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[esoteric-altruism]

I can’t stop thinking about S but I feel so embarrassed about how I was while on shrooms. every time I tell myself I don’t like him and I try to make my mind obsess over K instead, something will pop up that makes me think of S. Like wtf! Universe is really like “girl you can do it, move on”

[tinfoil-jones]

Jerk Ford AU: Masterpost I

Askbox? Open

[Co-Owner / Artist: @tearosepedall]

"Out in the multiverse there is a Stanford Pines with no special powers, or extraordinary circumstances that set him apart from other versions of himself. The only thing that makes him known is his defining trait:

His defining trait is that he is a jerk. And literally nothing else. He lacks fear, guilt, doubt, and shame. He's never questioned his worth or place in the multiverse in his entire life.

Almost every Stanford Pines in the multiverse who has met him reviles and despises that man."

Original AU Posts: Jerk Ford AU, Follow-Up, Masterpost Pt.2

Asks: Higher Quality of Life, Best Twin Worst Ford, Is he protective?, Billford? (Billford? II), Fearamid, Trick Bill, Saving Jerk Ford, Why is he Like That, Unicorns (Unicorns II), Grunkles Twin, Old Man McGucket (Fiddleford Leaves), Ford Hate Club Meeting, Metal Plate, Infamous, Gideon, One Time (One Time II) , Silliness (II, III, IV, V, VI), Divorce, The Shapeshifter (The Shapeshifter II, Marital Woes), And This Is Jack*ss, His Name, Growing Up, Rather Be a Jerk, Nibling Relationship, Not His Brother, Not Real Hate, Other Stans, The Elections, Jerk Cat (Cat Coded Allegations), Not so Gleeful, Hate Club Stans, Hate Club Initiation, JJJ, Overreaction, Named User Asks, Collect

Other: How big of a jerk is he?, His 'Only' Ally in the Multiverse (Clickbait Title), 'Best' Uncle ('Best' Uncle II), Hanging Out, He Sucks Lol, Statistical Error, All that Glitters, Champion, The Worst Ford You Know, Dimension in Passing, "Shames", Cosmic Switch, Love Pendant, Supervision, Twinstinct (Twinstinct II, Twinstinct III), "Quality" Time, Tumblr Thirst, Eloquent as F***, The McGucklings, Jerk M.D (Psy.D), From The Trenches, Stanspective, The Worst Timeline, The Ballad Of Jerk Ford, Waking him up,

What Stanley Can See

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Sunk Cost

Pairing: Tom Bennett x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of blood, death and injury. Mild angst and mentions of PTSD. Smut. Word count: ~4.8k

Summary: Following the Battle of the River Plate, she is deployed to the Falkland Islands to tend to the survivors of the HMS Exeter. Some of the naval officers are in better shape than others, and when one in particular makes it his mission to bed her before shipping back home, she decides to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. "Conchies" is slang for conscientious objector.

She had travelled aboard the SS Lafonia to the Falklands, accompanied by two doctors and eleven other nurses to treat the injured of the HMS Exeter following the battle of the River Plate.

Having qualified as a nurse almost five years ago, she was experienced in dealing with blood and injury and, in the days spent sailing across the South Atlantic Ocean, she had been steeling herself for the inevitable carnage she would be witness to.

Nothing, however, could have prepared her for the utter devastation she was met with upon arrival. Pulling back the canvas flap of the medical tent, the smell was the first thing to hit her, pushing her backwards like an invisible, oppressive force; burned flesh and the rancid, yet somehow sickly sweet scent of decay.

Everything from minor burns to missing limbs needed to be treated, but those sailors were the fortunate ones, they still drew breath. Seventy two British sailors had lost their lives defending against German forces.

It would be two weeks until a boat arrived to collect those fit enough to travel back to England, so those able bodied enough to do so assisted with dressing wounds and changing bed pans. She was grateful for the help as, despite there being fourteen medical staff to attend to their patients, it was overwhelming and she was tired, so tired.

She had smiled, though it had not quite reached her eyes, as she’d been introduced to the private that would be assisting her on her rounds.

“Name’s Tom, Tom Bennett,” he’d greeted her with an incline of his head and a lopsided smirk. 

“Nice to meet you, Private Bennett,” she’d replied as politely as she could, discreetly taking him in.

He stood around six feet tall, a mop of sandy coloured hair atop his head. He was classically handsome with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose, and carried himself with a self assured swagger that emphasised the fact that he knew he was good looking. She could have overlooked his vanity, were it not for the fact he was apparently cocky in every other respect too.

Her exhaustion had worn her patience thin, however, she was certain that the sailor assigned to helping her with her rounds would have grated upon her nerves even with a full night’s rest. She found his unwavering smirk and continual stream of flirtatious remarks wholly inappropriate, considering the situation they found themselves in. There was no doubt in her mind that he had fought bravely and his service upon the Admiral Graf Spee was to be highly commended, but it didn’t mean she had to enjoy his company, she merely endured it.

“Private Bennett, I need to give this patient a sponge bath, can you please dispose of these dressings?” She asked, keeping her tone curt as she seated herself beside a cot.

“My turn next, yeah?” He quipped cheekily, causing her to press her lips into a tight line to suppress the urge to sigh.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, her stern gaze wholly unaffected by the way the blue of his sparkled with mischief. “The dressings, Private Bennett.”

“You can call me Tom, y’know,” he said airily, the smirk on his face never faltering as he snatched up the dirty bandages and turned to walk away.

“I’d rather not,” she muttered wearily to his retreating form, turning her attention back to the sailor laid dozing in the cot beside her.

All of her rounds were much the same; Tom trailed behind her, flirting shamelessly, and every remark made her blood boil. For the patients yet to regain consciousness, she could mercifully ignore him. However, for the sake of maintaining a pleasant bedside manner for those who were lucid, she had to smile, laugh and remain polite.

As the days dragged on, she found herself wishing the boat coming to ferry Tom Bennett back to England would arrive sooner. Attempting to keep her temper in check and not give him a well deserved telling off in front of everyone was becoming as exhausting an effort as it was caring for the wounded. He was a pain in the arse.

It had been a particularly demanding day - several of the patients being treated for severe burns had developed infections - by the time the next nurse arrived to relieve her of her duties, she was desperate to be off of her aching feet. Sitting down heavily upon a bench in the rest area, she fished her cigarette case from her apron pocket, flipping it open and placing one delicately between her lips. Before her hand could reach for her matchbook, a flash of flint followed by flame ignited in front of her, illuminating the end of her cigarette into a bright, cherry red glow.

She blew out a tight line of smoke, her eyes narrowed in displeasure as she looked up at the smug face of Tom Bennett. The sight of him was enough to spoil the pleasant taste of tobacco that she usually revelled in upon her first drag. The corners of his mouth were upturned into a self satisfied smile, his eyes crinkled in quiet amusement as he looked down at her. He always looked like he was entertained by a joke that only he was privy to, it drove her crazy.

“Thanks,” she said curtly, taking another drag.

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” he winked, seating himself beside her and lighting up a smoke of his own.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she muttered darkly, gazing off into the distance, her lips pursed.

“Do what?” He mumbled around his cigarette, keeping it perched at the corner of his mouth.

She sighed, pressing at the point between her eyebrows with the thumb of her free hand, an absentminded gesture of exasperation. “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”

Tom snatched his cigarette from between his lips, holding it between the forefingers of his right hand as he raised his palms in a defensive gesture. “Enough misery ‘round ‘ere, ‘int there? Jus’ tryna make you smile.”

“Well, you’re not,” she spat, taking a quick puff, savouring the short burst of lightheadedness that the nicotine rush afforded her.

He gave an easy shrug, fixing her with a dopey grin. “Well, I don’t see anywhere ‘round ‘ere where I can buy you flowers, so my witty charm will have to do.”

She scoffed, flicking away her butt, and rose to her feet, storming off.

“See you tomorra, yeah?” he called after her, “unless you want someone to help warm your cot tonight?”

Fucking prick.

Sleep evaded her that night. Tom had gotten under her skin. It made her furious that with so many men injured and dying around them, he failed to see the gravity of their situation. How could he be cracking jokes and making clumsy attempts to seduce her in the midst of a war? He needed to be taught a lesson, to be taken down a peg or two, and she decided she was the person to do it. Perhaps if the tables were turned on him, then he’d realise just how inappropriate his behaviour was and feel rightfully ashamed of himself.

The following day, as Tom accompanied her on her rounds, she laughed heartily at his flippant remarks, allowed her fingers to linger against his as he passed her bandages, and stared deep into his eyes every time she addressed him.

“Lucky sod,” he’d jested as she’d dabbed gently at the burns on a patient’s chest.

“You’ll get your turn later,” she’d quipped back with a wink, causing his jaw to fall agape. He’d been quick to close his mouth again, averting his attention to the floor as his cheeks had turned crimson.

It was obvious her being receptive to his advances was having an effect on him. All day she saw the way his eyes widened in disbelief, the slight blush that crept into his cheeks when she returned his flirty banter. He was uncomfortable with not being given the brush off, and she was enjoying every second of it.

“What are you playing at?” His voice came from behind her, as she was rifling through the medicine cabinet, searching for a bottle of iodine. It was a quiet corner of the medical tent, partitioned off from the sick beds for medical personnel to replenish supplies and dose out medicine.

“What do you mean?” She asked casually, not turning around as her hands continued to move aside brown bottles. She hoped the clink of the glass was enough to disguise the hint of amusement in her voice, and if not, at least he couldn’t see her smiling.

“You’re flirting with me,” he stated simply, though his voice didn’t carry its usual confidence.

“Am I?” She replied with faux innocence, casting him a glance over her shoulder.

He wasn’t standing as straight as he usually did, his brow was furrowed and he had his hands clasped in front of him. He was nervous.

Good, she thought.

“I–I think so, yeah…”

She rounded on him, closing the distance between them, delighting in the way his posture visibly stiffened as she pressed close, placing her palms against the broadness of his shoulders.

“I guess I finally figured there’s no use in denying what’s between us,” she cooed, “can’t fight it any longer.”

“Yeah..?” He asked, blinking rapidly, lips parted as he stared down at her with wide eyes.

“Absolutely. You deserve a reward, Private Bennett,” she said, reaching up to card her fingers through the softness of his hair. “You fought so bravely, it would be an honour for me to give myself to you. You’re a war hero.”

His face blanched, and for the first time since she’d met him, she saw the corners of his mouth turn downwards, a flicker between anger and sadness causing his brow to furrow and his gaze to dull. He grasped her wrists gently, moving her hands back to her sides, before quickly walking away.

She had expected to feel triumphant in managing to fluster him enough to get him to back down, but she didn’t. It was wholly unsatisfying, a heavy feeling of guilt sat like a stone upon her chest. There was something in her words that had utterly knocked the wind out of Tom’s sails, she had pushed too far. She hadn’t embarrassed him, she’d crushed him, and the worst part was she wasn’t entirely sure what she had said that had caused such an unexpected reaction.

He was quiet for the rest of her rounds, silently following orders, not meeting her eye when he spoke or was spoken to. It was as though all the light had gone out of him. He didn’t hang around for a smoke once she was relieved of her duties, so she was forced to follow after him as he strode back to the sleeping quarters reserved for uninjured naval officers.

“Hey, wait!” She called out, her feet hurrying to keep up with his longer gait, finally falling in step beside him. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

He stopped, huffing out a sigh as he turned his face upwards, briefly closing his eyes, before looking back down at her. “Forget about it,” he muttered, “message received loud and clear. I won’t hassle you no more.”

She was left standing there as he walked off, leaving her alone. Despite what he said, she knew forgetting about it was the very last thing that she would be able to do.

Her rounds were miserable over the days that followed. Tom didn’t laugh, he didn’t smile, he didn’t even speak unless spoken to. As reluctant as she was to admit it, she missed his jokey flirting. Whatever this was, the silence and sadness that hung between them, she hated it. She couldn’t question it in front of patients, and as soon as his obligation to her was fulfilled for the day, he hurried back to the naval quarters, making it clear he had no desire to speak to her.

Even the patients had started to notice it - of course they had - the stony silence that the pair worked in was a stark contrast to Tom’s usual annoyingly proud and jovial demeanour.

“Lover’s quarrel?” A private with a head injury asked playfully, as she pulled away his dressings to check on the wound.

Tom spoke before she had the opportunity to respond, his tone arrogant and steeped in annoyance. “Nope, just focusing on the job, mate. Got a ship coming to take me away from here tomorra, and the quicker I’m on it the better.”

She felt her heart lurch at his words. So preoccupied with the fact that Tom was refusing to speak to her, she had completely forgotten that he’d be leaving soon. Now his departure loomed imminently and the thought of it made her chest tighten uncomfortably. He couldn’t just leave and never speak to her again without giving her the chance to make amends, or to help her understand what she’d done wrong in the first place; that wasn’t fair.

He didn’t even look at her as she turned to him, instead he handed her the clean set of bandages he’d been holding and walked away, leaving her to finish up with her patient alone.

“Must be nice,” the injured private remarked, as she pressed the clean dressing to his wound and bandaged it up. “Wish I was leaving.”

“Me too,” she uttered softly, a sombre feeling settling over her as she realised she was talking as much about herself as she was the patient she was treating.

Tom was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the day, and she was left to complete her rounds by herself. She supposed she would grow used to it once he left. The strain they were under would be lessened by those fit enough to travel on the boat tomorrow being removed from their care. However, she felt like she was missing a part of herself without him at her side; like looking at the wall and not being able to see her shadow cast upon it. The weight of his absence would fade, but the hurt and uncertainty wrought from his disdain would not. She needed to put things right before he sailed away from her tomorrow, or she would forever live with the guilt of it.

She waited impatiently for the rest of the day for nightfall, deciding that if this was a conversation she was going to pursue then it was better to do so without witnesses - or at least when those witnesses were asleep - the canvas confines of both the medical bay and sleeping quarters provided very little privacy.

Once it was suitably dark, she made her way to the large tent that housed the cots of the naval officers. The humidity made the night air sticky and it clung to her skin, feeling as thick as the inky blackness of the sky above her.  A wave of nervous apprehension washed over her as she reached for the canvas flap - what if Tom was already asleep, or refused to speak to her? What if other sailors were awake and questioned her reason for being there?

A simple white lie of delivering pain relief could deal with the latter of those problems, but she had no idea how to deal with the former. Before her pounding heart and trembling hands could convince her otherwise, she pulled back the partition, greeted by darkness and the gentle snores of those who were asleep. A few kerosene lamps were lit by the beds of those who were still awake, their dull glow illuminated the men that were sitting up reading, smoking or playing solitaire with playing cards spread out across their blankets.

Her eyes searched the gloom for Tom, half expecting him to be fast asleep. Finally, she spotted him, and her stomach erupted into nervous flutters as she saw that he was still awake. She felt as if she was intruding upon something far too intimate, seeing him in the tight white t-shirt and briefs of his underclothes. He laid upon his front, the legs of his tall frame almost hanging off the edge of the cot as they crossed over at the ankle. The low lighting that glowed across the sharpness of his features cast long shadows across his corner of the tent, however, it was not dark enough to hide the yellow canary that fluttered around the small cage that he had balanced upon his pillow. His attention was so focused upon the bird and its shrill twittering that he didn’t even notice her as she stepped carefully towards him.

“Who’s this then?” She asked quietly, once she was a few paces away from Tom’s cot.

His head snapped up quickly, brows raising in surprise as he took in the sight of her, almost as if he couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him. He cleared his throat, shifting onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow before responding. “Her name’s Vera.”

“Vera…that’s a pretty name,” she said, offering him a soft smile as she fidgeted awkwardly with her fingers, forgetting everything she had wanted to say to him.

He lifted the cage, placing it gently on the floor between his cot and the tent wall, then looked back at her. “So what brings you ‘ere then?”

“You won’t speak to me,” she replied. Her voice sounded small, sad and vulnerable to her ears, and she loathed it. She had come here to apologise and then leave, not get upset.

“Usually, people take a hint when that happens, they don’t barge in on them when they’re going to bed.”

His reply hit her like a physical blow, and he must have seen the way her face fell, as he was quick to follow it up with; “But I guess I can’t blame ya for wantin’ a peek at me in me undercrackers.”

She felt instantly lighter as she saw the playful grin spread across his face, turning hers away as she felt her skin grow hot.

Silence fell between them once more and she drew in a steadying breath before lifting her gaze to his again. “I couldn’t let you leave without knowing how sorry I am,” she stepped closer, “I don’t know what I said that ticked you off exactly, but what I did I did with the intent to teach you a lesson, to humiliate you, and that was wrong. I was sick of your flirting, but I realise now that after all you’ve been through that you were just trying to make a horrible situation a lighter one. You’re so brave, and–”

“I’m not fucking brave,” he snapped, making her jump.

“What?” She moved to stand directly beside his cot, her head tilted slightly in confusion.

“I’m not brave,” he repeats, his voice turning to the hushed tone he’d used previously. He scrubbed a hand across his face and fixed her with a tired stare. “I’m not a war hero.”

She blinked rapidly, furrowing her brow as she perched upon the edge of his makeshift bed. “Is that what got you upset? Because I called you a war hero?”

“Do you know why I joined the Navy?” He asked, shuffling back to make more room for her to sit within the narrow space.

She shook her head, allowing him to continue speaking.

“Was avoiding the nick,” he uttered, sniffing. “I’m not a hero, I’m a coward dodging a stretch in prison.”

She was surprised by this, but not repelled. He was hardly the first man to join up to the draft to avoid the authorities, and he would be the last. She sighed softly, looking him in the eye. “That doesn’t change any of what you’ve been through, or how bravely you fought aboard that warship. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Well, I’m not,” he said sullenly, “I’m not going back. The minute I get back home that’s it, I’m done with this bloody war.”

“You can’t do that,” she told him softly, suddenly feeling afraid for him.

“Why not? It’s not my fight. I saw people fucking die. I don’t wanna give my life for something I don’t believe in.”

“You could be hanged for desertion,” she argued, a hint of desperation in her voice. Before she had time to think about it, her hand reached for his, grasping his fingers with her own.

“Dad’s a conchie,” he said, intertwining his fingers with hers, “I could be too.”

She glanced down to where their hands were joined, almost wanting to scream in frustration. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Well, what am I s’posed to do?” he seethed, snatching his hand back, leaving her to silently mourn the loss of the contact.

“I can’t convince you to do anything, Tom, but please talk to your dad before you make a decision you can’t take back.”

“Y’know, that’s the first time you’ve called me that,” he said, his expression softening.

“What?”

“My name. It’s usually always Private Bennett. I like it when you call me Tom.”

She averted her gaze, feeling her skin blaze with embarrassment once more. “I guess I should get going. Us talking’s probably keeping people awake.”

His hand shot out, grasping hers once more as she rose to leave, making her freeze in place.

“Stay,” came his softly uttered plea.

“There’s all these other people,” she protested in a quiet voice, though she sat back down.

“I just want you to lay next to me. We probably won’t see each other again after tomorrow, and I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

“I dunno…”

“No funny business, I promise,” he said with a smirk that immediately crumbled her resolve. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright…”

Tom laid out straight and pulled the blankets up around himself, holding one side up in silent invitation for her to join him. She slid underneath, not realising quite how tight the confines of the single cot were until her body was pressed right up against his.

Wordlessly, he leaned over to turn out the lamp, then turned to face her, slinging an arm over her waist and closing his eyes.

She laid there with her eyes open, just about able to make out his features in the darkness. The humidity combined with the heat of Tom’s body and the blankets thrown over them made it uncomfortably warm, and it was an effort not to squirm. But that wasn’t her only means of discomfort. It was difficult to keep her breathing steady and her body from trembling in spite of the heat; she hadn’t anticipated being in such close proximity to Tom to have such an effect on her. The feeling of the long, lithe muscle of his body pressed against hers made her pulse race and her core throb with desire, though the sensation was intermingled with pangs of guilt. He was seeking comfort in her, and here she was lusting after him when she’d spent the last two weeks berating him for doing the same to her.

His breaths fanned softly across her face, and she was convinced that he had fallen asleep, until his grasp on her waist tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. She froze at the intimacy of it, ashamed of the way desire pooled between her thighs at the gesture, until he ducked his head to bury it into the crook of her neck.

“Help me,” he whispered against her skin, a desperate plea for something, anything to make him feel better.

She reached up tentatively in the darkness, her fingers stroking through the silkiness of his hair. He sighed contentedly in response, and the sensation made her shiver, causing an involuntary tug at his tresses, making him groan and grip her tighter.

“Please,” he murmured into her neck. His hips began to grind against hers, the evidence that he was just was affected by her as she was him more than apparent as it pressed repeatedly against her.

Before she had time to consider the absurdity of it all, she hooked her thigh over him, prompting him to roll onto his back as she straddled him. Her chest rose and fell erratically as she stared down at him. He looked back with wide, imploring eyes, his fingers flexing firmly against the swell of her hips, urging her into action.

The touch was enough to ground her, to give her pause to realise they were in a tent full of sleeping sailors, that she’d rebuffed all of Tom’s previous advances, that come tomorrow she’d never see him again.

She swallowed thickly, trying to move off of him. “We shouldn’t.”

“Please,” he repeated with more urgency, his grip upon her tightening, stilling her and preventing her from moving away.

It was the begging of a desperate man, a man who had seen awful things, who was afraid to die, who was sailing away tomorrow into uncertainty. How could she say no? And how could she deny herself? Over the last two weeks she had seen unimaginable horrors, worked tirelessly, didn't she deserve a little fun?

She allowed the throbbing between her thighs to guide her actions as she reached beneath her skirt of her uniform, tugging her knickers to one side. Tom’s breaths grew unsteady as his eyes watched her in the darkness, his own hands moving to push down his briefs.

As the swollen head of him pressed against her entrance she felt that she was aroused, though not wet enough to make his passage an easy one. She had to rise and sink down repeatedly against the upward thrusts of his pelvis before the tight muscles of her heat finally yielded to him.

Sinking all the way in to the hilt, Tom hissed loudly, earning himself a quiet scolding from her. “Quiet, or you’ll wake people up.”

He bit his lip as she rocked her hips gently, allowing herself to adjust to the intrusion. It had been a while since she’d been with anyone this intimately, and it stung slightly, though the pain was not unpleasant.

She gazed down at him, seeing the crease between his eyebrows as they furrowed against the intensity of his pleasure and the effort to stay quiet. Seeing his face contorted into such a state, even though the darkness prevented her from seeing him clearly, was enough to have her sensitive walls clenching with desire, and she took that as her prompt to begin moving in a steady rhythm, lifting up as she rocked forward, then down as she pulled back.

“Fuck…” Tom murmured under his breath, his fingers leaving indentations in the flesh of her hips.

“Does that feel good?” She asked, her voice breathless with exertion.

“Y–yeah…don’t stop.”

In that moment, none of it mattered; the sheen of sweat upon her skin, the other people asleep around them, it all faded to nothing. Her only focus became the man beneath her begging for more and the exhilarating ache each time the head of him brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside of her.

“You’re so brave, Tom, and you’re doing so well, making me feel wonderful,” she breathed, as she moved atop him.

His expression was one of utter submission and pure adoration, his eyes were glossy with pleasure, his full lips were parted. He clung to her as though he was a drowning man and she was his lifeline, and she supposed she was in a way. She served as a much needed moment of respite when all around him was fear and uncertainty.

She could feel her peak beginning to crest alongside his, his cock pulsed inside of her with each spasm of her core. She pulled off of him as white hot waves of pleasure crashed over her, stifling his groan of satisfaction with a hot, messy kiss - the first they’d shared - as she tightened repeatedly around nothing and he spilled himself across his lower abdomen.

He laid against her chest afterwards, once he’d cleaned himself up, and she cradled him to her breasts, gently ruffling his hair. A satisfied ache had settled between her thighs, and her eyelids felt heavy with tiredness.

“Will you write to me?” He asked quietly.

“If you keep your promise, Tom, then I might not know where to write to.”

He hummed quietly before falling silent.

“You will keep your promise, won’t you? You’ll speak to your dad?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, almost thoughtfully, “I promise.”

Tom left the next day, and she didn’t see him again, though he often crossed her mind. Six months later, when she was stationed in a hospital in Paris, her heart stuttered in her chest as she looked upon the familiar, yet bruised face of a man laying unconscious in the ward she was working in. She smiled as she approached the bed and looked upon the sleeping form of Tom Bennett. He’d kept his promise. He was a hero after all.

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true to form he is the one who

naps all day, eats when he's hungry and drinks when he wants

( if zoro had a tail he'd wrap it around your wrist at all times but )

zoro who's ears twitch and flick about constantly at every little noise giving him away when he's asleep

zoro who purrs loudly when you touch him even the slightest bit

zoro who rubs his head against your hand when you pet him only to snap back when he realizes what he's doing

zoro who purrs the loudest when your feeding him his favorite food

ACE

orange cat with the full orange cat behavior

who wakes you up by fully pouncing on you every morning to ask for food loudly

only to pass out on his plates afterwards

ace who doesn't leave you alone for even a single second like sir i am on the toilet

ace who's arms wrap around you, his tail twitching, his ears flicking about excitedly as you cook or read

ace who has a thought every once and a while, his ears laid back as he stares into the abyss before saying something

only to return to crack head behavior once again

he's also one of those cats who will lay ontop of you, purring like a chainsaw

LAW

snow leopard hybrid

law who can't growl when he feels mildly threatened, only squeaking which you could never take serious

grumpy kitty vibes who doesn't answer often, his tail twitching and his ears flicking with interest when you bring up something he likes

he will never admit he loves how you pet him on his head, scratching behid ears

never will admit how he lays his head on your lap, glaring until you pet him and scratch behind his ears

law who puts his hands on his tail when they get too cold

who bites his tail when he gets a bit stressed

lets pretend if snow leopards purr or not but he purrs the loudest when you curl up into his side

MIHAWK

tuxedo cat breed

foster cat dad for the briefest of time of a small bobtail and a feral kitten

the type of cat who sits and judges you for everything you do

another grumpy cat but he likes to hover over your shoulder watching you to do your tasks

mihawk who doesn't like to be called petnames but he does like to call you petnames instead such as 'prince(ss)' and 'darling'

he'll allow one pet name from you as a treat

mihawk who doesn't usually do things unless it interests him mostly

mihawk who's tail twitches and ears flex when you call his name once you come home

bonus: he does wait for you at the door if you two are closer closer

[klilyr]

Jegulus raising Harry microfic: 640 words

“Um… dad?”

Regulus looked up from his paper to see a very nervous looking Harry fidgeting with his pajama sleeves, looking down at his slippers. He glanced over to James who was magically washing up their breakfast dishes.

“Which one of us are you talking to there, Haz?”

“Both. Or, uh, either, I guess…” Harry mumbled, still not meeting his eye.

Regulus was struck with how much the boy had grown over the past year. He would be heading back to Hogwarts in a few days, the Christmas break was rapidly coming to an end, and Regulus could hardly believe how fast the time had flown. He was dreading Harry’s upcoming departure, if he was being honest with himself, he loved having him home so much.

He would be fifteen before they both knew it.

James set the last of the plates back in the cupboard and came to sit beside Regulus, both looking at Harry with curiosity, wondering what it is that has him so nervous.

“We’re all ears, hamster,” James said, warmly.

“I think…” Harry started but trailed off quickly, his cheeks burning red and the two men exchanged another glance with each other, anxiety spiking.

“IthinkIlikeaboy,” Harry blurted out, so quickly, that it took a second for the actual words to register in Regulus’ brain.

“You think you like a boy?” James clarified, a smirk appearing on his handsome face.

“Yes.”

“Which boy?” Regulus asked, “Ron?”

“Merlin no! I mean, yes, obviously I like Ron, but not like that!” The shock of the question had, finally, made Harry raise his head to look at his dads in disbelief.

“Dean? Neville? Seamus?” James started listing off names, face twisted in thought and Regulus laughed. It was just like James to immediately name every single boy he could think of until he hit the right one.

“No! It’s none of them! It doesn’t matter who it is, I just wanted you to know,” Harry said exasperatedly, face still a deep shade of crimson.

“Thank you for telling us, mon cheri, we love you and we will be here if you have any questions, at any time,” Regulus said, pointedly looking at James.

“Cedric Diggory!” James yelled, triumphantly, “I knew he was distracting you during that Quidditch match we came to see! You can’t let cute boys take your mind off the game, kid.”

“Oh like you’re one to talk,” Regulus muttered under his breath, which earned him a playful slap to his shoulder.

“It’s not my fault you know how to handle a broom so well,” James muttered back which caused the teenager in front of them to groan loudly.

“It’s not Cedric! Merlin!” Harry’s head fell into his hands, “It’sdracomalfoy.”

“Dra… did I hear you right?” James gaped at his son before turning to Regulus, “did he just say Draco Malfoy?”

Regulus couldn’t respond, he was biting the inside of his cheek trying not to laugh and embarrass their son any further.

“Yes. I know he’s mean but I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s smart and he’s really good at flying and even when he calls me names, my heart starts beating really fast and he has lovely hair and when he’s thinking in class, he gets this little frown line between his eyebrows and…” Harry trails off again, very aware he’s just said too much, “anyway… I just thought you should know. Okay, I’m going to go over to Ron’s now.”

Harry rushed out of the room before either man could say anything and James turned to Regulus in disbelief.

“Draco Malfoy?” James stammered, horror painting his face, “that little ferret is horrible to him!”

Regulus just turned back to his paper, lifting it high enough to cover his grin.

“Ah Jamie, it seems history really does repeat itself, hmm?”

(written for @shoopsthereitis as part of a Xmas ss exchange. I adore you sar, I'm so pleased to be your friend xxx)

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[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Twenty Four: We Drink Our Feelings. Like Adults SS: 2 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 2K Content Warnings:

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Christmas Day feels like controlled chaos in Ayame's apartment. The tree in the corner twinkles with fairy lights, adorned with a mismatched collection of ornaments, most notably her beloved Smurf figurines, each perched proudly on the branches. Minho's cooking fills the air with the rich scent of spices, roasted meat, and warm bread, making everyone's mouths water.

Ayame sits cross-legged on the floor, her laptop propped open on the coffee table. Minho leans over her shoulder, squinting at the screen like he's the final boss of critique. Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jisung lounge on the couch, balancing plates piled high with food.

Hyunjin takes a massive bite of Minho's honey-glazed ham, moaning dramatically. "This is so fucking good. Minho, seriously, if the whole HR thing ever flops, you could run a five-star restaurant."

Minho doesn't even look up, his attention still on Ayame's laptop. "Shut up and eat, Twiggy. Ayame's got her big-ass board meeting, and we're making sure she walks in there like a goddamn queen."

"Why can't we eat and critique at the same time?" Hyunjin grumbles around another mouthful, his cheeks puffed like a chipmunk.

Seungmin, ever the deadpan observer, cuts in, "Because Minho lives to micromanage. It's his love language."

Jisung stabs a piece of mashed potato with unnecessary aggression, his scowl deepening. "I'm still fucking pissed about Chan. What kind of asshole plays the long con like that? If I see him, I swear, it's on sight."

Ayame shrugs, feigning nonchalance even though her chest tightens at the mention of Chan. "It doesn't matter. I've got this. He's just noise in the background."

Minho taps a few keys on the laptop, then leans back with an approving nod. "Aya, this is some next-level shit. You're going to annihilate that board. They'll be begging to give you the job."

Ayame raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a faint smile. "Does this mean you'll finally stop calling me pabo?"

Minho smirks, reaching over to flick her forehead. "Absolutely not. No matter how badass you get, you'll always be my dumbass. It's tradition."

Jisung slams his fork down with dramatic flair. "For the record, I went OFF on Chan in our group chat. I eviscerated him. Total scorched earth. He's probably still crying."

Hyunjin snickers, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Did you really, or did you send, like, two mildly angry texts and then chickened out?"

"I fucking went in," Jisung snaps, holding up his phone as proof. "Look at this shit! I called him a manipulative dick with more abs than sense."

Ayame snorts, reaching for her wine glass. "Thanks for defending my honour. You're truly the hero I didn't know I needed."

Jisung's eyes light up. "Does this mean I'm officially part of your collection of oppas? Minho, Hyunjin, Seungmin... and now me?"

Ayame pretends to think for a moment, then nods solemnly. "Welcome to the club, oppa."

Jisung fist-pumps the air, nearly sending his plate flying. "Yes! I've finally made it. This is the greatest Christmas gift of all time."

Minho snorts, leaning back against the couch with an air of smug satisfaction. He nudges Jisung's thigh with his socked foot, a teasing grin lighting up his face. "Look at that, jagi," he says, voice dripping with mock pride. "You, a Miroh troll, now officially one of us. What a fucking Christmas miracle."

Jisung clutches his chest dramatically, beaming. "Thank you, jagiya! I am honoured to be here, the chosen one, graced by the glorious presence of my Levanter colleagues."

Ayame groans from her spot on the floor, rubbing her temples like she's nursing a hangover. "Please, I am begging you both. You promised me no coupley shit today. Just one day. That's all I ask. That includes pet names"

Jisung gasps, his hand flying to his mouth like she just slapped him. He turns to Minho with exaggerated, wide-eyed horror. "Bad Minho! Bad, bad Minho! How dare you flaunt our unparalleled happiness in front of Ayame's shattered, fragile heart?! She's still piecing her poor, broken soul together after Chan stomped all over it!"

Ayame glares at him. "Wow, Jisung, you're such a fucking hero. Truly, a saint."

Minho chuckles, tossing a throw pillow at Jisung with casual precision. It hits Jisung square in the face, and Minho grins as he leans back. "You're impossible."

Jisung catches the pillow, clutching it like a shield. "I'm not impossible. I'm adorable. Ayame, back me up."

Ayame lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. "You're like a stray cat who keeps showing up at my door. I didn't ask for you, but now you're here, and I'm stuck with you."

Jisung's jaw drops, his hands clutching the pillow dramatically. "I can't believe you just said that! After everything we've been through! I defended your honour!"

Hyunjin snickers from the other end of the couch, popping a piece of ham into his mouth. "Yeah, Jisung, she really sounds like she's super grateful for you."

Seungmin doesn't even look up from his phone. "She's not."

Jisung groans, flopping back against the couch. "You're all terrible. Except Minho. Minho likes me."

Minho shrugs, not missing a beat. "Eh, you're alright."

Jisung sits up, clutching his heart in mock agony. "Traitor! Betrayed by my own jagiya!"

Ayame leans back against the coffee table, shaking her head. "God, you're all idiots. How did I end up stuck with you?"

Minho smirks, leaning over to refill her wine glass. "Fate, Maknae. Absolute fucking fate."

Jisung grins. "And because I'm adorable. Don't forget that part."

"Forget it? I'll get it engraved on your gravestone," Ayame shoots back, taking a sip of her wine as the room dissolves into laughter.

Once everyone finishes eating, Jisung leans back on the couch, balancing his plate precariously on his knee. He glances over at Minho, who's tidying up with a level of precision that could rival a drill sergeant. "Alright, now that I'm officially in the club, am I no longer a Miroh troll?"

Minho doesn't even look up from stacking plates into a perfect tower. "Oh, no. Unfortunately for you, Jisung, being a Miroh troll is permanent. It's in your DNA. You're doomed."

Seungmin smirks from his spot on the floor, his phone in one hand and a half-empty wine glass in the other. "Yeah, don't forget your roots. You might be a traitor now, but you'll always have troll blood."

Jisung groans, dropping his head dramatically against the back of the couch. "God, fine! But at least I'm a troll with taste."

"Debatable," Minho quips, not missing a beat.

Ayame chuckles as she collects glasses from around the room, her movements precise despite the wine she's consumed. "You didn't even have to be here today, you know. Chan's still your friend."

Jisung perks up at that, sitting up straighter as his face twists into mock indignation. "He was my friend. But now he's facing the ultimate punishment. My wrath. My silent treatment. It's brutal."

Hyunjin, draped across the armrest of the couch like a lounging cat in an expensive cologne ad, raises a perfectly arched brow. "You sure he's not gonna find that a blessing? I mean, peace and quiet for once? Sounds like a win."

Jisung gasps like Hyunjin just insulted his mother. "How dare you! My righteous fury is unmatched! The silent treatment is the most devastating punishment in my arsenal."

Hyunjin shrugs with infuriating laziness. "Sure, if you say so."

Jisung pouts for all of five seconds before his gaze lands on Ayame, who's crossing the room with a tray of empty glasses. He leans forward, his curiosity spilling out in his voice. "Okay, Ayame, real talk. What's with the Smurfs? I've been dying to ask since the first time I stepped into this museum of blue chaos you call an apartment."

Ayame freezes mid-step, a glass still in her hand. Her lips twitch as she debates how much to share. Finally, she sighs and sets the tray down. "When I was a kid, my eomma was always busy doing her lawyer shit. She'd leave me home alone a lot, so I'd just watch The Smurfs on repeat for hours. It was like having company, you know?"

Jisung's expression softens instantly. "Oh. Shit. That's actually kind of sad."

Ayame shrugs, trying to brush off the weight of the confession. "It's not that deep. It is what it is."

"Your eomma sounds cold," Jisung says.

Ayame snorts. "She's cold. She's efficient. Practical. Like a robot. With impeccable hair."

Seungmin sets his wine glass down, narrowing his eyes at her. "And you kept collecting smurfs because...?"

"They make me happy, okay?" Ayame replies, a slight edge to her voice. "They're nostalgic. Like a little reminder that I survived that shit."

Jisung nods solemnly. "Damn right. And now you've got an army of tiny blue allies. No one's gonna fuck with you."

"Except Chan," Hyunjin mutters under his breath and Seungmin slaps him upside the head.

Minho, sprawled out on the floor with his wine glass dangling from his fingers like he's in the middle of a Renaissance painting, glances at Jisung with mock exasperation. "You forgot to mention the fun part, Aya. Prepare to hear her tale of woe Jisung. Ayame's dad died in a car crash when he was leaving her and her eomma. Then her eomma tried to turn Ayame into a little corporate robot lawyer. Ayame, of course, had the audacity to think for herself, and now they barely talk."

"Jesus Christ, Minho," Ayame snaps, glaring at him, though there's more exasperation than actual anger. "Do you have to air all my trauma like it's a fun fact?"

Jisung's mouth drops open as he stares at her, looking genuinely horrified. "Uh, Ayame, have you, like, tried therapy? Like, professionally? With an actual licensed therapist?"

Ayame snorts, leaning back against the couch. "Why the fuck would I do that?"

Minho jumps in before Jisung can answer, gesturing dramatically at himself and then toward Ayame, Hyunjin, and Seungmin like they're a fucking art installation. "We don't do therapy."

Hyunjin raises his wine glass as though it's a prize-winning trophy. "Yeah, therapy is so... what's the word? Not slay of us."

Seungmin, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his wine glass balanced on one knee, doesn't miss a beat. "We drink our feelings. Like adults."

Jisung looks at them, utterly scandalized, his wide eyes darting between their faces like he's watching a car crash in slow motion. "Oh my god. That's- that's not normal. That's not fun. That's fucking alarming."

"Relax," Ayame says, rolling her eyes and gesturing vaguely at Jisung's wine glass. "You're drinking your feelings with us right now. Welcome to the club."

"No," Jisung says firmly, shaking his head as he gestures wildly. "No, this isn't a club. This is- This is mental illness. You guys are insane."

"You say insane," Hyunjin says, reclining dramatically against the couch cushions, "but we say mentally spicy."

"Mentally spicy?!" Jisung yells, his voice cracking slightly. "That's not even a fucking thing!"

"It is now," Seungmin deadpans, taking a slow sip of his wine. "Mentally spicy. Trademark it. Put it on a t-shirt."

Jisung throws his hands up, looking between them like he's debating running for the door. "I fucked Minho because he was the hot HR guy from Levanter, okay? I befriended all of you because I thought you were quirky, like fun weird. But no, you're not quirky! You're clinically fucking insane!"

Ayame doubles over, laughing so hard she nearly spills her wine. "Oh my god, Jisung, this is us. You're in too deep now. You can't leave."

"I don't know," Jisung mutters, narrowing his eyes at Minho. "I might just ghost you all."

"Good luck," Minho says with a devilish grin, leaning over to poke Jisung's knee. "I know where you live, and I've already got a key."

Jisung glares at him. "Why do you have a key to my apartment?"

"Because you let me stay over when I was drunk, remember?" Minho says innocently. "I made myself a copy. Very mentally spicy of me, don't you think?"

Hyunjin lifts his glass again, smirking. "To mentally spicy decisions."

Seungmin clinks his glass lazily against Hyunjin's. "To bad coping mechanisms."

Jisung groans, slumping back against the couch as Ayame raises her glass in mock triumph. "Welcome to the chaos, Jisung."

"I hate all of you," Jisung mutters, though the corners of his mouth twitch like he's fighting a smile.

"You love us," Ayame says, smirking as she takes another sip of her wine.

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Caregiver Sam Winchester

Sam is a cuddly caregiver and no one can convince me otherwise !!

He loves to play peek-a-boo when his kiddo is especially on the small side.

He also uses a plethora of pet names !! “Kiddo” / “Sugar” / “Prince(ss) / Royal” are common ones he uses

Sam is great at cooking and typically will make whatever his kiddo asks for

Of course this does require store trips typically and he will happily make these into a game

“Let’s see who can put on their shoes the fastest!” / “Can you find the bread before I do sugar?” / “Who can carry more bags?”

When he’s cooking he’ll either sit you down on the countertop or nearby with some toys

Once Sam finishes cooking he always comes up and ruffles his kiddos hair before sitting the plate down before them and kissing their head <33

Bedtimes are so fun with him!! Once again it’s turned into a game and he always reads bedtime stories until you fall asleep

And even then he will lay there with you and run his hands through his kiddos hair until he falls asleep as well :)