did nothing to gain their ire. 

But the trip became 10x worse than it already was when Alex decided to take a rest. By leaning on the pyramid’s wall, he had triggered this comical chase scene. 

“YOU SAID IT’S A SIMPLE MISSION!” 

“I THOUGHT THAT MUMMY SHIT  ISN’T REAL!” Alex retorted, seemingly about to lose his breath. "ALSO, AREN'T YOU A SPECIAL GRADE SORCERER!? WHY DON'T YOU PROVE IT!?"

While turning sharply, Shion reached for the handle of her dagger as she skidded across the limestone concrete floor, facing the incoming boulder that could have easily flattened her into a pancake.

"SHUT UP!"

She closed her eyes and opened them, her eyes turned seafoam colored as she swung her weapon towards it, digging her dagger into the solid rock surface. In a split second, the huge boulder broke into multiple pieces before into fine dust. 

She thought she could finally have peace in her husband’s office. However, seeing Yaga-sensei surrounded with his own cute creations, it left Shion a question of her own as she stared at the wooden ceiling, mindlessly playing with the doll’s floppy white ears. 

‘What can I do after all of this ends?’ 

She never thought much about what her life would be after the war with the cursed spirits ended. It’s a fleeting dream for sure, but there’s always an end to everything. There’s a small seed of hope in her that she would live long enough to see that day.

Happy ending? Unlikely. She’d seen so much shit that it felt impossible for her to keep going. Shion had ended enough lives to hear the voices who condemned her to death. She closed her eyes, unconsciously relieving that memory again. 

A girl no younger than 13 with black hair made a trail of red roses as she wielded her blade, tainting the snowy grounds of the compound. 

The pleas for mercy fell on deaf her ears as she drove her katana into her targets. Why would they bother to ask for forgiveness? Weren’t they bad people? She didn’t expect them to regret anything they did. 

The thirst for revenge clouded her judgment, ignoring the cold, lifeless eyes of her victims. They would answer for her parent’s blood with their own.

Her cold fingers warmed as a crimson-colored metallic smelling liquid painted them. Was it from the mother who wept over her dead children? Or was it from the elderly couple she struck down?

 At this point, Death would be her constant companion. And even if she wanted to, there’s no turning back as she was already knee-deep into her path of vengeance. 

The people she slaughtered like cattle were her mere stepping-stones towards her own goal. 

Shion’s eyes shot wide open, breaking free from her memory when she felt something vibrating in her pocket. She fished it out, and her phone lit up with her husband's caller ID, and an incoming request for a video call. 

She accepted the call, and the screen of her phone changed to show her husband’s stupidly handsome face. She questioned the acceleration of her heartbeat upon realizing he didn’t have his usual white bandages, leaving his face bare. She’d seen his beautiful blue eyes countless times, but why now? 

“Miss me that much?” Gojo raised his brow at his wife’s stoicism. “You usually pick up my calls after 3 rings, honey.”

This unexpected pet name sent color to Shion’s pale cheeks. “If you called me to prove your point, I'd hang up on you.” 

“Wait!” Her husband loudly exclaimed. “ I just wanted to hear how things are going so far. It’s pretty busy around here. I’ll be out for another two weeks. ”

14 more days? That’s too long for him to be away. Then again, it’s not like everyone could be a sorcerer which meant more work for her husband. Would it be alright to be a little selfish, to ask for more of his time? 

Masking her disappointment, Shion let out a small sigh. “Where do you want me to start?” 

“From the very beginning.”

The conversation between the couple was supposed to be a quarter of an hour but it went beyond that. Surprisingly, Gojo didn’t interrupt her once with his usual snide remarks. It’s almost as if he called her to listen to her voice. This idea almost made her blush on the spot as her heart beat faster. 

Shion let out a small gasp, remembering something at the last second. “Also, Watanabe-sensei shot Tsukamoto dead.”

“The teddy bear with boxing gloves?” Gojo asked, watching Shion nodded. “Save me a front row seat–I wanna be there when it happens.”

“When what happens?” 

“When Yaga-sensei suplexes Watanabe-sensei.” 

Now, it would be an interesting sight to see. 

“Satoru,” Shion called him, but instead of warmth, a dreadful feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. “Before you go, can I ask you something?”

Gojo’s lax expression straightened as he picked up the seriousness of Shion’s tone. 

“We’ve been married almost six years, Satoru,” Shion started, pausing for a moment. “And I‘ve been thinking about your answer that day. Is it still the same? Marrying me because you have to?”

The day after her trial and announcement of her engagement, a question formed in her head despite the  influence of anesthesia in her system. She thought that the drug had given her the courage to ask her husband. So much of that day was foggy, yet somehow his words became engraved deep in her memory.  

Back then, his answer solidified her belief that her married life would be miserable. 

“Why do you want to marry me, Gojo?” 

“I could let them have your head.” Gojo grabbed a lock of her black hair, playing it between his fingers. “But…you possess one-of-a-kind technique. That would become one of my regrets, if I didn’t intervene.”

Gojo pressed his lips against her hair, the disgust churning Shion’s stomach.

“The wedding gift I want from my lovely soon-to-be wife is… don’t die on me.”

Instead of an immediate response, the astounding silence was enough to make Shion’s blood run cold. Although Gojo’s expression remained unchanged, she saw the uneasiness in his eyes. 

‘What are we?’ 

Three simple words were enough to change everything she had with Gojo. She wanted to ask that question, and resisting the temptation grew harder and harder with each passing day–the risk was too heavy to jeopardize what they had. 

And look at her selfish curiosity brought to her. She almost ruined what she had with him because of his silent response. That was enough for Shion. Yet why did she feel such disappointment? Did she truly hope his answer would be different? 

“Shion-”

"Please forget about this conversation." Shion bit her inner cheek, preventing herself from frowning. "It's unfair for you to be asked on the spot when you have other priorities to worry about."

Another moment of stillness passed between them, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable type of silence, like she had experienced with Shoko earlier. 

Gojo chose "Let's talk about it when I get back, okay?"

Fearing her voice would fail her, Shion nodded. Without anything else to say, Gojo ended the call, returning her phone's screen back to her wallpaper. It’s her pre wedding photo. She couldn’t recall the fine details on how she came to agree with the decision. 

However, she noticed something different in Gojo. As far as she remembered, this photo dated back when things were so damn complicated and difficult between them, causing a thick strain in their relationship. 

Yet, the softness she found in his gaze towards her told her otherwise. 

Why was he looking at her like that? As if…she was everything to him? 

---------------------------------

One late evening, a lone special grade sorcerer, Satoru Gojo, finally returned home after eight long days with barely enough sleep. His mission ended earlier than expected, but hey, at least he could finally see his lovely wife sleep properly in his comfy bed.

“I’m home!” 

After taking his shoes off near the doorstep, he walked towards the living room with a spring in his step. However, his expectations fell shortly after seeing a messy patch of green hair on top of a bespectacled man’s head. 

“Oh, you’re home.” Watanabe folded the newspaper in half. “And that’s my cue to leave.”

“Watanabe-sensei?” Gojo knitted his brows. “What are you doing here in my house? Where are Tsumiki and Megumi?”

“First, your wife asked me to look after them while she’s on a mission. Second, they’re asleep.” The school doctor rolled his neck before rubbing the nicotine patch on his upper left arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to school.”

“And Shion?”

“What about her, Gojo?" Watanabe's eyes widened a bit upon remembering. “She did tell me she’s going home with you in tow three days ago.” 

Gojo resisted the urge to frown in confoundment upon hearing what Watanabe said. As much as he remembered, there was nothing indicating that his wife would be coming home with him. Maybe she said that to quell the children’s worries? After all, he hadn’t given them a clear idea as to when he’d be back.

So, his wife contacted Watanabe three days ago? Had something happened whilst he’s away? Nothing came to mind. Probably some sort of mix-up in communication. Still, he had a bad feeling.

Watanabe blinked a couple of times. “Anything else?” 

“I need you to look after the kids again.” 

“Huh? I’m a doctor, not a babysitter.” 

“I’ll tell Yaga-sensei what happened to Tsukamoto.”

“How did you-forget it.” Watanabe sighed heavily, scratching his head in the process. “Your influence on her truly shows. I can’t believe I’m still here, babysitting… You better cover my ass if Ieiri comes looking for me.”

Watanabe took his spot again on the couch as Gojo made way to his bedroom. He switched on the lights, illuminating his room. He lied down in bed and called his wife’s phone. The phone on the other end started ringing just as he put it to his ear. He didn’t realize how much he missed her until he heard Shion’s voicemail. 

Gojo kept calling and calling until his frustration took over. Where the fuck is she? He couldn’t sense the wedding ring or even her dreaded cursed energy. He cursed underneath his breath before getting out of bed. 

His mood improved when his eyes landed on a long, white floppy eared puppy. It was sitting comfortably on top of Shion’s bookshelf while wearing clothes that resembled his uniform. Instead of the white bandages, a black blindfold covered its eyes.

"Why, hello…" Gojo grinned, picking up the stuffed plush toy. "Is this supposed to be me?"

Even though Shion denied missing him, Gojo felt the effort she put into making this handicraft.  “We’ve been married almost six years, Satoru,” Shion started, pausing for a moment. “And I‘ve been thinking about your answer that day. Is it still the same? You’ve stayed married to me because you feel that you have to?” Gojo frowned. How could he forget that conversation? When his wife had never before questioned anything about their marriage…

Technically speaking, his answer hadn’t changed. He only married her to save her from getting her head chopped off. But if things were different, maybe he would marry her out of love, or maybe he didn’t. Instead, he would find another alternative to see her alive and breathing. 

He put the doll back where it was and began browsing through Shion’s mini library. If he couldn’t get through to her himself, maybe he could find some sort of clue in her books. He pulled down his bandages and started browsing through her collection. 

After almost half an hour, Gojo took note of the central themes in some of the books he briefly read. And, he wondered if it had something to do with him.

“If only I met you sooner.” …People tend to weave this idea into various stories– romantic or not, it was always a hit with the audience. Despite Shion seemingly being a fan of this trope, Gojo didn’t see the appeal of it. 

As he grew older and wiser with time, he understood why this futile fantasy often played into stories. Gojo believed its popularity was fueled by self-doubt, as humans tended to be fickle with their opinions on relationships. He could imagine the reason behind Shion’s fascination towards it. Was it because of how lonely she felt in the years before she met him? Or did she sense the solitude in him? 

Putting the book away, he pulled out his phone and noticed a text notification from Shion. The tension in his shoulders didn't leave. Why did he feel uneasiness from it?

In the picture, a disheveled woman was sitting alone, seemingly her arms were behind the chair she’s sitting on. She slumped over the chair with her hair hanging like curtains across her face. Above her was a single dimly lit lightbulb, illuminating her tired features and the black silk dress hung on her body. Splotches of red and purple littered across her arms and legs.

But the temperature in his body rose in anger and the bedroom dropped to zero degrees when he saw text:

“You’ll raise hell from the bottomless pit just for her, right?” 

-----------------------------

A/n: HEEEYYYYY, I'm back from my unannounced 4 month hiatus. Don't worry, this author is fighting tooth and nail with writer's block on a daily basis. Anyways, it was supposed to be a Megumi-ish centered chapter but the author still hasn't grasped of his character that much to think what would he be like in his childhood with Shion around. Because of this said problem, I was duking out with writer's block, and school.

Special thanks to zark or xerox-candybar for beta reading this chapter because as always, she did a wonderful job.

Also, for those who are up to date with the manga....Yeah...Since Gege chose to end the year with a bang, I might as well slammed the door open into the new year with a nice cliffhanger. ^^

In addition, here's Alex's Character Info: Character Profile: Alexander Atotsugi “Alex” Kim Enrollment Method: Family Lineage Hobbies: Collecting Antiques Favorite Food: Hae-jang guk (hangover soup) Least Favorite Food: Kimchi (can’t handle spice - his mother was purely disappointed in him) Cause of Stress: Dirty stuff - His mother is Korean American while his father is a former member of the Kamo Clan. His second name, Atotsugi, means "heir" as his father wants him to be the next clan leader. - Supposed to be next in line for clan head, but he has no interest in it. Because of his rejection, he earned the stitches on his face because his head was literally split into two from the family’s assassination attempt. - Met Mei Mei in a clan meeting between their families (after his clan paid him enough to make an appearance), only to find out he's her senior at Jujutech.

Hopefully, my next update wont be after 4 months as my life will be a bit busy after graduation this month. So, for those who were waiting, I apologize and thank you for being patient. I hope you enjoy this chapter and I'll see you guys whenever the next ch.

[victorluvsalice]

Welcome back to the Chill Valicer Save, everyone! When we left off, the trio had just hit Summer Monday, which I thought was a perfect day to spend selling things at their store --

-->But first – at the end of the last episode, Victor had just realized that holy SHIT did poor Shadow need a bath. XD So I had him take her upstairs to give her a scrub in the new fancy tub, while Alice (hanging out in Smiler’s room) got send to bed to top up her energy and Smiler finished upgrading their video production station with the “auto-update” upgrade that keeps it from breaking. Nice. :) They then studied the trends and discovered people were interested in tech reviews again, so I had them do a gadget review – and to my shock and amusement, the gadget they chose was what looked like an old early 2000s cellphone. You know, those “candybar” models that just had all the buttons and the little screen right on the front? Successor to the flip phone? That sort of thing. I promptly put “less of a review and more of a history lesson” in the description when they finished. XD

-->While that was happening, Victor finished up Shadow’s bath – and while I was clicking on her to see what I wanted to do next, I realized something: despite Shadow being an Adventurous dog, I had NEVER actually taken her on an adventure! And as Victor was feeling pretty darn good, I decided that 3:30 AM was a perfectly good time for them to dive down the rabbit hole. XD Literally – the “go on an adventure” option involves a Sim and their dog disappearing into a rabbit hole and having a little text adventure off-lot. Victor and Shadow thus headed down the front path, where – as per the pop-ups – they headed to Brindleton Bay and Whiskerman’s Wharf! Their adventure involved Victor and Shadow tracking an interesting scent past the still-hopping Salty Paws Saloon and along the edge of the harbor – only for the trail to go at an empty dock. Apparently whatever Shadow had sniffed out had already left on whatever boat had been moored there. Victor assured her it was all right, and when they got home, I had him give her a treat for being a good girl. :) It wasn’t anything spectacular, but hey – always good to engage with a part of the game I haven’t really messed around with before!

-->With the adventure over, though, it was time to start getting on with the business of the day! Victor went and hit the bathroom before going to tend his greenhouse (the new set of overgrown crops were looking VERY weedy), while Alice woke up, licked herself clean, then went out onto the front porch to call all their Free-Spirited cats home from their own adventures. And to finally take the cone off poor Surprise, who was probably sick of not being able to lick herself. :p She then set about cleaning the spoiled food out of the fridge and having a chat with Gino the MySim statue before getting herself a plate of berry waffles. Smiler, meanwhile, edited their “tech review” of the candybar phone, then went outside to feed the chickens and clean their coop –

[lafflanes]

made a new pair of toons a few days ago!

i imagine these two as bratty tricksters who always bicker with each other

[localwebslingers]

The sound of her hopping up onto the counter was not missed, or unfamiliar at this point, while Peter finished up making his own breakfast. Because it was his turn to cook, which meant scrambled eggs and hashbrowns. He glanced over amused at her suggestion, "Wow, did we just come full circle? Has this entire time been a ploy just to finally have a chance to interview Spider-Man?" he teased her, grabbing a plate for himself. That wasn't paper, not this time, an actual plate.

Moving in felt like it came almost out of nowhere. Sure, he'd absolutely helped MJ move into the new apartment on her own back when she'd left the Bugle. A career choice he really couldn't say he blamed her for, not with Jameson at the head of things and the kind of environment he created for everyone working there. Peter had helped her settle in, and figure out how to set up the room for her to continue the podcast in. His house warming gift for the upgrade and success? The little "On Air" light that was mounted above the door for her to use when recording. And then suddenly, he was moving in his own things.

He joked with May while they were packing up his tiny apartment that it was just so he could be the the live-in tech support when MJ's equipment went down. At this point he was pretty sure he'd helped fix everything but the microphone. The way his Aunt had smiled and shot him a look at the claim? She didn't buy it. Scratch that, the way she came over to help him back everything so he could move in with Mary Jane that same day was proof that she was as excited at the change as they were. He'd asked if she was sure about the move in since his paychecks from the Bugle were still laughably small, but now it was the key to their apartment that he had.

The key to where he lived with Mary Jane and that fact still blew him away and could make him smile.

The food was dumped onto his own plate and the stove turned off before Peter turned to stand in front of her to eat as well, "I don't need to prove what Jameson prints is wrong, I'm not really sure it would convince people anyways." he told her before taking a bite of egg. That said, Peter already knew he was going to agree if she wanted him on the show for an episode, or rather if she wanted Spider-Man on. Since it seemed to officially be a thing on those camera stream episodes that Peter was a disembodied hand waving off to the side or setting a bottle of water on the desk next to her. And in one instance, Spider-Plushie with a candybar he definitely left the apartment to go get carefully tucked into its arms.

"I did tell you ages ago that I would let you interview me if you ever wanted to.."

"You know, Spider-man COULD appear on my podcast. The fans wouldn't know it's you, since you never talk during livestreams anyways. You could even wear the MASK, or garble your voice a bit in post." MJ pointed out as she made herself comfortable on the corner of their kitchen island. Yes, the ISLAND - sure there were plenty of second hand barstools right there that she could've chosen to eat her breakfast in, but she much preferred sitting on the countertop so that she remained at Peter's eye level while they talked.

And yes, it was THEIRS.

Depending on who you asked? The two of them moving in together had happened very fast or at a GLACIAL pace. For Peter and MJ it had all sort of happened in the blink of an eye - the podcast she'd created after leaving the Bugle had caught fire at such an INCREDIBLE rate that she'd needed to move into an apartment with a second bedroom to dedicate more space to her studio set up. It had just sort of made SENSE, having Peter move in to help (as much as he could) with the higher rent since he was already there almost every day fixing her equipment PRO BONO and sleeping in her bed on the rare occasion the city allowed him a night off. They had the paperwork SIGNED and Peter's meger belongings boxed up before either one of them really had a chance to process what was happening.

Aunt May, on the other HAND? Had all but packed Peter's things herself the afternoon the idea had come up, making thinly veiled comments all the while about how they'd waited LONG ENOUGH to take this step together.

"C'mon, it'd be FUN. You could clear up a bunch of Jameson rumors in a lightning round, tell some of your favorite spidey STORIES. Hell, even plug some friendly neighborhood safety tips if you wanted to. What do you SAY?"

º ✧ 。@localwebslingers gets a starter because SCIENCE

[readinginthereadyroom]

—Witch’s Canyon (Supernatural #2), by Jeffrey J. Marriotte

I could honestly quote 6 pages here. but the gist is—sam is 8, dean is 12, and john is making them run an obstacle course on a farm he rented. dean has a real gun, sam finger guns. dean finished the course in 3 tries. but sam is small and skinny and he can’t get over a large gap.

we know from the historian’s note that witch’s canyon takes place a week after a very supernatural christmas (spn 3x08). but this flashback is also set pretty close to the flashbacks in that episode.

which means it’s sometime in 1992. we know from the episode that sam now knows about the supernatural. john must’ve found out that sam knows—because he’s immediately got him training with dean.

john’s yelling and sam’s crying and dean is desperate to de-escalate the situation. why? because john is scary angry. and I don’t think sam knows what that implies. it’s hardly even subtext. john. hits. dean. and dean is terrified he’s going to hit sam.

so what does he do? offers to get him a snickers bar. it’s so sweet and innocent and just tears at your heartstrings that a candybar is like. the height of luxury for these kids.

and sam is immediately suspicious. they can’t afford that. dean can’t. at 8 yrs old sam understands how tight their food budget is—and a candybar is a rare and precious treat. but dean promises and I’m crying again. what is 12-yr-old dean gonna do in order to get that candybar? he’s gonna steal it.

I am assuming the “truck” is meant to be the impala. but I don’t think dean really understands john yet. I mean he’s just a kid and he assumes that—because john magically has money and no job—that he’s stealing. I kinda don’t think so.

john’s an ex-marine. he’s gonna have a rigid sense of right and wrong—at least for certain things. and I think law-abiding would be one of his more inflexible values.

we actually see this in bad boys (spn 9x07) when dean is caught stealing peanut butter and bread. and what does john do? tells the police officer to let him rot in jail. he ends up in a local home for deliquent boys and it turns out to be really good for dean. but see the thing is. john didn’t know that. he just left him. for over a month.

so yeah, dean steals that snickers. it’s probably not the first time either. and it definitely won’t be the last. and we have no idea how many times he’s caught—he probably has a juvie record of petty crimes that only gets worse as he gets older. moves from white bread sandwiches to the list in folson city blues (spn 2x07) that henriksen’s partner reads off. “mail fraud, credit card fraud, grave desecration, armed robbery, kidnapping, and, oh, three counts of first-degree murder.”

in nightshifter (spn 2x12) henriksen refers to dean as a monster. and he draws reasonable conclusions. that dean is the way he is because of john.

(side note: this is why I don’t seen dean becoming a police officer. for one, it’s too risky that his face will be known. for another, dean says acab. jody and donna being exceptions and not the rule.)

because the thing is john’s negative reinforcement gets sam no where. it’s not until dean believes in him (moreso than the promise of a snickers) that get’s sam over the obstacle. and dean is estatic. he whoops with joy and congratulates sam. john, however:

so yeah. maybe henriksen has a point. in many ways dean is who he is because of john. he has anger issues and he’s an alcoholic. but henriksen doesn’t see the whole picture. and it’s not even the supernatural factor.

he doesn’t see dean actually worrying that he is a monster. that his life and its challenges and its terrors have turned him into john. an unfeeling, neglectful, vengeful man.

but we also know dean had the opportunity to leave. to escape john and his scary anger and the paramilitary training and the petty theft and the empty stomach. but he wouldn’t leave sam. couldn’t leave sam. because if he left. if he walked away. then all of those horrible things that dean faced from john would fall on sam.

dean isn’t a monster. a monster wouldn’t worry about feeding his little brother. about encouraging him. about protecting him. a monster would’ve walked away from the family business and never looked back. a monster wouldn’t apologize again and again and again. for every new mistake. mistakes he tries to fix.

a monster wouldn’t worry that they’re a monster. a monster wouldn’t even know. john didn’t.

[recipes-by-brandi]

Twix Cake

[kitkatpancakestack]

For @ktinaj who requested another outsider POV from our favorite Target employee of Buck and Eddie setting up their wedding registry. In light of recent unsavory events with certain guest cast members, please accept this offering of established buddie because they are telling a queer-ass love story and it is a beautiful fucking thing to behold.

You can go read this and the rest of the interior designer!eddie series on ao3!

XV

Tamara Boone’s Saturday begins like most of her Saturdays do: snooze her alarm clock five times, throw on whatever half-way decent red shirt she can find in her closet, drink directly from the coffee pot on her way out the door, and roll into Target five minutes late and still ten minutes earlier than everybody else.

She situates herself behind the customer service counter and pulls a piece of gum from the pack under the desk. There will be some time before the morning rush of returns, so she slides her tablet out of her bag and pulls up her resume. Weirdly enough, simply walking around with a master’s degree under your belt does not automatically grant you access to some unseen, prestigious job market. In fact, she somehow feels even more pigeon-holed than when all she had was an undergraduate psychology degree worth about as much as two cents and a candybar. The only thing that’s changed is the size of the student loan payment she makes every month.

Whatever. She won’t be a part of the red-shirted commune forever. She just has to keep telling herself that.

A slight drizzle starts up outside, which either keeps people out or compels them to descend on Target like a bunch of wet, angry vultures. About an hour into her shift, the store is still mostly empty, so she prays to god it’s the former. Sometimes she can’t stand the boring dull drum of an empty store, but she might not mind it today.

Of course, that’s when Shea crashes into her like a bat out of hell with her box braids—blue this time, Tamara notices—swinging wildly behind her.

“Code red!” she hisses, eyes wide, wrapping her hand around Tamara’s forearm. “Tam, this is not a fucking drill. I swear to god. I saw a ring this time. A ring.”

Tamara frowns, tries to transition her brain from her pathetic resume-building skills to the apparent crisis happening before her. “What?”

“Blondie!”

Blondie . . . “You mean Buck?”

Shea rolls her eyes. “Dude, you never name them. Can’t build that kind of attachment. Didn’t anybody ever teach you that?”

“That’s for animals, dumbass. Now please pretend you are capable of emoting like a normal person and tell me what is going on.”

“Blondie,” Shea continues, already tugging Tamara off the stool. “I was outside smoking—I mean, I was outside putting change in the Salvation Army bucket—and the three of them rolled up like they usually do on a Saturday, but I saw it, dude. Blondie’s left ring finger. That shit was catching the light, Tamara, and on a side note, aren’t they both firefighters? How the hell could Hot Brunette Guy afford that rock on a city salary?”

“You have to stop calling him that, Shea,” Tamara mutters, but inside her stomach is twisting. She stopped lying to herself long ago about how invested she was in her favorite quirky group of three, and this is a decidedly exciting development. “Where are they?”

“Where else? Home Goods.”

Tamara beckons over a newer employee, who jogs up to her in a crisp polo and even crisper khakis. Poor thing. That wouldn’t last long. “Mason, I need you manning customer service today.”

Mason nods, because he’s too new to know any different. “No problem!”

“Come on,” Shea persists, and then she yanks Tamara along with her to the Home Goods sections. They peer around the corner of an aisle, and sure enough, there they are, angled toward each other, bickering in front of lamp shades, of all things. The kid is nowhere to be seen.

Beside her, Shea bounces on the balls of her feet. “Wait for it,” she sings, dragging out the last word. And then it happens. Buck rests his left hand on Eddie’s shoulder, as if to emphasize whatever point he’s trying to make, and the ring effortlessly catches the stale, fluorescent Target lighting.

Not to be melodramatic, but something in Tamara is reshaped and reformed in that moment. “Holy shit.”

“I know, right?”

“Holy shit.”

“That’s what I said!”

“You don’t think . . .”

“Wedding registry!” Shea finishes, clapping her hands together.

Tamara tries to shush her, but it’s too late, and Eddie flicks a glance around to check what the commotion is, doing a double-take when he recognizes her. He says something to Buck, who also turns, and flashes his megawatt smile.

“Finally,” he says, toward Eddie, “I can get a third-party opinion to tell you you’re crazy. Tamara, can you help us out?”

Shea snickers. “Yeah, Tamara, go help them out.”

Tamara edges forward, and doesn’t fail to notice how Shea pretends to be busy so she can eavesdrop. She stops beside the two men. “How can I help? I should mention, though, before we start, that we still don’t have a wider selection available in the back.”

Eddie’s face warms and he averts his gaze. Buck shoves his hands in his jeans pockets and rocks back on his heels, looking pleased. “Apparently, I don’t have good taste in anything. We’re loading up our registry, and Eddie always said you have good judgement, so maybe you can be my eyes.”

The stoic, fussy brunette man before her said she has good judgement? Tamara Boone, Compulsive Student Loan Borrower, has good judgement? A revelation. “Wow,” she says, for lack of anything better, and then, “you’re getting married?”

“Oh, yeah!” His hand flies out of his pocket, and he shows her the ring. “Nice, huh?”

“Really nice.”

“Yeah. I told him he could wrap dental floss around it and I still would have said yes.”

Tamara flicks a glance over to Eddie, whose face is giving her shirt a run for its money. “I’m going to kitchenware,” he mutters. “Buck, please collect Christopher from the video games when you’re done.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and disappears from sight. Tamara doesn’t miss the way Shea sneaks after him, skulking through the aisles like a secret agent.

“You know,” she says, and Buck turns back to her, “Most couples do the whole wedding registry thing online. Benefits of the great technological advancements in this here twenty-first century, and all.”

Buck shrugs, hands returning to his pockets. “Yeah, well, my fiance is a different breed. There is, supposedly, nothing that can beat spending four-plus hours in person deliberating between two blenders that function the exact same, but apparently give different aesthetics. So. We’ve been together long enough for me to know when to back down.”

“You sure you want this for the rest of your life?”

She says it in jest, mostly, but also with a degree of genuine curiosity, because she’s seen relationships completely crumble over significantly less. Buck stares off in the direction Eddie disappeared in moments ago, a sickeningly fond smile relaxing his face. “Yeah. He is without a doubt the fussiest, most annoying person I have ever shopped with my entire life, and sometimes he makes me want to put my head through a wall.” He looks back at her. “But, you know, he’s the love of my life. I wouldn’t put my head through a wall for anybody else.”

And, fucking hell, that should not be as romantic as it is.

“Anyway.” He claps his hands together, and her gaze is drawn, again, automatically, to the way the ring catches the light. “Wedding registry. Can you help me out?”

So, they spend the next indeterminate amount of time checking items off the registry. They pass Eddie every once in a while, who is always statuesque and lost in thought, and Shea is always there, mocking him when she catches Tamara’s eye. Once they check the final item, the familiar clack of a pair of crutches ambles up to them.

“Ah, Chris, there you are. I was just about to come find you.”

Christopher smiles, bumping his shoulder affectionately against Buck’s side. “I’m hungry.”

“We’re gonna stop at Pizza Hut on the way out.”

“Uh-huh. And where’s Dad?”

“You know where your dad is.”

“Having a mental breakdown because he can’t decide on a color scheme for the bathroom?”

Buck snorts, tries and fails to look reprimanding. “Chris, that’s extremely hilarious, but don’t you ever say that in front of him.”

“It’s true, though,” he mutters, but doesn’t press the point.

Tamara clears her throat. “Anything else I can help you with?”

Buck declines, and she more or less shadows them as they make their way over to kitchenware, where it is uncertain if Eddie has made any meaningful progress. She regroups with Shea, and once the two men resume their particularly fond brand of bickering, they begrudgingly return to the customer service desk.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Shea says, once Tamara has relieved Mason from duty.

She sticks another piece of gum in her mouth. “Nope. What’s it mean?”

“Next step is always a new house. And a new house means furnishing that house.”

“Shea, for someone who always gets at me for being too invested, you are reeking of hypocrisy right now.”

“I’m just saying.” Her eyes trail the group of three as they congregate at a check-out line. “Man. All I did was stalk the guy around Kitchenware, and I miss him already.”

Tamara props her tablet back on the desk. “You’re working late tonight, right? Don’t worry. He’ll be back.”

“There’s no way. Blondie would never let that happen.”

Tamara doesn’t say anything, because even though she doesn’t know them, she knows them.

And, sure enough, as predictable as the sun rising and setting every day, forty minutes before closing, Eddie makes his way to the customer service desk. His hair is matted over his head in wet tendrils, dripping onto the shoulders of his sweatshirt. Still raining, then.

“Hey,” he says.

Tamara perks up, catches Shea’s eye where she’s adjusting a wrack of athletic pants. “Hey. I have to warn you, we close in forty minutes, so whatever magic you need to make happen has a time limit.”

He winces. “No, it’s . . . it’s nothing for the registry. This is sort of something I couldn’t do while I was here.”

That piques her interest. “Oh? What can I help you with, then?”

“I ordered it ahead of time. The instructions said to come to the customer service desk.” He slides the receipt across the counter.

“Got it. Gimme one sec.” She eases off the stool and shoulders through the door to the back. Sure enough, there’s a single object sitting on the bench, with a receipt taped to it and Edmundo Diaz on the label. She hauls it back out and hefts it onto the desk. “Here it is.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” He tucks it easily under one arm. He turns to leave, and if she doesn’t ask, she knows the curiosity will kill her.

“Wait,” she blurts out. “What is it?”

There are universes of memories and secrets in the tiny smile that crooks up one corner of his mouth. “It’s a breadmaker.”

“A breadmaker?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t want him to know you were buying him a breadmaker?”

The tiny smile blossoms into something warm and beautiful. “He probably won’t even remember, but we saw one on a call once, before we were engaged. Before we were even dating. And he said he always wanted a breadmaker, but it felt like something you only get when you’re married, because it should be shared with the people you love. It never made sense to me, but it made sense to him.” He shrugs, shakes his head. “Anyway. Thanks, again. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

He leaves, and Shea takes his place.

“What was it?” she asks.

And Tamara replies, “A breadmaker.”

“A breadmaker?”

“Yeah.” She rests her chin on her fist. “You know, Shea, I think they’re gonna be together forever. I think they were meant to find each other.”

“What is this? Miss True-Love-Doesn’t-Exist is waxing poetic about soulmates?”

“You need to quit accosting me and start closing this place down.”

Shea gives her signature dramatic eye roll before sauntering off. Tamara counts out the till, finishes her other duties, and then swings her bag over her shoulder as she exits the automatic doors. It’s still raining, and she turns her face to the sky, but it doesn’t feel like a punishment. It feels like a promise.

She smiles, and heads to her car.

[pilot-boi]

Oscar, please, can you hear me? If you can, try and focus on my voice.

I put a candybar in front of you. Do you see it? Can you try and touch it if possible? The texture might help keep you grounded.

Also you should know, your dad loves you and is doing everything he can to get you out. Please try and concentrate. Remember what it feels like to be hugged by him, to laugh with Ruby and the others, to experience am emotion, any emotion. Even if that means thinking about sad or scary things, anything is better than not feeling at all.

Please, try and hang in there. Your freinds are coming for you, I swear

*pushes the candy closer to him*

🍭

((To 🍭: I saw your other ask, and you’re good! I only didn’t answer this because I was playing a board game))

Oscar is curled up on the ground, his stomach grumbling from hours without a meal. His hands lay limply on the floor, curling and uncurling, grasping onto nothing. His eyes are vacant, wide and empty.

He can hear you, speaking to him. He can hear the words that you’re saying. He wants to follow what you say.

But it’s so hard.

It’s so hard for him, and he’s so tired. And he’s in so much pain. It’s so much easier just to lay on the ground, and not feel, and have everything drain away.

He doesn’t want to just give up, but he doesn’t know if he has the strength to move anymore. He feels like all the energy has been drained from his body. He can see the candy bar you’re talking about, can almost taste the chocolate on his tongue.

He just can’t reach out and grab it. It’s so far, and he’s so tired. Tears trickle out of his eyes, but he still can’t make any noise.

Is this what giving up feels like? He’s losing his grip on the pier…

…but then you grab his hands with your words, and he holds onto them like the lifeline they are.

Oscar can remember hugging his dad, can almost feel the warmth of his arms, and the warmth of his love. Oscar can remember laughing with Ruby, watching dumb movies until his cheeks hurt from smiling.

Oscar can remember a million pranks with Nora, whipped cream pies and moving Weiss’s furniture an inch to the left. Oscar can remember a million drawings with Blake, flowers and birds and their friends smiling.

Oscar can remember Weiss taking them to the movies, and to restaurants, spending her father’s money on the people the man always hated. Oscar can remember Ren kneeling next to him in the mud and rolling up his sleeves to help in his garden.

Cling to any emotion, you said. The good and the bad. Anything is better than nothing.

Oscar can remember Tyrian’s tail choking around his neck while his friend’s house burns down and they all fight for their lives. Oscar can remember not being able to scream in a place that is straight from all his worst nightmares.

Oscar can remember watching Salem walk away. The pain in his hands as he pounded on the door, begging her to come back. His throat trying to tear itself apart with the force of his silent screams.

And…

And Oscar can remember being very young. Getting woken up in a hospital. Getting told by a tired old man that his parents are dead.

He can almost feel the emotions, welling up in him like a geyser fit to overflow. Tears pour from his eyes like the water from the geyser, and he chokes out a sob.

He can feel the anguish, the terror of this room. And even though it’s just a pale reflection, the feeling burns like a fire in the void of nothing that threatens to consume it.

“Please, try and hang in there,” you whisper, and Oscar listens to you. He listens with all the fading strength he has left. “Your friends are coming for you, I swear.”

You push the candy bar towards him.

And with a shaking, wobbling, shuddering hand… Oscar reaches out and grabs it.

[bulletproofscales]

how to train your hybrid, sorta

hello!!! as an apology for not having a chapter to upload this last friday, celebration for ptd release, and argentina winning the american cup (🥳) . a collab friend and i are bringing you this yoonkook one shot! enjoy <3

tags: catboy yoongi , double weight gain , establish feedee jungkook , fat jungkook , fluff no plot , yoongi is very spoiled and jungkook does not in fact know how to train a hybrid , stuffing , liquid stuffing (?is that a thing?) , gainer yoongi , sub trianing gone wrong?

2.4k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32503474

Jungkook was prepared. He wanted to be a good owner, he had prepared. Researched into healthy environments to make the transitions easier for a hybrid to adapt. Looking into everything from litter boxes, to toys, to mattress textures, scent transitions, and clothes and collars. And went to the refuge determined and hyping himself that he is READY.

He was absolutely not ready.

He chose a sweet, tiny hybrid with fluffy ears. He was half… no, a third of the size as Jungkook. Not that it was a fair comparison. Most people were a third or at least half of Jungkook's size. But this hybrid was honestly miniscule; it wasn't just Jungkook being fat.

His name was Yoongi, a cat hybrid about his age, with black hair and fur, and big curious eyes that stared at Jungkook as they held hands walking towards the human's car; which Jungkook had begun to outgrow just recently…

Jungkook’s face was flushed when they finally arrived at his car. “Well, you can get in the back.” Yoongi nods softly, wide eyes trying to figure out how the door works. He’s only seen cages, really. The human watches, amused.

"Like this." He opens the door for him and Yoongi's eyes widen a bit, staring at Jungkook as if he had done something magical; before eagerly crawling inside. The second he closed the door, the kitten's ears would flatten in fear. Jungkook will come to find, Yoongi will need a lot of reassurance to not fear his possible abandonment.

He gets in the front, taking them home with ease. Yoongi’s enamoured. He looks around, staring at all the lights that blink around him.

And from then on, one could say Yoongi adapted easily to life outside of the refuge, a small family with Jungkook as his doting owner. He took all the measures he had researched about, from familiarizing Yoongi to his scent, to picking out blankets and clothes that were friendly to sensitive hybrid skin, being gradual with his touches as to give the hybrid the space he needed. But it seemed like none of that was necessary, because Yoongi adapted amazingly; curious but relaxedly getting to know Jungkook’s apartment, loving and seeking the attention from his owner.

If anything, it was Jungkook the one struggling to adapt to the kitten...and his stamina

Jungkook would be relaxing on the bed, body soft. Jungkook never really closed doors anymore, since yoongi would just sit, meowing in front of it. Since… he didn’t really understand how it opened

And Yoongi's meowing could only mean one thing. He wants to play.

Jungkook really didn't consider that the cat hybrid he adopted would be anything but cuddly and peaceful. Let alone having to stand up from where he was laying down with a tired huff, and waddling over to the living room where he would play with Yoongi. Reminding himself that it wasn't advised to neglect your hybrd while still in the beginning of forming a bond with them.

Jungkook would pant pathetically, face red and sweaty, waving the little string-like toy for Yoongi to catch. He'd plop himself down tiredly on the couch, but it was futile to be a play buddy that way; Yoongi's whines always forcing him back to stand.

Jungkook grunts as he sits back down, panting more and spreading his thighs. Yoongi looked up at him curiously, staring , surprised at how red Jungkook got. But he still whined, begging for more play. Jungkook would listen of course... the tiny kitten pleading so sweetly that Jungkook would rather lose at least ten kilos than none.

Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration.

As his heart dropped to the floor when he realized he had lost almost 5 kilos in this month he had Yoongi. And realize something had to change. Of course 5 kilos didn't look like any difference on a body this big, but what was going to become of him if he kept this rhythm up?!

It was time to try and finally train his kitten.

Jungkook sat in the bed, Yoongi whining on the floor next to him. “Play...” He pouts, squirming and tail whipping behind him. “Ma-master, play…”

He had to clench his chubby fists to try and control himself from giving in, Yoongi's eyes wide and bottom lip puckered out, sat kneeling with his bum on the floor and thighs spread. Black tail swinging behind him, predatory almost; if it wasn't for how far he was from looking threatening.

"Yoonie, it's getting late, it's not play time." The kitten's frown deepened, and was about to open his mouth to complain again, but Jungkook acted quickly and perhaps recklessly. Grabbing from the cookies he had been snacking on, bringing one to Yoongi's lips. "Here you get a treat for resting when you're supposed to."

It would be the first human food Yoongi had ever tasted.

He gasps, feeling the sweet flavour on his tongue. It’s amazing… it sends shocks to his tail and ears that makes him spasm. Jungkook smiles, watching Yoongi nod quickly and climb onto the bed, curling to his side and nibbling on the cookie.

“Good boy. It’s rest time, okay?”

And... Jungkook didn't mean ifor it to get out of hand okay? But after that, Yoongi started behaving, settling down; but always with the condition that he'd get a prize in return. Which could only be whatever human food Jungkook had at his grasp at that moment.

It was fine at first with things like snacks and cookies because they are different from the actual meals Jungkook ate while Yoongi sat next to him eating his hybrid food.

But once he got a taste of Jungkook's pizza that one time, it was when it really got out of hand. Since he'd start begging Jungkook to cut the hybrid food and start feeding him the food he ate!

Jungkook would smile softly, agreeing with his sweet boy; unaware of what it would cause. “Of course angel…” Yoongi began eating with Jungkook, giving him the full meals that his owner had. The food tasted so much better than hybrid food.

Jungkook didn’t really notice the changes to Yoongi’s body - focusing on how much calmer he appeared to be. Instead of begging to play, the hybrid would climb up next to his owner, cuddling his fattened side and nuzzling into his neck. Rubbing his nose gently over the soft skin. Scenting him, Jungkook had researched. As the kitten tried to envelope as much of his large body in a hug, leg sinking gently over his stomach and torso pressed against his thigh.

And Jungkook is so big, of course it would be hard to register any changes in his hybrid’s body . Any amount of weight gain looked small in comparison to him.

But it wasn't only that, Yoongi's habits began to morph in the image of Jungkook's. The overeating, the napping, the bloating. It became a daily routine that after lunch Yoongi would sit himself on Jungkook's lap, stomach rounded out and protruding outwards in what Jungkook assumed was only a bloat, and he'd rub the sting away. With a completely relaxed and melted hybrid lying across his chest.

Yoongi would purr so loudly that he’d become a little hazy, cooing softly at Jungkook's softness and softer touches "I like this" He'd mumble in a low voice. His vocabulary having expanded since he started living with Jungkook.

"It gets less uncomfy the more you do it." Jungkook comments before grinning. "And you've been overeating a lot lately, kitten" he mumbles fondly before kissing the side of the hybrid's head.

Yoongi giggles softly, nuzzling closer and ignoring what Jungkook said. He understands almost everything, but some things were better left unexplained.

Yoongi purrs, blissed by the sheer softness and Jungkook smiles. “Maybe you’ve been extra good.”

Yoongi's ears perk up. “Treat? Do I get a treat?”

"Wasn't I just rubbing your belly from overeating?" He raises a questioning eyebrow.

"....But you said I've been extra good." He was getting more clever these days. Even if it only happened when it was convenient to the kitten.

And by this point, Jungkook had given up all resistance. Spoiling his kitten, grinning as he hand fed the candybar to Yoongi. Who was more than happy to eat, practically melting on Jungkook's lap.

This routine continues, every night, stuffing his body to the limit and feeling nothing but relaxed joy when his owner would snuggle into him. Cuddling together every time Jungkook wasn’t working, or that they weren't eating. He feels embarrassed it took him this long to notice...

He had fattened up his hybrid.

It was like he was seeing it for the first time when he walked out from sleeping with clothes that barely clung to his body. Shirt worn like a tank top, belly overspilling from underneath; shorts cutting low into his plush hips, and that hugged his legs uncomfortably.

How did he not notice sooner?

Jungkook gave him some of his own clothes and that would suffice. He still swam in those.

He swam in them for now.

His owner was far from making him exercise. They both loved eating and Yoongi’s appetite was only growing. Jungkook pets Yoongi's hair lovingly, smiling softly as the smaller one purred happily; watching yoongi’s fattier tail lull lazily side to side.

Everything about him had become lazy. The kitten spent most of his days sprawled on Jungkook's bed, the sunlight hitting just right for him to stay there. Only getting up to eat or to cuddle alongside his master.

Even if it was accidental, Jungkook can't say he minds this transformed version of his once hyperactive kitty. So lovingly cuddling on his lap, bellies pressed together, chubby arms wrapped around each other, as Jungkook massaged the base of Yoongi's tail; making the hybrid melt.

Yoongi wouldn’t ask to play anymore instead, asking for more snacks. He really couldn’t be bothered to think of playing anymore. He was so lazy.

"What's that?" He heard a voice behind him in the kitchen, and Jungkook didn't have to turn to know. He was just pouring some of the heavy cream into his own cup, grinning as he looks over his shoulder.

"Heavy cream, Yoonie. Why?" He knows exactly why. But he wants to hear the kitten ask for it.

Yoongi's hands are wrapped around the black tail, pressing it to his chest as if guilty. "Can.... I have some?"

Ah, perfect. "Why are you suddenly interested? I don't remember ever giving you some." He questions as he pours more of the thick liquid into his own cup.

"I mistook it...for milk....but it was better! "

Jungkook laughs, leaning to get Yoongi his own cup. “Come here kitten, There’s only a few drops left.” He pours barely a splash, giving the cup to Yoongi.

He takes it happily, gulping the very small amount down in a mouthful. And widens as if it were the first time trying it all over again. Beaming and licking at his lips eagerly mewling at the flavor. Hands into fists from how good it was. "Aw, you really liked it, didn't you?" Jungkook is too endeared, heavy hand cradling through Yoongi's soft hair.

He coos as Yoongi nods quickly, smiling and giggling. “Can I have more?”

“Baby there’s no more.” Jungkook smiles, drinking from his own cup.

Yoongi’s smile turns into a pout, chubby frame deflating, before it perks up again.... looking at Jungkook's glass.

"Can I have some of yours?" He rephrases and Jungkook feels himself grip a little tighter into his glass.

“No kitten...” Jungkook smiled weakly, resolve weakening. “I’m not giving you my cream.”

Yoongi giggles softly, reaching for the glass greedily. “Master~~ please, please?”

"Y-yah you should've told me you wanted before I poured a glass." He complains softly yerking the glass away from the soft hand from the kitten trying to snatch it away. Jungkook is lucky the gluttony slowed down any fo Yoongi's remaining hunting instincts.

"But you could share!!"

“I already shared, piggy.” Jungkook laughs and Yoongi freezes. He doesn’t know what piggy means so he tilts his head.

“Master… I want it” Yoongi pouts again and Jungkook sighs. He gives the plump kitten the cup.

Spoiled, spoiled pet. Jungkook thinks to himself, as Yoongi's eyes lift up. "You should be careful, though." He says as the cat was already excitedly bringing the tall glass to his lips. "This could settle pretty heavily on you if you're not used to it." He says but it looks like the kitten won't listen.

Yoongi gulps it greedily, groaning happily behind each mouthful.

“Baby, slow down.” He chuckles, soothing his hair and kissing his nose. “It’s heavy cream. It’s going to feel gross for a bit.”

Yoongi shakes his head in disagreement "Not gross! Yummy!" He says before taking another gulp. And Jungkook can only sigh, as he sees the kitten gasp for air before setting the glass down.

The heavy cream settling in, just like Jungkook predicted.

Yoongi whines sweetly, pouting up at Jungkook with cream around his upper lip. “…W-why so full?” He pushes up closer - bloated belly in need of attention.

Jungkook chuckles.

"You should have listened, kitten." He scolds but it has no bite to it, how could it with Jungkook's loving tone and the way he wraps his arms around the hybrid? Pressing Yoongi close to his side, as the hand rubs at the side of his belly. "Let's get you to the couch, yeah?"

Yoongi nods pathetically, staring softly up at Jungkook as they both waddle slowly to the couch. He knows how fast Yoongi's appetite appears again. So now snacks are stocked all over the house… like before, just in high quantities.

He isn’t eating alone anymore.

Jungkook tried to lay him down gently, but neither his or Yoongi's weight would allow that. They plop down onto the couch and while Jungkook is used to it, the cat hybrid whines, cupping his full rounded belly in discomfort. "R-rubs, I need rubs" He mumbles weakly.

And like most times, Jungkook is quick and happy to comply, cooing softly. “You’re very full, kitty. You’re so so cute.”

Yoongi's eyes close, eyebrows scrunched upwards cutely, as he nuzzles further towards Jungkook. Tail curling over to "hug" the bigger man as well. "That's it, Yoonie. You drank it all! You're turning into a bit of a piggy aren't you?

Yoongi doesn’t understand, giggling softly and just nodding. He purrs happily, nuzzling into his neck.