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ckret2 · 3 months ago

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Chapter 63 of human Bill Cipher trying to debate his way out of still being the Mystery Shack's prisoner. Soos has found the stolen Journal 4 in Bill's possession and has to decide what to do about it in light of everything else he's learned about Bill lately.

[*you may notice chapter 61 is missing! This plot was done sooner, so I'll be posting chapter 61 sometime after 64. It's not chronological so you're not missing anything!]

Soos stared dumbfounded at the journal with a 4 on the cover that he'd pulled from Bill's hiding place. Ford had lost Journal 4 last fall—he'd said gnomes had stolen it. How in the world had Bill gotten it?

Soos sat in the attic window seat and flipped through it. The first few pages were Ford's journal entries—his observations of the dimensional rips they were glueing shut in Gravity Falls post-Weirdmageddon, a hand-drawn map highlighting various places around the globe he wanted to investigate, a few drawings and observations of paranormal beings he hadn't seen his first time in town, half a sketch of a gnome that ended with a jagged scribble across the page followed by a page that said "Shmebulock" over and over.

And then a page that said, in an unfamiliar handwriting of jagged, narrow gray letters: "CURSED BOOK! If your name is Mabon Mason Pines, STOP READING NOW or ENJOY YOUR HEX!"

Bill had written page after page of some weird code of gray and yellow-green dots and dashes. A few sentences in English—every one of them was a threatening message to Ford. "Everything would have been fantastic if you'd just helped me finish, Fordsy." "You'll regret not siding with me when you had the chance." "You should have known better than to let your idiot brother turn you against me." "Sixer, you're lying to yourself every time you say you never worshiped me, and you know it. You spent the first third of your life running away from the god you were raised with and the second third chasing after me. Don't waste your last third denying it. YOU'RE MINE." A small, worrying diagram of what looked like the interdimensional portal. And a sticker.

Wait, hold on.

A sticker. One of Mabel's. The rest of the page was the same as the others, the two-tone dots and dashes, except for the sticker, and an arrow drawn from one paragraph to the sticker.

A yellow smiley, its round edges filled in with black marker to make a triangle, over the words "Good job!"

Soos stared at the sticker.

####

A couple of weeks ago, Melody had texted to let Soos know that there was a mess in the upstairs bathroom, and the kids said they'd been fighting a werewolf ghost.

When Soos had gotten home the next morning, Melody had pulled him aside and quietly told him she hadn't wanted to worry him and the Stans, but she did not think it was a werewolf ghost.

When Soos saw the bathroom, he didn't think it was a werewolf ghost either.

It was a scene from a horror movie. Menacing magical sigils painted all over the walls in blood and toothpaste, Bill's zodiac painted on one mirror, the other mirror broken, glass and water all over the floor. It looked like the site of a really wet demon summoning. This contained none of the hallmarks of ghostly or werewolfish activity. Why would Bill do this?

Soos was kind of reluctant to ask Bill. Bill still sorta scared him sometimes. Sure, he looked like a lost 18-year-old, but Soos knew what teens were like in a fight. So he asked Mabel instead.

Mabel pursed her lips uncomfortably. "Ask Dipper."

So Soos asked Dipper.

Dipper winced and. "Promise you won't get mad."

Soos considered that. "Yeah, I guess that's a fair deal."

Dipper confessed that Bill got accidentally locked in the upstairs bathroom for like a whole day, because he and Mabel didn't hear him yelling. Not because they were out of the house when they shouldn't have been. They were just... somewhere else in the house. Doing something loud. For the whole day.

While Bill was trapped alone.

####

Soos had vented to Abuelita about cleaning the bathroom. Like sure, he got Bill was annoyed about being stuck, but that seemed excessive.

Abuelita had made the observation that sometimes people in profoundly bleak and oppressive situations would just... destroy whatever was around them. Like punching a hole in the wall or snapping a pencil when you were angry, but much more so. Not because they wanted their surroundings to be destroyed, but because that was the last and only thing they had power over, and they needed to feel like they were in control of something. Even if that thing was merely changing their environment from ordered to chaotic.

Bill didn't have control over very much. He probably hadn't since he died. Soos didn't know what kind of space triangle afterlife Bill had been in before he showed up as Toga Lady, but it couldn't have been great if he'd come straight back here.

Soos could remember the one time weeks ago he'd let Bill into the bathroom to shower and forgotten to come back and let him out. How Bill had screamed so all the Mystery Shack's tourists could hear; how he'd seethed in Soos's face, how he'd said he'd rather blow their collective cover and throw them all on the mercy of the town's law enforcement than remain locked in the bathroom a second longer than they'd agreed upon. Soos had thought Bill was just impatient and hotheaded.

Standing in the bathroom, looking at the material evidence of Bill's claustrophobic terror—the broken glass, the spilled blood—he wondered.

####

The same day, he had felt a breeze in the gift shop and found the trap doors to the roof left open. He'd climbed up, shut them, and in between tours he'd visited his office to check yesterday's security tapes.

He saw Wendy coming into the shack to hang out the morning before. That was fine. Soos had discovered she did that from time to time on days the shack was closed, but she wasn't doing anything bad and she hadn't brought it up yet, so Soos didn't bring it up either. Maybe she just needed a private place to hang. Teen stuff. He was just glad Wendy felt that safe at the Mystery Shack. Maybe she'd just gone up to hang out on the roof and forgot to shut the trap doors...

And then, right there on screen, Soos saw Bill letting himself into the gift shop, through the door, which he shouldn't be able to open. A chill shot up Soos's back. The door curse was their only real means of containing Bill. If he could use doors now, he was out, there was no way they could trap him without doing something crazy like locking him in the bunker and hoping he didn't kill himself.

Or could he use doors? Soos thought back to the frantic messages on the bathroom wall, written in Bill's own blood—his desperation over being unable to escape. Maybe he could use doors but not doorknobs. That was okay, maybe?

On tape, he saw Wendy run into Bill. He saw Wendy take Bill onto the roof. Out in the open air, where he could just... do whatever. But he didn't do whatever. Soos fast-forwarded the tape until Wendy and Bill came back down, and Bill simply returned to the living room.

He'd had the perfect opportunity to shove Wendy off the roof or escape. He didn't take it.

If all Bill was using his new door skills for was ducking into the gift shop and hanging out on the roof with Wendy, Soos thought maybe it would be kinda mean to take that away from him. There weren't a lot of other places Bill could go in the shack. (Soos kept seeing the blood on the bathroom wall. He kept trying to imagine what kind of helplessness would drive someone that far.) Maybe Bill needed the open air.

So Soos had put the security tape on his desk, not sure what to do about it.

####

A couple of day after that, while Soos was restocking the gift shop in between waves of tourists, he'd seen Wendy reading an oddly dull-looking booklet instead of one of her usual magazines. He tilted his head to glance at the cover. The Oregon state driving manual. "Aw dude, gonna get your learner's permit?"

"Think so," Wendy said. "Don't tell my dad."

Soos remembered Wendy groaning about her dad wrangling her into doing errands if she ever got her license. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks."

"What made you change your mind? You were totally against getting a license a week ago."

"It's probably those stupid Gleeful Auto commercials that have been worming into my dreams." Wendy laughed. "I'm just waking up in the morning like, neeeed caaar."

"Oh yeah! Heh, funny coincidence, Melody says she had a dream like that too. Sometimes she gets these like, dreams about monsters watching her in bed? But one time, the monster was Bud Gleeful, whispering in her ear about a big car sale. She totally woke up laughing!"

"Ha! Annoying car commercials should be banned, man. Why do we need to be told multiple times a day to spend thousands of dollars?"

"You make a salient point."

They fell silent for a moment as Wendy read a couple more paragraphs. Then she said, "That, plus... I was talking to Goldie the other day."

Soos looked up from the t-shirt he'd been putting on a clothes hanger. "Oh. Yeah?"

"About where we wanna go when we get out of town."

"Huh." Very casually, Soos asked, "What did Goldie say?"

"He wants to go on some big vacation. Like a world cruise or something, I dunno."

"Huh." Soos wondered if that was true. He tried to imagine Bill Cipher as a tourist. Floating triangle in a Hawaiian shirt with a camera hanging from a strap and a fanny pack. What kind of places would he even visit? Soos bet he wanted to visit the pyramids. Heh. (Was that stereotyping? Maybe that was stereotyping.)

"And I told him I'm moving to Portland for college."

"Oh, hey, I didn't know you were thinking about college."

"I... actually, never told anybody else before," Wendy said. "I've been thinking about it for years, but part of me felt like it's just a fantasy? But Goldie said when he got out of high school, he did the same thing—moved to another town, made a new group of friends, all that. And... I don't know, actually talking to him out loud about it just... made it feel real, you know? So I thought, if I'm gonna move to Portland, I should probably start planning for it. Starting with how I'm getting there." She held up the driving manual.

Soos nodded slowly. "Huh. Yeah. That's a pretty mature way to look at it."

And that was what Bill was talking to Wendy about on the roof? Just... listening to a teen vent and helping her figure out her future?

And so, Soos took the security tape off his desk and put it in a drawer.

####

A few days later, Soos had heard the downstairs bathroom sink running for several minutes, assumed someone had forgotten to turn it off, and went to turn it off himself—and had caught Bill, in the dark, half undressed, washing himself in the sink.

After Soos had backed out and profusely apologized, he'd asked, "But—how come you're washing in the sink? I can let you in the upstairs bathroom if you need—"

"Worry about your own grooming habits and leave mine alone," Bill snapped. "As long as I don't smell, what do you humans care how I do it. Soap is soap and water is water."

It took Soos several days to realize he didn't think Bill had had a shower since he got locked in the bathroom. And nobody had noticed, because Bill made sure nobody noticed, because he'd been keeping himself clean in the bathroom he couldn't get locked in.

####

Dipper would go all summer without showering if he could get away with it; Stan showered like once a week and had constant old man smell; Abuelita also showered weekly and had a more refined old lady smell; Soos didn't know when Ford showered, but he'd never caught him doing it and Ford always smelled weirdly like burned hair. Soos showered almost daily during tourist season—that Mr. Mystery suit was hot—but outside that might go three days at a time. Mabel showered near daily.

From what Soos had observed, Bill was showering like, at least twice a week. He didn't know how often Bill cleaned himself in the sink in between.

That meant he was showering more often than two-thirds of the house.

Yet he was the only one in the house living under the threat of being thrown in the tub at 3 a.m. if someone decided he hadn't bathed enough for their tastes.

The reason Bill had refused to shower during his first week of imprisonment was so he could use the condition of his body as a bargaining chip—with no physical possessions in the world, his own body was the only bargaining chip he had—to try to buy a little more dignity. In return, his captors had taken more dignity away. They permitted Bill less autonomy over how to take care of his body than the household's children had.

Dipper had never gotten forced into a bathroom he couldn't let himself out of.

####

The day after the eclipse, Ford had pulled Soos aside and said quietly, "Soos, as soon as you have some time—could you repair the door to the kids' room? Before the end of the day? The latch has been broken since the tooth fairy's attack."

"Uh, sure, I can probably do that," Soos said. "How come?" The latch had been broken for a couple weeks, and the Pines hadn't been worried about it before.

"Right now, the door can swing freely with just a push," Ford said. "I think Bill's figured out how to use that to get in. Which is worrisome, since he shouldn't be able to use any doors..."

"O-oh." Soos thought about the swinging door into the gift shop. "Yeah, uh... sounds bad. Byyy the way—how'd you figure out he knows how to use the door?"

"Dipper says Bill somehow got in and out of the room last night," Ford said. "Mabel fell asleep in the living room and Bill carried her upstairs. I really don't like the thought of Bill being able to get his hands on the kids while they're asleep and defenseless."

Ford was mad at Bill for tucking a kid into bed? That was the big red flag? "No problem! I'll fix the door right after work."

The next time Soos visited his office, he took the security tape out of his drawer, rewound it, stuck it back into the tape recorder, and let that day's security camera footage overwrite and erase the evidence of Bill's visit to the gift shop.

####

And now, today, carrying Journal 4 in both hands, Soos trudged downstairs, trying to figure out what to do with it. He had to return it to Ford, obviously—but Bill and the Stans were already in the middle of a discussion that sounded a lot more like an argument. Flinging a stolen journal into the middle of the proceedings would just make it worse. Maybe he should wait until they were finished and everyone had cooled down a little—?

While Soos was upstairs, the discussion had apparently moved into the kitchen. He hovered awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, watching.

"What do you mean, you need kitchen access," Stan was asking, "you already have kitchen access. It's never been off-limits! Even after you peed in the sink!"

"It's not kitchen access if I need to ask someone else for permission to eat anything but snacks."

"No one's making you ask for permission! You can take what you want!"

"Okay, fine. So what can I eat?" Bill gestures at the shelves. "Go on. List anything you can think of. Anything."

Stan grimaced, and glanced at Ford to see if he was willing to walk into the obvious trap first.

Ford looked at the nearby shelves. "Cereal."

"One point for Stanford Pines! Cereal! So am I supposed to eat dry cereal for every single meal, or—?"

"No, of course not."

"All right, then what else?"

"Brown meat," Stan said. "We've got plenty of brown meat. It's good for you!"

"You didn't give me can opener rights," Bill said.

"Huh."

"So no brown meat," Bill said. "No canned soup, no canned chili, no canned fruit, no canned vegetables—"

Ford cut in, "Some of the cans have pull tabs, you don't need a can opener for those."

"Terrific observation! As soon as you realized I could open those cans myself, you moved them all under the counter because you thought I'd use the sharp edges as weapons!"

"It's... possible to open cans without a can opener, I did it sometimes while roughing it in other dimensions—"

"Yeah, wearing off the metal rim with a rock, right? Lemme just go outside and grab a rock—oh wait." Bill crossed his arms.

Ford sighed, and turned to Stan to suggest something else.

Stan surveyed the available supplies, spotted the bread, and said, "You could make sandwiches!"

"With what filling?"

"Uh..." Stan kept looking.

Meats and cheeses, of course, were kept in the fridge. Along with jelly, condiments, most vegetables... tuna or spam weren't options, they were canned... "Hey, we leave out some meats that don't need refrigeration. Sausages and stuff."

"Right, right. The ones that don't need refrigeration because they're wrapped in plastic you need a knife to cut," Bill said. "Sometimes I bite the plastic open with my teeth and rip off chunks of sausage with my fingernails, that's always fun! Then you put the leftovers in the fridge, and I'm out of luck until we buy another sausage."

"You could put... peanut butter on your sandwiches?" Ford tried. "Peanut butter's nutritious."

Bill fixed him with a hard look. "For the past five weeks, every time I've gotten a meal without asking someone else to help feed me like a baby, I've had nothing but peanut butter and banana sandwiches, peanut butter and jerky sandwiches, peanut butter and raisin sandwiches, and peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches. And we're out of bananas, jerky, and raisins." He pointed at the tortillas. "Once I decided to get creative and made myself a cold peanut butter quesadilla! I can't even add spices, because guess where the breakable glass spice jars are kept?"

"Pasta," Ford tried. "We could keep the pasta out."

"Oh, wow, that'd be great! I just love pasta! But I can't open the microwave and I can't turn on the stove! How do I heat the water, Stanford?"

Ford frowned. "Hm."

"I can cook, you know—not that any of you bothered to ask! It might not suit your tastes, but it suits mine! I wouldn't need your help to eat if you didn't make me need help! I am sick to death—" his voice went thick and took on an uncharacteristic waver, "—of having to beg to... eat." He cleared his throat, squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed his eyelids with one hand. "Sh-shouldn't even—need to eat." He clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling.

Stan and Ford exchanged a guilty look. Stan said, "You don't have to beg— I mean, we know the, uh... position you're in..."

Bill was silent for a moment as he tried to get a tough face back on. His voice came out as a rough whisper—too thick to get any louder without breaking. "I had to negotiate to get burnt eggs."

Ford winced.

Soos was dumbfounded.

When had Bill had to negotiate for food? He could all too easily understand how it might have happened—Bill was an annoying guy, sometimes they had to pull out dumb bargains to get him to do stuff. But bargaining for food should never be on that list. Meeting Bill's basic nutritional needs couldn't be dependent on whether he was annoying that day. If it was, he'd starve.

It sounded like he was starving. Right under Soos's roof. He hadn't even noticed.

He thought about the piles of junk food trash upstairs and the bag of chips Bill had hurled across the room.

Ford said, "We'll... discuss it."

"We'll figure something out," Stan said. "I mean it."

Bill nodded silently. Head down, without uncovering his eyes, he hurried out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

He nearly bumped into Soos's chest without noticing him. Soos backed up a step, tucking Journal 4 under his arm. "Whoa, hey!"

Bill froze, head jerking up. "You." His voice was thick and his glare was watery and poisonous. "Don't you have anything better to do than eavesdrop?" He tried to elbow past Soos, smacking his leg with his umbrella. "Move."

Soos realized uneasily that Bill's face looked a little slimmer than it had when he'd arrived.

He stepped in Bill's way. "Can't go upstairs right now. Attic's being cleaned."

"I didn't ask you to clean!"

"I'm not cleaning for you, dawg. It's just gotta be cleaned."

"Fine! Whatever!" Bill veered around the staircase and stomped down the hall, muttering, "Can't decide when I eat, can't decide when I shower, why should I get to choose when my hovel's swept..."

Soos's leg hurt where Bill had smacked it. (Bill couldn't even control whether or not he cried; all he had control over was making someone else hurt.)

In the kitchen, Stan murmured, "Didn't even realize we don't keep anything decent out on the counters. They're so crowded..."

"Chip bags take up a lot of space." Ford sighed. "I assumed he'd get a serving with everyone else whenever Mrs. Ramirez cooks."

"He does, but she only does dinners. And he'll only eat it if he watched her cook it. I've seen him get lunch with Mabel, but I don't know what he does when she's not..." Stan spotted Soos on the stairs. He tiredly called, "Soos? You need something?"

"Uhhh..." Soos hid the journal behind his back. "Nope! I just thought I'd come downstairs! For no reason." He awkwardly walked up the stairs backwards, journal still tucked behind him. "And—and now I'm going up again." He stopped at the landing and scooted sideways up the next flight of stairs. "See ya."

He pressed the journal to his chest and returned to the attic.

####

When Soos and Abuelita moved into the shack, the first thing Soos had done was turn Ford's ground-floor study into a bedroom for Abuelita. Because she was a little old lady, and not quite as steady as she used to be, so Soos didn't want her constantly going up and down the stairs—because falling once, just ONCE, could send her to the hospital or worse. That was how serious it was! You don't mess around with that!

Bill tripped and fell on the stairs so often that they could use it to tell when he was awake. And nobody had thought to offer him a cane? Did anybody even ask if he was alright?

When Bill first arrived and tried to murder everyone, naturally, he came out of it pretty banged up and bruised. That was to be expected. It was self-defense. They'd gotten used to seeing Bill with scrapes on his arms and legs, rope burns around his ankles, and the angry purple-black bruises of chain links over his arms. But in all the weeks since then, Soos hadn't seen Bill bruise-free once. Bruises on his shins and arms, scrapes on his elbows and knees. Soos had seen him with a four-inch burn on his forearm. Bill had brushed it off.

In Bill's first few days in the shack, he'd resorted to peeing in the kitchen sink because nobody had bothered to give a guy who couldn't open doors a way to use the bathroom. And they were the reason he couldn't open doors in the first place!

He threw up in the living room in the middle of the night and went upstairs to sleep on couch cushions on the floor and nobody had talked about it.

He burned off all his hair and was so upset about it that he stole Soos's zodiac blanket and hid under it for half a week, and everyone but Mabel just ignored him.

In less than a month in the Mystery Shack, Bill had lost a tooth.

He had been dragged out of the house during a weird weather phenomenon while terrified out of his mind. Soos had seen Bill cowering on the ground in fear, Ford looming over him, grabbing him by the collar and snarling in rage. Bill had been pleading with everyone in hearing range not to make him go, and had come back in such a state of shock he could hardly walk.

And yet, he'd protected the whole town from getting hurt in zero gravity—and he'd brought a pet for Soos.

They'd tried to execute Bill two days later.

####

Soos sat in the window seat, flipping through the remaining filled-in pages in Journal 4. The last few pages were packed with stickers. A cat that said PURRFECT! A smiling fish that said A REEL PAL! Bill had started a little collection of pizza slice stickers for some reason. A couple of holographic rainbows, a smiling scratch-and-sniff sun. (Apparently, the sun smelled like lemons and oranges. Astronomy facts!)

Soos reached the current page. Bill was using several pieces of paper—regular printer paper and notebook paper, folded in half—like a bookmark. Soos unfolded them. A list of animals ranked by fuzziness. (Soos was satisfied that he'd been placed under the "smooth and squishy" category, but wondered whether he should be bothered by the fact that he shared the category with pigs and slugs.) A drawing of Bill riding a looping rocket ship and waving a fishbowl helmet above him. A drawing of a blue house with a couple of kids and a pig in the window. Several drawings of shape people kinda like Bill: a pink heart person labeled "Me in Flatworld," a stern-looking red stop sign wearing sunglasses labeled "Bill's parole officer," Bill dancing, the pink heart protecting Bill from some villainous-looking shapes—all clearly Mabel's art.

Several notebook pages in someone else's handwriting detailing names, addresses, and contact information, with statements Soos couldn't make sense of—as if maybe someone had been asking somebody else questions and writing down their answers. He thought the questions might be about how some people had reacted to the end of Weirdmageddon. He got the impression the people being discussed had known that Weirdmageddon was coming. He got the impression they were disappointed it hadn't happened. There were several questions at the end: How will we rendes-vouz? (Whoever was writing didn't know how to spell rendezvous, but to be fair Soos wasn't 100% sure either.) What supplies do you need? What are your interim orders?

Soos stared at the notebook papers.

He flipped back through the journal again, looking at each page more closely.

Sometimes the two-tone dot-and-dash segments had a stray human word: a few characters he recognized from his Teach Yourself Japanese workbooks, sometimes words Soos thought might be Arabic but honestly he didn't have a clue. At one point he listed half a dozen human names that Soos didn't recognize. The most common character was a stretched-out letter M (Mabel?), followed by a 6 knocked on its side (Sixer?).

The dot-and-dash segments had occasional amateurish illustrations. Sometimes they were human stick figures; sometimes the stick figures' heads had symbols off of Bill's zodiac wheel. He saw Stan's fish symbol, Gideon's star symbol, and Mabel's shooting star symbol. Ford's stick figures were the only ones with hands; Bill consistently gave them six fingers. The doodles were like particularly esoteric cave drawings; they were so bad that Soos couldn't tell what most of them were supposed to illustrate.

Except for one featuring Bill (as a triangle) and Mabel and some other inscrutable figures in a really awesome car with flames on the side, its coolness limited only by the fact that it was all in gray and yellow-green crayon. When Soos had been in high school, there had always been a couple of kids who didn't know how to draw anything except expensive cars or name-brand sports shoes, but they drew them in extreme realistic detail. Apparently, Bill was that kind of artist. Nothing but stick figures and the sickest crayon car Soos had ever seen.

It didn't do anything to dispel Soos's impression of Bill as a lost alien 18-year-old.

On one page, in sloppy lines of handwriting that meandered drunkenly up and down the paper, Bill had written, "I don't get why you won't give me a second shot. I asked you to join my gang. I serenaded you in a pyramid. I got a fantastic makeover. I offered you godhood. I showed you my dimension. I didn't torture you until I had to. I even made you a skin couch! I know how much you've always wanted a leather furniture set! I've given you everything from chicken zombification magic to jelly beans, what does it take? What am I missing?"

Soos reread Bill's other messages to Ford. All that "you'll regret not siding with me" junk wasn't threats. It was the impotent rage of a socially inept teenager who didn't understand his own creepiness had driven his friends away. It was the whiny moan of some guy going "Why doesn't she like me anymore" about an ex-girlfriend who had told him five times she didn't like him anymore because he didn't listen to her. Like that guy Wendy dated last summer. So like, a jerk, but not a terrifying world-ending monster jerk, just an annoying creep jerk. A regular jerk. A human jerk.

Soos stood, gave one last look at this journal—clearly stolen, definitely a violation of Bill's "no writing materials" restriction, completely stuffed full of mysterious messages to outsiders and some kind of weird alien code that could say anything at all and might have been super dangerous—and he slid it back into the ripped seam in the attic seat cushion where he'd found it.

He finished vacuuming up the potato chips Bill had flung across the room, thinking about how offended Bill had been that Soos had given him any food except what he'd asked for, remembering what Abuelita had said about people who destroy the things around them when they feel like that's the last and only thing they still have power over.

Enough was enough.

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed! Next week we may interrupt our regularly-scheduled programming to post a TBOB-based chapter I'm inserting early into the fic—it depends on if I get it done by next Friday. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this chapter!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #soos ramirez #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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kismets-barista · 11 months ago

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Hold onto your Stetson, @ohposhers; have I got some personal HickDory lore for you 😎💜🌟🫧

Excuse the insanity for those who don't feel compelled towards these two

SO!

Hickory and JD met a few good years before the events of the World Tour when Dory was traveling to find Lonesome Flats, got heatstroke and passed out in the desert. Wakes up to Hickory shadowed in the flickering light of a campfire beneath a canopy of the brightest stars he'd seen since the Neverglades, but it wouldn't be until QUITE a few months later until they really started developing crushes against each other. (Cowboy under the stars, you'd think he'd fall right then and there, right? 🌟)

Why was Hickory already in Lonesome Flats, you might ask? Where was Dickory?

In a glue trap, I say in response. Hickory came from Yodelsberg (is there a canonical name for this?) for international study and to learn about new music. He fell in love with country because yodeling and country music are actually quite gorgeous together. She Taught Me to Yodel, anyone?

Delta Dawn obviously didn't take to Dory showing up and around the town, but after some convincing by Hickory and lots of proving himself (plus a vulture attack that resulted in John Dory saving the very young niece of Delta Dawn- Clampers-) he 'earned' a place there and began to work around town.

It was weird for him.

He'd never quite settled down, until then.

(Now, the specific timeline, yearly I mean is a little muddled because I'm still crafting this, but I'll put them out about three years, now.)

John Dory was still living in Lonesome Flats, and he'd started a relationship with Hickory. They loved each other, as my cohort in crime @protagonist-art (CHECK OUT THEIR ART I LOVE THEM SM MUAH) has Hickory tell John when we get write them, "More than the moon loves the ocean." As surely as the tide pulls in and out, so the lovers return to each other.

So Via, what does Hickory think about BroZone?

Oh, my sweet star.

He doesn't know.

After returning to the devastated Troll Tree, John Dory lost a piece of his heart in the damaged pod they used to live in. It was the first time he went grey, and the memories of his brothers started shifting from what was, to what would never be again. He couldn't find it within himself to talk about them, and has his secrets.

But so does Hickory.

Girl wdym stop being so mysterious.

Heh. I know. It's just a glimpse into my dark mind /ref. Anyways, Hickory never told John Dory he was a Yodeler troll. (Another piece of lore that Quizzy and I worked on together and I think it's brilliant.)

Huh? Aren't they in a long-term relationship? Won't this cause issues later on if they don't share these things with each other?

Oh, they love every aspect of each other too much for their bond to truly be broken.

And yet.

One morning, years after just living and loving, John Dory wakes up with a massive headache and nausea.

"Maybe it's that horse that kicked me yesterday, could've gotten me harder than we both thought."

"Lemme check for a knot, Darlin'."

No knots, but there was an egg.

🌟 (Here I'll say that I'm massively in love with the headcanon that trolls conceive through true love- it isn't quite necessary for them to physically do anything unless they want to. Just them, wholeheartedly trusting and putting everything into their relationship and pouring their heart out to their partner.)

They were absolutely ECSTATIC, and rightfully terrified in their own ways. Neither of them were looking for children but not against it, and after resting for a few days they began to plan. A nursery in the house, baby books with millions of names scattered on the coffee table, toys and cute little baby clothes for when the little one hatched.

Wanna know two of the names John Dory had in mind? Rhonda and Dolly.

They were ecstatic until the night John Dory woke up absolutely ill and with a pit in his stomach.

They lost the egg, and it was the second time John Dory went grey in his life.

A week after this had happened, John Dory left a bundled lock of his hair at Hickory's nightstand and did what he knows how to do all too well. He ran.

Hickory never went too far out of Lonesome Flats in the hopes that John Dory would come back. He couldn't imagine what would happen if his love came back and didn't find him there.

The events of World Tour come about, Hickory meets Branch, and travels for the first time since John Dory left.

John Dory continued to travel, until the events of Band Together.

But don't worry, dear readers, for as surely as the tides come in, so will the lovers meet again. 🌟

Aaaand BOOM! That's it! 💜 I've got lore behind the names Rhonda and Dolly as well, and am SO down to answer any questions about them that anyone has. For you, Posh, thank you for asking and helping me to share a story I've been working on, and for everyone else that read this, thank you kindly! I hope that everyone who made it this far has quite a lovely day, or if you didn't, have a lovely day anyways!

Remember to take your meds, drink water, eat something, and stretch!

💜🌟🫧

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tokoumaru · 2 years ago

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❤︎ genshin impact boys as highschool love interests!

feat. xiao, childe, itto tags. headcanons, imagines, fluff, slight angst, yandere themes, modern au, afab! reader warnings. childe’s part contains yandere themes, xiao’s contains sa (not by him), and itto’s contain minor mentions of gangs, if you have trouble reading these types of tropes, please feel free to skip

❤︎ childe/tartaglia (yandere childhood friend)

in your younger years, you vaguely recalled being best friends with this cute girl with ginger hair. ever since you bravely saved her from an onslaught of bullies during kindergarten, she’s been stuck to you like glue. wherever you went, her short stature would follow and both of you would always play in the riverside next to the neighbourhoods... her name was something along the lines of jazz..? ajax?

when you had to move, tears were running down her sweet cheeks as she begged you to stay. to your surprise, she even poked a hole in your car’s tire just to stop you... though the adults dismissed it as child’s play, there was an unsettling feeling in your stomach. the last sight you saw of her was when she was resolutely looking at your leaving car with a glint no normal 6-year-old could make.

now that you’re 17, moving to teyvat high was quite hard for you. everyone had their own set of friends by now... it was quite lonely most of the time. from your little corner of the classroom, you’ve always heard the girls talk about this guy... childe, right? they always went on and on about how cool and attractive and athletic he was... regular girl talk, you guessed.

murmurs and talks of him only increased during your school’s sports fest, almost everyone was talking about him competing in the most awaited basketball tournament!

curious, you watched along the sidelines of the game. though, suddenly everyone's cheers had gotten louder and you just needed to know why.

a mop of familiar ginger hair swiftly passed by your view, dunking the basketball straight into the hoop as the crowd goes wild!

suddenly, the tall ginger’s ocean eyes landed in your direction... ah, so ajax wasn’t a girl after all. the short girl that clung onto you was long gone, now replaced with a tall boy carrying a lean body, his voice octaves deeper than your own and his world leagues away.

the next few days, you were left to wonder if he recognized you... he couldn’t, right? he had other things to worry about... such as the number of love letters he receives every day in his shoe locker.

“y/n! is that really you...? I missed you so so so much!”

as usual, you were simply passing through the hallways until ajax trapped you in between his arms and lifted you up, gripping you so tight that you had to use all your force to break free from his hold.

“is it because you don’t remember me?”

from the moment you broke free from his arms, he deflated, a pout on his handsome face. at the sight, you couldn’t help but refute him immediately in a panic.

“so you truly do remember me! that makes things easier for me, darling.”

caught off guard, you didn’t realize ajax pulled you closer to him, encasing his lean arms around your waist. then, his lips were suddenly on your lips, his calloused hand caressing your cheek... all for the entire student body to see.

the next few days were hellish, to say the least. somehow every female in teyvat high hated your guts, even going as far as to ostracize you from the rest of the student body.

you didn’t know why all these girls were being so hostile, from stealing your athletic wear to writing disgusting names on your table... all you could do was turn to your childhood friend in times like these.

whenever a girl would pour water over you or trip you on purpose, you would immediately run to ajax and vent everything.

“shh... it’s okay y/n, they’re just being petty because they know that they’ll never hold my attention like you do.”

when the bullying got really bad, you would rush to the rooftop holding back your tears. only letting everything out as ajax held you to his chest, stroking your hair while your tears soaked his school uniform.

one day, the girls who bullied you were especially ticked off. they claimed that you were seducing childe, shoving various pictures of him and you on the rooftop to your face.

no matter how much you protested, the girls only ignored you and roughly pulled you towards an abandoned store room at the back of the school. there was nothing you could do against the group, all you could muster up was bang against the door as they took your phone and locked you in the dark.

you screamed for help, you called your teacher’s names, your parent’s names, and even ajax’s name numerous times in desperation. the tears dried on your cheeks as your voice went hoarse... you didn’t know how long you were in there. the darkness was all you could see.

“y/n! are you in there?!”

ajax’s voice was like a glowing light amidst all that’s happened to you. you cried out his name and begged him to save you.

“don’t worry, darling... I’ve got you now.”

he burst the rusty door open and immediately rushed to your shaking body in the corner of the room. desperate for someone to cling on to, you immediately pulled ajax in and buried your head in his neck, his boyish scent comforting you.

“I love you, Y/N... and only I can love you...”

your mind was in a frenzy and you couldn’t register the words ajax had uttered, only choosing to cling to his warm embrace further and bask in the sweet comfort his kisses gave you.

as ajax’s ginger locks intertwined with yours as he buried his face in your hair, a smirk slowly graced his lips while he kissed the top of your head.

while your childhood friend mumbled sweet nothings into your ear, you slowly fell asleep in his lean arms, too tired to be able to think straight.

“it’s my turn to be your saving grace, Y/N.”

you failed to remember that you had always locked the rooftop door after entering... and that the only possible culprit left would be your one and only childhood friend.

❤︎ xiao (stoic seatmate)

being new to teyvat high, you were left to sit alone at the back of the class, though you were thankful for the window seat... somehow, your only seatmate ended up being a student named xiao alatus.

he was... quiet, to say the least. all your classmates feared him to death, you probably guessed it was because of the stoic stone-face he carried and the deathly aura around him; pair that with the numerous piercings that lined his ear and the somewhat natural red eyeliner that rimmed along his eyes, you understood with everyone walked on eggshells around him.

you were the same at first as well, never really looking in his direction or even trying to talk to him. well, that was until you were paired up for a group task by your teacher. truthfully, you were terrified, you didn’t even know how to look at him! somehow, both of you agreed to work on the task at a nearby café, a halfway point between both of your places.

up until the moment, you dreaded having to meet with xiao, even thinking of bailing on him with some flimsy excuse and doing everything without his help... though you weren’t too keen on doing this to someone who hasn’t done anything wrong.

you arrived at the café a bit early, so you decided to order some drinks in advance. you were simply thinking of what to get while queuing at the cashier until some guy started slipping his hands up your skirt.

you froze, not knowing what to do at all. a disgusting feeling settled in your stomach as your hands clammed up in fear. the perpetrator behind you was both bigger and stronger than you... you didn’t think you could even make a scratch on him.

“that’s enough, what do you think you’re doing to her?”

in the blink of an eye, the pervert’s hand left your underskirt and was suddenly in xiao’s deathly grip. xiao immediately placed himself in between you and the perpetrator, successfully blocking him from your view.

“people like you are despicable. leave, now.”

with one last glare, xiao pushed him out of the line with ease and turned to you with his arms crossed. although his face was rigid and his golden eyes were pointed in a glare, you could’ve sworn there was a hint of worry inside them.

“...call me next time.”

ever since that day, you’ve looked at your seatmate in a different light... literally. you mustered up the courage to look xiao’s way for once, and it just so happens that he was looking your way too.

upon the immediate eye contact, he immediately turned his head back to the board, the tip of his ears turning red... you truly wondered why you were so scared of him at all.

now, suddenly all you did was talk to xiao in classes. not out loud of course, but through the little scribbles you both shared in your notebooks. sitting at the back of the class and right next to each other gave you both the advantage of everyone caring less about you two... it was you and xiao’s little corner of the world almost.

the mini-conversations between you two that happened in the corners of your notebook would never fail to make you laugh once you read them again... the contrast between your cursive letters with xiao’s rigid edges were always such a sight to see.

soon, the two of you found yourself holding study sessions at the same café you met for your first project. almost every day after school, the two of you would walk together to the nearby café and sit on the tables at the very corner of the room.

“i’ll sit next to you… it’s safer.”

xiao insisted to stay by your side at all times, even going as far as to wait for you outside the restroom.

no matter how much you insisted that you would be fine, and that your perpetrator had probably been banned at the cafe already, your seatmate still wouldn’t budge.

“I simply wish for your safety, please just ignore me.”

you sighed in surrender as you heard xiao stubbornly insist, although you couldn’t deny the flutter of your heart as he scooted a bit closer to you after you two sat down next to each other

since the tables at the cafe were a bit too small for two people on the same side, your hand and his calloused ones would often brush against each other each time you tried to grab something… you tried your best to ignore the way xiao’s face would turn red every time.

though, on one occasion xiao just resorted to roughly grabbing your hand and intertwining them together.

“… its easier like this.”

...you didn’t have the courage to let go

no words were exchanged between you two the rest of the time, but when you had gotten home, a badly written “I like you.” had been written on the top half of your notebook with badly drawn hearts and flowers...

❤︎ arataki itto (obnoxious delinquent)

every time you would walk home from school, you would pass by the notorious ‘arataki gang,’ which became unpopular for their supposed mischievousness. the gang was led by arataki itto, a very tall and muscular man, strong enough to tower over even your teachers.

numerous egregious rumours surrounded the guy, some students said he was part of the yakuza because of those reddish tattoos he bore, others said he bullied kids and took their cash just to buy some cigarettes with his gang... you couldn’t help but think he was someone you shouldn’t ever cross paths with.

that was until you were suddenly face-to-face with the guy, seemingly having no way of escape.

you were simply on your way back to your class from the cafeteria when you caught sight of a cute little cat in the school’s garden. seeing as there was a bit more time till your break had ended, you sneakily followed the cat until it stopped right at the back of the empty gymnasium.

if you hadn’t been there from the start, you’d think that these guys were torturing the cute kitty cat... but it seems that they were just very aggressive when it came to expressing their love for the animal. after all, they were feeding the cat their entire lunchboxes, and much to the cat’s enjoyment, were spinning it around in glee.

“hey, are you spying on us or somethin’?! don’t think i didn’t notice you from back there, punk!”

you were startled out of the little bush you were hiding in and immediately apologized profusely to the whitehead in front of you, whose red eyes looked at you almost accusingly.

“well, why didn’t you say so! if you wanted to help us take care of little old nimble ninja over here then you shoulda just asked!”

after letting out a rambunctious laugh, he roughly pulled you in for a handshake, welcoming you to his supposed gang, stating himself as the ‘head honcho’ and introducing all 3 of his ‘underlings’ as well... you surmised that perhaps everyone had gotten the arataki gang all wrong.

you had to say, the next few weeks were very eventful, to say the least. you spent your entire breaks hanging out (against your will on some occasions) with the infamous arataki gang. all your classmates asked if you were being bullied, or if you were a delinquent as well... you didn’t have the heart to tell them that you and itto were simply feeding a school stray he named ‘nimble ninja��

contrary to popular belief, itto did none of the things he was rumoured to be doing. those red ‘tattoos’ he adorned? actually, he just said he wanted to look cool, like one of those metal bands on tv! when you asked if he was part of the yakuza, he screeched like a little girl and hugged you in his arms, desperately telling you to never utter the word again or else both of you would be ‘assassinated’ and, when you mentioned the circling rumours about him and his gang’s deeds, itto burst into tears, clinging on to you and telling you that he would never do such a thing... and you believed him, because this giant softie couldn’t even kill a fly that flew around you two as he wept.

at one point, you didn’t even think itto was capable of violence... but not even itto could stay pacifistic in the face of a clear threat.

one lunch on your way to you and itto’s usual meeting place, you had seen a bunch of students poking fun at nimble ninja, throwing insults and hurling a few pebbles at her.

seeing the little cat cower in fear, you immediately rushed in to save her, not even thinking twice about getting hit yourself. unfortunately, the delinquent’s attention went from the cat to you, and now it seemed you didn’t have the chance to escape.

slowly, the leader of the group slowly backed you into a corner, threatening you and your cat. you tried your best to resist, but there was nothing you could do being surrounded by delinquents stronger than you.

“just whaddya think you’re doing to her?”

a threateningly low voice interrupted the tension in the air. you could tell that the gang members were terrified of itto’s tall and intimidating stature. right now, itto’s long hair was tied up, his sleeves were folded, and his crimson eyes were looking directly at the leader who cornered you.

“don’t even think about getting even an inch near her... i’ll give you 3 seconds to scram, boys.”

you could tell the leader was a bit hesitant to leave, but as soon as all his underlings fled, he made a run for it.

feeling the adrenaline wear off, you sunk to the hard ground, still carefully holding nimble ninja in your arms.

“hey, are you? did those guys do anything to hurt you?!”

itto immediately rushed over to your side, careful not to touch you in case you were injured. though, when you had said you were alright. the muscular man immediately let out a large sigh and hugged you and nimble ninja tight in his arms.

“that scared the hell out of me... hehe, I didn’t know what to do if they actually tried to fight me y’know”

he laid his chin on top of your head, still holding you tight. you could feel his hands shaking, probably from fear... you had to hold in your laugh. if he was so scared, why did he put up such a front?

“I just couldn’t let you, an honored member of the arataki gang, get bullied like that! I'm your boss, I should be especially reliable!”

itto pulled back and faced you, his crimson eyes in front of yours. your noses were almost touching with the proximity.

“but... it’s probably because I like you as well, I hope you know that.”

a/n. I hate this LOL though I hope you guys enjoyed at least a little

#✧.* genshin #childe imagines #childe x reader #yandere genshin #yandere childe #genshin modern au #xiao x reader #xiao imagines #xiao fluff #itto x reader #itto imagines #itto fluff #genshin x reader #genshin imagines

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yanderes-galore · 6 months ago

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Idea by @shinjisdone. Thank you once again for fueling my obsession. Lots of love <3 You were originally going to be a non-sorcerer, but I swapped it to you were and just don't like his values. I haven't read/seen Volume 0 yet so things may be wrong/speculated. Man I wish I knew how to pace stories better instead of just letting my brain run with it.

Could've Been Different

Yandere! Curse User! Suguru Geto Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Implied kidnapping, Murder, Violence, Blood, Genocidal views (Geto...), Possessive behavior, "Protective behavior", Mind break, Mature themes, Dark/Yandere themes, Consensual turned forced relationship.

You cherished times before the Riko incident. Times where you were companions of both Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto. You missed it when you were a trio... when things were simple during Jujutsu Sorcerer training.

Back then you truly did love Geto. When he had gone on a date with you due to Gojo's pestering, you two hit it off. You two had been sweethearts ever since.

Then everything changed, you don't even recall how long it's been since then. Eight... nine years since you were all students? You had even participated in the Star Plasma Vessel mission....

You don't think Geto ever recovered from that.

No, the Geto you fell in love with was long gone now. Ever since the massacre by his hands he was never himself. No, now he had changed... becoming a charismatic cult leader to feed off of curses and developing a genocidal view towards non-sorcerers.

You don't agree with his views...

Yet you can't leave him either.

Geto wasn't the man he once was, yet you still felt you could fix him... at the start, anyways. He has lost his way, instead choosing to eradicate the weak rather than protect them. You had originally followed him to try and help him.

It never worked.

No you've been stuck here for years, missing older times and the friend you both shared. The person you were stuck with now wasn't nice, calm, or collected anymore. Instead he turned possessive with you. He plays with your head and does anything to keep your attention on him.

You've seen him kill people throughout the years... just for getting too close.

The members of his cult were merely pawns. They were just meant to feed him curses and use to his advantage. You and his daughters are the only thing he's cherished for years since he snapped.

You know that as anyone else has their blood spilled onto the floorboards.

"They're filthy monkeys... merely meant to bow and do tricks until their usefulness is up." Geto always tells you, wiping the blood from his most recent victim off himself with a grimace. Later, those same hands seem to caress you with so much love as he kisses you.

You wanted to believe your boyfriend was still in there. Unfortunately, you began to learn better before you could leave. Now... Geto wasn't planning on letting you leave.

Here, under his watch and protection he felt you were pure. That's why it angered him when he saw his pet monkeys touch you. They don't deserve you, they deserve to grovel at your feel while Geto holds you.

You are his equal. A skilled sorcerer he could never get out of his head or heart. Although... while he once had your heart and body as his, he no longer seemed to have your heart fully.

Geto is not oblivious to your different views. He found it amusing yet thoughtful that you tried to "change" him. You stuck by him, unaware that the longer you stayed... the more you were stuck to him like a fly in a glue trap.

Geto would be a fool to let you leave now. You're chained to him emotionally, perhaps even physically if you push him. Geto knows you can't leave him.

Unfortunately... so do you.

Even after everything he's done, you can't leave. You hate what he's doing, yet you love him deep down. Geto keeps managing to drag you in with every touch and kiss, having you on a metaphorical leash.

Your beliefs will never change, his won't either. Despite this... you aren't sure what you'd do without him. Even if Geto let you go willingly...

Would you really leave?

That question echoes in your head as you lean against Geto. Do you love him... do you hate him... does it matter if you can't leave anyways? You know everything is wrong, that none of this is okay, but-

"I love you..." Geto keeps murmuring against your skin, having himself locked around you in a tight vice. He has always loved you. Since you were both young, he considered you his.

Eventually you'll understand he's doing this for your protection, right?

"Are you aware of how easy it is to lose you?" Geto whispers between kisses. You know he's saying that due to what happened with Riko. You're sitting in his lap, feeling his touch wrapped around your waist. He treats you like you're porcelain... while culling the weak like they're cattle.

You hate it, so much.

You hate that you can't do anything about it.

"See... you belong right here." Geto nips, eyes glancing at your distant ones. "Right here in my grasp... safe behind these walls... where no curse or wretched monkey can touch you."

You say nothing to his words, just focusing on potential solutions to your problem. The sad thing was you couldn't find any. Your mind and heart are torn. Your love torments you...you miss Gojo.

But you can no longer go back there.

"I can tell you're overthinking, love..." Geto murmurs, pulling his head up to look you in the eyes properly. "Are you still thinking of the past...?"

Even if you didn't say anything, Geto can tell by the look on your face that you're thinking about the past. He frowns, you could sense a sadness within him but it's quickly replaced by irritation. He cups your cheek, his gaze soft yet... stern.

"It doesn't matter now." His voice rings out in a stern tone. "Forget about those weaklings. Forget about Gojo...

Geto then leans closer, lips ghosting your own.

"Just focus on me..." Geto whispers, kissing your lips as though the taste was euphoric. "Only me."

Regardless of how you felt, you comply. You've missed moments like this, so much to the point you're willing to delude yourself into ignoring what he's done. When he kisses you like this... it's like he's the Geto you once knew.

But as his touch and kiss get rougher, it becomes harder to ignore....

You wish things could've been different, that you could've done something... but in the end you're trapped in a prison of your own design.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere suguru geto #yandere geto

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lefteagleblizzard · 3 months ago

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𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔨𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔟𝔶𝔢

Josh Futturman x gender neutral reader

Note: This was requested from a really nice person on wattpad: "I would definitely like to see some smut and fluff, either one is perfect. Since his character is like a janitor by day and a gamer by night, I think I would like to see this whole thing be, where Josh is getting ready for work but the reader is bothered by it because he never says goodbye and just lets the reader sleep in. It'll turn into a small argument but then turn into smut. Like slight fluff but mostly smut." Added in a personal idea at the start to create the ground for the request.

Warnings: You and Josh playing video games together! Long discussions about video games. Josh being a scaredy cat. Very minor gore moment. Argument between a couple. Smut. Make-up sex. Blowjob (r giving). Submissive Josh. Riding.

Words count: around 4000

Can also be found in wattpad and ao3

You and Josh have been inseparable for years, ever since you first crossed paths in the virtual realm of "Biotic Wars." Your relationship, which began with playful banter and late-night gaming sessions, has grown into something deeply meaningful. Josh's quirky humor and your mutual love for video games have always been the glue holding you two together.

Today was supposed to be a special gaming day. Both of you had been practicing tirelessly to finally conquer Biotic Wars, a challenge that had eluded you for months. Josh, with his expertise and quick reflexes, often led the charg, while you provided backup with your strategic mind and occasional bursts of brilliance. The game was notorious for its unforgiving difficulty, requiring not just skill but also perfect coordination between players.

As the game loaded, you felt a familiar thrill course through your veins. The virtual world came alive with its intense graphics and pulsating soundtrack. Josh, sitting in his well-worn gaming chair, wore a reassuring grin. "Ready to finally take down these biotic beasts?" he asked you through the headphones, his voice brimming with excitement.

"Absolutely. Let's show them what we're made of" you replied, tightening your grip on the controller.

The battle began with an explosion of colors and sounds as you maneuvered your characters through the treacherous terrain. Josh, as always, took the lead, deftly dispatching enemies with pinpoint accuracy. You followed closely, providing cover and eliminating threats as they appeared. For a while, everything was going smoothly, and you could feel victory within reach.

Then came the final boss.

You were both in sync, executing strategies and dodging attacks with near-perfect precision. But just as victory seemed assured, a split-second lapse in concentration caused your character to fall into a trap.

"No!" you exclaimed, watching helplessly as your health bar plummeted. Josh fought valiantly to cover for your mistake, but the boss proved too powerful, and soon both your screens flashed the dreaded "Game Over" message.

You sighed heavily, disappointment washing over you. "i'm sorry, Josh," you said, genuinely frustrated. "I messed up. I should have seen that coming."

Josh, ever the optimist, chuckled softly. "Hey, it's all part of the game. It's hard to follow a master, I get it." he added, his voice dripping with playful cockiness.

You couldn't help but laugh at his teasing tone. Despite his jesting, there was no malice behind his words, just an attempt to lighten the mood. "Oh, you think you're so great, huh?" you challenged, grinning at him.

"Well, I did just carry us through most of that level," he replied.

"All right, Mr. Video Game Prodigy," you retorted, your competitive spirit ignited. "How about I challenge you to a game I'm actually good at?"

His interest piqued, Josh agreed immediately, his confidence unshaken. "Bring it on," he said, leaning back on his chair with a smug look. "I'm ready for whatever you've got."

An hour later, he arrived at your place, his energy and excitement palpable. The moment you opened the door, he enveloped you in a warm hug, peppering your face with kisses until you were both laughing uncontrollably.

"Okay, what's this mystery game of yours?" he asked as you led him to your gaming setup.

You handed him the CD case, watching as his confidence wavered slightly upon reading the title.

Friday the 13th: The Game.

The look on his face was priceless.

"You've got to be kidding," he muttered, examining the cover with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

"You can back out if you're scared," you teased, knowing full well that Josh would never back down from a challenge.

His expression shifted to a mask of determination, resignation in his eyes. "Scared? Me? Never. Let's do this."

Settling into your chairs, you loaded the game. Friday the 13th was a stark departure from Biotic Wars.

The horror game was designed to be tense and thrilling, with players taking on the roles of camp counselors trying to survive the night while being hunted by the infamous Jason Voorhees.

As the game loaded, the iconic and haunting music filled the room, setting the stage for the tense and terrifying experience that lay ahead. Josh's character, one of the playable camp counselor, appeared on screen, standing alone in the dimly lit forest of Camp Crystal Lake.

The objective was simple yet daunting: survive the night while being hunted by Jason Voorhees, the relentless killer.

Josh's initial confidence waned slightly as he adjusted to the slower pace and eerie setting of the game. The dim light flickered on the screen, casting shadows that seemed to move of their own accord.

The game's mechanics, designed to induce fear and suspense, were a stark contrast to the fast-paced action he was used to.

Every sound, every rustle of leaves, seemed to put him on edge.

"You got this," you encouraged, trying to stifle your laughter as you watched him nervously guide his character through the woods.

"Easy for you to say," he muttered, his eyes glued to the screen, fingers tense on the controller.

Josh carefully navigated his character through the cabins and open areas, occasionally stopping to collect useful items like health sprays, maps, and weapons.

Despite his best efforts to remain calm, it was clear he was fully immersed in the experience, jumping at every unexpected noise and shadow.

"Okay, this isn't too bad," he said, trying to maintain his bravado as he directed his character to a nearby cabin, securing the doors and windows.

"Just wait until you hear the music," you teased, knowing full well what was about to happen.

Then it happened.

The screen flickered, and the ominous glitching effect announced Jason's proximity, triggered by his shift ability.

The sudden distortion, a signature move that allowed Jason to cover ground quickly and catch players off-guard. Josh flinched, his entire body tensing up as Jason seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

"Whoa!" he yelped, his voice a mixture of surprise and nervous laughter as he instinctively mashed buttons to make his character sprint away from the unseen threat.

As the character's fear level spiked, eerie music blasted through the room, and the screen darkened, mirroring the rising dread of its player.

You burst out laughing, unable to contain your amusement at his reaction. "Run, Josh, run!" you hit rapidly on his arm, tears of laughter in your eyes.

"Why didn't you warn me about that?" he protested, his voice rising an octave as he attempted to escape Jason's clutches.

"Because this is way more fun," you replied between giggles, thoroughly enjoying his startled expressions and frantic button-mashing.

"He's behind you, Josh!" you shouted, adding to the tension with a mischievous grin.

"I know, I know!" he replied, his voice laced with mock panic as he desperately tried to maneuver his character to safety.

Despite his attempts to evade Jason, the chilling music intensified, signaling the killer's approach.

"No! No!" Josh exclaimed, trying to break free the second he was grabbed by the killer, but it was too late.

The screen erupted in a blaze of light as his character's head was violently severed, sending it spiraling through the air. His jaw dropped in shock, mirroring the dramatic fall of the counselor's head.

You were laughing so hard that tears streamed down your cheeks, your sides aching from the hilarity of the situation. Josh joined in, his initial fear giving way to the absurdity of it all.

"Okay, that was terrifying," he admitted, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "I wasn't expecting it to be that intense."

"Welcome to the world of horror games," you teased, still catching your breath from the laughter. "Do you want to go again, or should I show you how it's done?"

Josh handed you the controller with a dramatic flourish. "Please, show me the ropes. I clearly need some pointers."

Taking the controller, you settled into the familiar routine of the game, your confidence evident in your posture and movements. As your character spawned in the same erie campgrounds, you immediately began to strategize, quickly gathering supplies and coordinating your escape plan.

Josh, sitting beside you, was eager to learn the ropes, hoping to match your skill level and make the experience even more fun and collaborative.

His curiosity about the game was endearing, but you knew it would be a challenge to focus on playing while fielding his barrage of questions.

As the game began, you immediately focused on your objectives, guiding your character through the dark, foreboding campgrounds.

Your mind instinctively strategizes the best way to survive the night.

Next to you, Josh leaned in, eyes glued to the screen, a mixture of awe and determination on his face.

"So, what's the first thing you should do when the game starts?" he asked, his voice eager and slightly urgent.

"You want to search cabins for supplies, like maps and weapons," you replied, deftly moving your character toward a nearby cabin.

He nodded, absorbing the information before firing off another question. "What's the best weapon to use against Jason?"

You smiled, appreciating his enthusiasm. "The shotgun is the best one, but it only has a bullet loaded. Anything you can find to slow him down will help, like a baseball bat or a wrench."

You hear the ominous music indicating Jason is nearby. Your heart races as you move to the opposite direction, seeing from afar how he hasn't noticed your presence yet.

Josh, oblivious to the tension, continues his questioning.

"What's the best way to escape?"

"There are a few ways: fix the car, call the police, or survive until time runs out," you say, finding a map and showing it to Josh. "There is also the boat but it's way too risky since Jason moves very fast in the water."

Josh nods, scribbling notes mentally.

You entered a cabin and began searching for items, listening intently for any sign of Jason.

Josh's curiosity seemed endless "How do you know which counselor to choose? Which one is better?"

"Counselor stats matter" you replied, still concentrating on your character's actions.

"Each counselor has different stats like speed, stamina, repair skills and stealth. It affects how well they perform certain tasks," you explain, dodging a trap set by Jason to start repairing the phone box.

"What's stamina do?" Josh asks, genuinely curious.

"It's that yellow circle around the mini-map. Stamina affects how long you can run or perform some actions before needing to rest," you reply, keeping an eye on your stamina bar as you sprint inside the cabin to call the police.

"How do you regain stamina?"

"By standing still. It's crucial to manage it well, especially when Jason is chasing you," you say, watching intently as your character called the police.

"All the stats can work for you, but right now if you have someone with high speed you'll definitely will have a much better chance of survival" you explained to him, noticing a red dot on the mini-map.

He was near.

"Speed, huh?" Josh pondered, watching every movement of your finger in the controller. "What exactly does speed do?"

You paused, momentarily distracted by the abourdity of the question. Turning to him, you couldn't help but laugh. "Are you serious?" you asked, your voice filled with amusement

Josh realized his mistake and burst out laughing, the sound filling the room. "Okay okay, dumb question" he admitted, shaking his head at himself.

The shared laughter was a welcome break from the tension of the game. It was moments like these that reminded you of why you enjoyed spending time with Josh. His ability to find humor in even the most stressful situations and his genuine interest in learning something new, even if it meant asking silly questions.

"You know," you began, the excitement in your voice unmistakable, "one of the things I love most about this game is how well the maps are designed. They're so detailed and true to the movies. It's like you're actually there, experiencing the terror firsthand."

Josh nodded, his interest piqued by your enthusiasm. "Yeah? I didn't realize they were so accurate. That's really cool."

"It is!" you continued, a sparkle in your eyes. "Each map is a nod to the different movies. The developers included all these little details that only true fans would recognize. It makes the game so immersive, like you're living out your own horror movie experience."

He watched you intently, captivated by your passion. You rarely had the chance to dive into these nerdy discussions with others, but with Josh, it felt natural and safe.

"And the counselors," you said, leaning forward in your seat, "they're all inspired by characters from the films. Each one has their own unique stats and strengths, which makes it interesting to figure out who matches your playstyle and I just love how it all comes together."

Josh listened, a soft smile playing on his lips. You could feel his attention solely focused on you, and it made you feel appreciated, like every word you said mattered.

"And the chase," you added, your voice tinged with excitement. "The burst of adrenaline when Jason is right behind you, the music intensifying, your heart pounding—it's such a rush. It's terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. I love that feeling of being on the edge, trying to outsmart him and survive."

Josh chuckled, seeing how animated you had become. "I can tell you really love this game. It's amazing to see you light up like this."

You paused, feeling a bit self-conscious now that you had rambled on for so long, but his expression reassured you. There was no judgment, only admiration and affection in his eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to go on and on," you said, a bit embarrassed.

"Don't be sorry," he replied softly, reaching out to take your hand. "I love hearing you talk about things you're passionate about. You know, the way you dive so deeply into something you care about, it's one of the things I adore most about you"

His words warmed your heart, and you squeezed his hand in return, grateful to have someone who appreciated you for who you were. Josh had always supported your interests, and his genuine curiosity about your hobbies made you feel seen and understood.

"Thanks, Josh," you said, meeting his gaze with a smile. "I'm glad I can share this with you."

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with affection. "I'm just happy to be here with you, learning about all the things you love. It gives me more reason to play the game and try to keep up with you. You make it look so easy," Josh commented, his tone filled with genuine admiration.

"It just takes practice," you replied.

At one point, Jason burst through a door just as you slipped out a window, narrowly escaping his grasp. You then led him on a merry chase through the forest, conserving your stamina to buy time and regroup with other players.

"Wow, you're way too good at this," Josh said, his eyes fixed on the screen as he watched you lead your character to safety.

"It's all about keeping calm and thinking ahead," you explained, enjoying the chance to showcase your skills in a game you loved.

As the game progressed, you managed to evade Jason long enough for the police to arrive, signaling the end of the round.

With one final sprint, you guided your character to the safety of the police line, successfully surviving the night.

Josh was beaming, clearly impressed by your performance. "THAT WAS AMAZING."

Raising your hands in the air in victory while your boyfriend hugs you tightly. Both of you were shouting with joy from the success. "I know, I know. It's nice to finally have the upper hand for once."

The rest of the evening was filled with more rounds, tension and horror while Josh's continued flinching and surprised yelps kept the mood light and entertaining. Each round, he improved, guided by your expertise and encouragement.

By the end of the night, as you both settled back into the couch, Josh turned to you, his expression one of genuine affection. "Thanks for introducing me to this. It was nice taking a break from Biotic War, even if I was terrified half the time."

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his gaze. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. And hey, you're getting better. We could play this sometime together if you want"

Josh laughed, pulling you close for a hug. "Only if you promise not to laugh at my screams."

"Deal," you agreed, snuggling into his embrace, grateful for the shared experience and the deepened bond it had brought.

You turned your face towards Josh, a victorious smile on your face. "As a reward for winning, I have a couple of requests," you announced playfully.

Josh raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what might those be?" he asked with a smirk.

"First, a kiss," you said, leaning closer.

He obliged happily, pulling you in for a gentle, lingering kiss that melted away the exhaustion of the night. "And second?" he asked, a teasing note in his voice.

"Carry me to bed?" you requested, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes.

Josh groaned playfully, rolling his eyes. "Really? You beat me in one game and now I'm your personal chauffeur?" he teased. "Alright, fine, but don't think this is going to be a regular thing."

With exaggerated reluctance, he scooped you up into his arms, grumbling under his breath about your apparent weight. He took comically slow, deliberate steps, exaggerating every movement as if he were carrying a ton of bricks. "Why are you so heavy? Did you sneak rocks into your pockets or something?" he joked, pretending to struggle as he navigated the hallway.

Every few steps, he'd stop dramatically to catch his breath, pretending to wipe sweat from his forehead. "I might need to call in reinforcements," he quipped, pausing to pretend to call for backup. You couldn't stop laughing, the combination of his theatrics and your helpless position making the journey to the bedroom an epic adventure in itself.

"Almost there," he declared, as if conquering a mountain, taking unnecessarily wide turns and pretending to stumble. You kept giggling, holding on tight as he continued his overly elaborate trek.

Finally, he reached the bedroom, gently setting you down on the bed with a mock sigh of relief. "There you go, your majesty," he quipped, wiping his brow in mock exhaustion. "Next time, I'm getting a forklift."

You pulled him closer, your hands looping around his neck as you whispered, "Now, don't think you're getting away. Stay with me."

Josh didn't hesitate, climbing into bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around you, the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a peaceful calm. Together, you drifted off, surrounded by the comfort of each other's presence.

The sunlight streamed softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the bedroom as you slowly stirred awake. You turned, expecting to find Josh next to you, but instead, the bed was empty and slightly cool where he had been lying. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you sat up, only to find Josh fully dressed for work.

Josh noticed you were awake and turned with a smile, walking over to the bed. "Morning, sleepyhead," he said warmly, leaning down to give you a quick kiss.

You leaned into the kiss, but something gnawed at you, a small feeling of frustration. This had become a familiar scene: Josh up and ready to leave without waking you, never saying goodbye properly. It seemed minor, but it had been building up over time, and today it felt like more than you could brush aside.

"Morning," you replied, trying to keep your voice light but unable to completely mask the tinge of irritation. Josh pulled back, noticing your tone.

"Everything okay?" he asked, a touch of concern in his voice, his brow furrowed as he looked at you.

You hesitated, not wanting to start an argument but feeling the need to voice your thoughts. "Josh, you always leave without saying goodbye. I know you want me to sleep, but it feels like...I don't know, like you're sneaking out," you admitted, looking down at the sheets, feeling a bit shy about bringing it up. Your heart fluttered with nervousness, unsure of how he would respond.

Josh's expression softened as he sat down on the edge of the bed, facing you. He reached out, his hand gentle as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I didn't realize it bothered you that much. I just thought it was better to let you sleep," he explained, his voice sincere and filled with understanding. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel like I was avoiding a goodbye."

His words were like a balm, soothing the frustration that had been building inside you. "I know you didn't mean it that way," you said, meeting his gaze. His eyes were full of earnestness, and you could see that he genuinely wanted to make things right. "But I want to feel like I'm part of your morning, too, even if it's just a quick kiss before you go."

He nodded, his eyes earnest and apologetic. "I get it. From now on, I'll make sure to wake you. I didn't know you felt left out."

A small smile tugged at your lips, the tension in the room dissipating "Thank you. I just want to be part of your routine, that's all."

Josh grinned, leaning in for another kiss, this one lingering and soft. "Consider it done," he promised, his voice a low rumble that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, the warmth of his lips on yours was reassuring.

As Josh moved to stand, ready to leave for work, an idea popped into your head. Without fully thinking it through, you reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him back toward the bed.

"Hey!" Josh laughed, caught off guard as he tumbled back onto the mattress beside you.

"What's this?"

Feeling a mix of shyness and boldness, you looked at him, your cheeks warming. "I was thinking...maybe a little extra time together before you go wouldn't hurt," you suggested, your voice soft but inviting.

Josh raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised but delighted. "Oh, really? I thought you'd want to go back to sleep," he teased, his voice playful as he shifted closer, his hand finding yours.

"I think I'm already awake enough," you replied, feeling more confident as you met his gaze, the familiar warmth and love reflecting back at you.

He chuckled, pulling you into his arms as you settled against him. "How can I say no to that?"

You found yourself on top of him, your bodies moving in a rhythm as old as time guided by instinct and desire. His touch was gentle, occasionally squeezing your hips and buttocks with a playful possessiveness that made you laugh softly against his lips.

The sound of your laughter mingled with the quiet gasps and sighs, creating a melody of love that filled the room.

Josh's voice broke the comfortable silence. "I really didn't mean to upset you, you know," he said softly, his eyes sincere.

"I know," you replied, your voice equally soft. "I just miss being part of your morning routine. Even a small goodbye would mean a lot to me."

light filtering through the curtains wrapped around you both like a warm embrace, casting a gentle glow that seemed to mirror the feelings swelling in your heart.

As you leaned in, the first touch of his lips against yours was electric, igniting a spark that raced through your veins.

His kiss was gentle at first, a tender exploration, as if rediscovering the familiar contours and taste that he cherished so much.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting and teasing, drawing out a response that was both immediate and fervent. There was something intoxicating about the way he kissed you, a blend of passion and tenderness that made you feel cherished and desired. It was as if he were savoring the very essence of you, each kiss a promise and a testament to the love you shared.

Your lips met again. The kiss was tender at first, a gentle exploration, but soon deepened, a dance of tongues that communicated what words could not.

Josh's hands traveled over your body, fingers grazing your skin with a featherlight touch that sent shivers up your spine. Occasionally, his hands would rest on the curve of your hips, squeezing gently as if to reassure himself that you were real, that this moment was happening.

His touch was both tender and assured, as though he were an artist and you were his masterpiece. He explored with an intimacy that spoke of familiarity and affection, mapping every curve and line with the skill of someone who knew and adored every inch of you.

Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands as you pulled him closer, deepening the connection.

You let out a soft moan, a sound of pure delight that only encouraged him further.

Your hands moved over his chest, tracing his happy trail and the lines of his muscles.

Lips departed from yours, embarking on a tantalizing journey along your jawline, leaving a trail of electrifying kisses in their wake. The heat of his breath against your skin sent ripples of pleasure coursing through you, drawing you closer to him, as if pulled by some invisible force.

"I want..." Josh started, breathing unevenly, "I really want your tongue..."

You smiled softly with a nod, happy with Josh's request.

"Shift up, then," you suggested, sitting up to allow Josh to move, and he obliged, moving up on the bed to give you more space to home yourself between his thighs. Josh moaned softly as he watched you crawl up between his legs until your face was in line with his cock.

You leaned down to press a kiss against the throbbing, leaking tip,

Josh bit his lip and held his breath as your tongue peeked out between your lips to greet the sensitive head, lapping up the precum that was already collecting at the tip following your incessant teasing.

"You're teasing me," Josh stammered, screwing his eyes shut as you gazed up at him, tongue still running up and along the firm ridges of his length.

He pouted at your cruelty before you winked and wrapped your lips around the head, sinking your hot wet mouth down until your nose was flush with the base of Josh's cock.

He was beyond devastated. He grunted as you swallowed around his length, stuffing your face with his size. The scorching vision that had only ever existed in his imagination was now a breathtaking reality.

You slid your lips off after a pause, gasping for air as a string of saliva kept your lips connected to Josh's meat.

"I like this," you giggled, ducking down to leave open-mouthed kisses along Josh's length from the base, up the side of it, then to the head again, sucking the tip into his mouth once more. You loved the way his thighs shake after doing such things.

Josh shut his eyes again, avoiding your eye contact as you bobbed his head up and down, afraid to come way too soon and disappoint you.

Relentless as ever, your assault left him no respite. His fists clenched the blankets with a vice-like grip, knuckles white with tension.

"Pull off," he shouted, hips twitching when you moved your mouth away from him and looked at his face perplexed.

He sat up on the bed to restore your old position on top of him.

Josh's hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your sides before settling on your hips.

His fingers lingered there, a gentle pressure that pulled you closer until your bodies were perfectly aligned.

Your hips moved together, a slow, deliberate motion that mirrored the rising and falling of your breaths. You felt the heat of his skin against yours, each movement sending a ripple of pleasure coursing through you.

His hands slid up your back, fingers tracing the line of your spine before settling on your shoulders, drawing you down to him.

His lips found your neck, planting a series of soft kisses that made you shiver with delight. You felt his breath against your skin as your bodies moved together

His hands moved down to your thighs, squeezing gently as you rocked together. As the tempo of your movements increased, so did the intensity of the sensations, each one building upon the last until you were both lost in the shared rhythm of your bodies.

His lips found yours again, capturing them in a kiss that was both passionate and tender, a reflection of the bond you shared.

You lost track of time, caught up in the whirlwind of sensation and emotion that surrounded you.

Pressing your forehead to his, you feel the sticky sweat that binds you. Josh's heaving breath mixing with yours as you both come down from the intensity of your releases.

He followed almost immediately when your hole clenched around him, making you even tighter. He whined loudly and after a few more hard thrusts, he came.

Josh's brown eyes shine bright with pleasure- a contented sigh spilling from you both before you slowly disengage.

It's filled with lasting touches, long looks and warm smiles.

"Do you want to play a bit of your game before I go?"

The sound of your intertwined laughter, punctuated by soft gasps and sighs, filled the room.

"Won't you be late for work?" you asked while still panting, sweat starting to drip down your forehead, but you remained tight against his side.

"They never notice my presence anyway," he replied, panting and still trying to regulate his breathing.

You couldn't help but smile at his laid-back attitude, already in the process of reaching for the controller.

Note: Sorry if the start was boring and I probably went off-topic from the request. I just saw the chance to talk about something I enjoy as a personal video gamer and couldn't resist. :)

If you liked this story, please leave a comment. I love reading them! <3

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koisuko · 11 months ago

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I love your writing so much!!! Part two of Johnny cage x shy easily flustered reader? It doesn’t have to be a continuation of the first part it could be whatever you’d like

can do! Hope you like ehtttt

TW: nothing crazy, cute shid

The next morning came quickly, for the first time in years, you felt fully rested. You had no nightmares that night, nothing but a blank canvas behind your closed eyes as you nestled comfortably into Johnny's arms. To say you were surprised was an understatement, that Johnny knew you had feelings the whole time, and that he was likely waiting for you to fess up yourself. The fact that everyone knew about it, including him, scared you more than you can comprehend. It's not like you were good at hiding it, although you thought otherwise entirely, not realizing how obvious you really were.

Your eyes flutter open softly, the morning sun filtering through the curtains, providing a soothing backdrop to your waking brain. You felt the urge to stretch fill your stiff muscles, only to be restricted by a gentle squeeze of Johnny's arms around your waist. You jumped slightly, startled by the fact that he was there, holding you close in his bed, until the memories of the previous night filed into your brain picture by picture like a movie. The heat engulfed your body quickly, as he nuzzled his face into the back of your neck, feeling a hum vibrate your back as it pressed against his bare chest.

You were almost surprised that he was this much of a cuddler, his entire body enveloped yours as if afraid you would slip through his fingers like sand. Your nose was filled with his scent, feeling his bare skin against yours sent a shiver running through your spine.

With a bit of a struggle, you managed to untangle yourself from his arms, feeling too overwhelmed by the sudden emotion filling your chest. It nearly felt like removing glue, he held you so close that you thought you would be trapped forever, not that you mind much. The bed creaked as you stood, stretching slightly, eliciting a satisfying pop from your spine.

Standing still for a moment, the warm rays of gold seeping through the curtains blanketed your skin, the smell of breakfast wafting through your senses. You were brought out of your sleepy daze by the sound of Johnny stirring behind you, a soft groan from his chest ringing in your ears like a soothing melody. “Morning, beautiful,” his voice was soft and raspy, another blush creeping up your cheeks at the nickname, “morning.” In contrast to his, your voice was barely above a whisper, nearly cracking under the pressure of his presence. “Did you sleep well?” He asked as he sat up, the ruffling of sheets followed by the sounds of approaching footsteps before you suddenly felt his arms wrap around your waist in a tender embrace. He placed a soft kiss on the crook of your neck, “Y-ya, I did actually,” you managed to croak out, feeling a familiar choke in your throat from the rising nervousness, “h-how-“ you cleared your throat awkwardly, “how about you?” You couldn’t help but feel yourself melt in his arms, pressing your back more against his chest, leaning on him slightly, “I slept great, thanks to you doll.”

Majority of the day was spent training, your eyes never leaving Johnny’s sculpted figure as he honed his skills with the monks. He never failed to shoot you a wink across the courtyard, knowing full well you were watching him, and you swore you would see a sparkle on his teeth when he’d flash you his signature smile. It was only making training more difficult for you, catching yourself checking him out and fumbling as you’d spar.

It came as a surprised when he approached you during dinner, “saved you a seat, honey,” gesturing to the end of the dining table where an open spot was visible. His hand found purchase on the small of your back, guiding you to his chosen seat, “I have a surprise for you later, meet me in the courtyard tonight.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestively teasing way as he spoke, smirking with satisfaction as your face bore a bright red hue.

Later that night, you felt yourself giggle, anticipation bubbling in your chest as he covered your eyes with his hands, “don’t run me into a wall, Johnny,” you joked, reaching your hands out on instinct at the lack of vision, “don’t worry doll, you ready to see your surprise?” You could practically hear the smirk on his face as he lifted his hands from your eyes. You saw nothing out of the ordinary, just the courtyard heavy with the darkness of night, the nocturnal creatures buzzing with life in the background. Before you could question what you were looking for, he walked into your view with a bouquet of flowers in hand, “I thought we could make it official, maybe go on a real date together, how’s that sound?” He held a genuine smile on his face, holding the flowers towards you, gauging your reaction to the gift before you. “J-Johnny I-“ you cursed yourself at how easily flustered he made you, this sweet gesture causing butterflies to flutter frantically in your stomach, “I-I’d love to, thank you.”

You took the bouquet gingerly into your hands, sniffing the scent leaking from the petals with a sigh of enjoyment, “these are beautiful,” Johnny looked at you for a moment with a soft expression, “not as beautiful as you,” he added. You welcomed the warmth that crept through your chest, wearing the blush on your cheeks proud as you smiled at him. You lost yourself in his crystal eyes, the heat on your face peaking in temperature as you watch his face approach your own. He placed a hand on your cheek, gently caressing the skin, providing a cooling contrast to your flustered face. In a swift motion, you felt his lips meet your own, a delicate dance of emotion between you, your heart exploding with excitement and flooding your being with affection. He's kissing you, oh my god, he's kissing you, pulling away with a mouse like squeak, your body shaking with an emotional overload. He chuckled at your reaction, "you're so cute," he cooed, gently caressing your cheek once more.

#mk1 #fanfic #fanfiction #mortal kombat #mk1 x reader #requests open #mortal kombat1 #mk1 2023 #request #mk1 johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #mk johnny cage #johnny x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x you #johnny cage x y/n #gn reader

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pastanest · 1 year ago

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Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

A/N: set in Alexandria, no spoilers of events, just one character who lives there

For Your Hand

From the moment Daryl strolled into Alexandria with one hand holding yours and the other holding a dead opossum, he had made a statement, and everyone in Alexandria had understood it loud and clear. In truth, Daryl had not thought much about the deeper meaning behind his statement, he simply wanted the crowd of strangers to understand that you were under his protection and he was very capable of handling pests. In his own way, the gesture was very sweet and because you knew him so well, you took it as a compliment.

Anyone that had looked at you and seen you as an easy target or - god forbid - available, had quickly been set on the right path upon seeing the large hand that held yours and the way in which you partially hid yourself behind what you had accepted to be your guardian angel while others saw an unpredictable, animalistic, territorial wild-man, and you didn’t mind that description, either. There was only one person in the crowd of strangers that had been stupid enough to misinterpret the display and, instead of taking the “back off” message and following suit, took it as a personal challenge.

Deanna’s eldest son, Spencer, was the furthest thing from your type you could have conjured up if you were to try. Clean cut, smooth talking, clearly views himself as charming; the perfect salesman, in a time where nothing would ever be sold again. But, you were never one to be impolite without good reason, which was something Daryl admired about you from day one. Being naturally standoffish, he could not understand the warmth you immediately offered every person you met, including him, until a person gave you a reason to treat them differently. As ridiculous as you thought Spencer’s attempts at wooing you were, he had not overstepped a boundary or acted inappropriately, he remained respectful and would accept your refusals at every turn, but would approach you again in no time from a different angle, trying out some new sales pitch on you. It became an inside joke within your group, everyone laughing and rolling their eyes when they saw Spencer approach you, and because you had made it clear to Daryl you had no interest in the guy and he trusted you wholeheartedly, he saw the humor in it, too.

That was, until yesterday, when you went to Daryl nervously to tell him that the previous night, after Daryl had left to check the traps he’d set beyond the walls - not wanting to rely on the community’s food just yet - and Spencer took it upon himself to knock at your door. It was very late by the time your soulmate and protector had left your home, meaning it was no coincidence that Spencer was around when he left; he had been waiting for Daryl to go before he made his move. While the conversation he approached you with was nothing out of the ordinary for Spencer, you were made uncomfortable by the way in which he had snuck around Daryl, it meant he understood that your boyfriend would not approve of his intentions and that raised alarm bells for you.

Listening intently to your explanation, Daryl nodded only once, scowl already darting around Alexandria until it landed on the idiot that had dared make you feel uncomfortable. Fixing his icy glare on him, Daryl finally answered you.

“I’ll deal with ‘im.”

He considers running over and tackling the guy to the ground then and there, but decides against it in favor of a better plan, the thought of which leaves a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth for the rest of the day.

Daryl makes the executive decision to stick to you like glue for the rest of the evening. While he is not always at your side, he is never more than a few feet away, smoking a cigarette while you chat to someone else, helping you with your daily tasks, leading you over to his bike and having you sit on it while he works on it for absolutely no reason, solely to relish in the disdainful expression he catches on Spencer’s face from the corner of his eye when he stands up and you swoon over your greased up wildman. He ensures that, for the duration of the day when the sun is up, Spencer has no opportunity whatsoever to get you alone, for your sense of safety and his own personal enjoyment.

Much like the previous night, Daryl spends the evening with you in the house you share, the two of you enjoying each other’s company, cooking up what he retrieved from his traps the night before, laughing and joking around like a married couple in the suburbs. As ironic as that description is, considering the state of the world and Daryl’s general opposition to that kind of dream, he cannot deny that, when that kind of dream involves you, it brings the softest smile to his face and the lightest dusting of pink to his cheeks.

Around the same time as the previous night, Daryl takes his leave, kissing you goodbye at the door and swinging his crossbow over his shoulder before heading for the gate. This time, though, he intends to trap a different kind of pest. Instead of going to the gate, he turns left down a different street, then left again down another, then left one final time, between some houses that bring him right back to yours. There, he finds Spencer jogging up your porch steps with some flowers clasped in his hands. Daryl scoffs, approaching silently to stand at the bottom of the steps and right as Spencer lifts his hand to knock at your door, his voice cuts into the silence of the night.

“The hell you doin’?” His voice is quiet and gruff as ever, but the way Spencer’s stance stiffens tells Daryl he has already succeeded in making the younger man shit himself where he stands.

Clearing his throat, he turns to face Daryl, trying lamely to hide the flowers behind his back. “Daryl! Hey!”

Taking a drag of his cigarette, Daryl tips his nose, gesturing to the flowers. “Those for (Y/N)?”

Accepting that he has been caught in the act, Spencer can only nod.

Daryl nods back at him. “She don’ like ‘em, she likes pink ones best.”

Spencer’s eyes widen. “O-Oh…”

Dropping his cigarette on the ground, Daryl puts it out with a single drag of his shoe. “Course, ya’d know that if ya cared enough t’ ask ‘er, but ya dont. Every time ya talk to ‘er, yer tryna persuade ‘er that yer her dream guy, but ya know nothin’ about ‘er.”

Spencer frowns at this. “Hey, man, I never meant to-”

Daryl waves him off. “Save it, I’ve known what you were doin’ since the firs’ time I saw you lookin’ at ‘er.”

Spencer’s frown intensifies. “You knew and never tried to stop me? Isn’t she supposed to be yours?”

Daryl smirks at the idiot’s poor attempt to get under his skin. “Glad ya know that, at least. Never stopped ya ‘cause (Y/N) never asked me to, she didn’t wanna be impolite an’ as long as you stayed respectful, I would’ve had no problem laughin’ at yer attempts to get ‘er. Ya crossed the line las’ night, so ‘m stoppin’ you now.”

Spencer sighs, feigning defeat as he hangs his head and walks slowly down the steps, not meeting Daryl’s scowl as he passes him. “I never meant to make her uncomfortable…You win, man.”

At that, Daryl scoffs again. “She ain’t no damn prize to be won, asshole.” Then it’s his turn to jog up the steps and stand at your door, intending to guard it until Spencer is out of sight.

Unfortunately, Spencer’s ego just won’t let him leave without taking one last jab. Looking over his shoulder from down the street, he calls out.

“I hope someday (Y/N) realizes what’s good for her and chooses someone that will actually fight for her!”

For a moment, there is silence, because Daryl allows it. He watches the silence lull Spencer into a false sense of security, waits for the victorious smirk to appear on his face, and then lets that smirk disappear at the sound of a crossbow falling against your porch.

The steps towards Spencer are silent, but he turns to face the fast approaching wildman with an expression of a deer in headlights. Once only a few feet separates them, Daryl stops.

“Ya think I won’t fight for ‘er?”

Spencer clears his throat. “W-Well, I just meant that you haven’t-”

Daryl shrugs, interrupting him. “C’mon then, gimme yer best shot.”

Spencer’s jaw drops. “Wh-What?!”

Daryl crosses his arms over his chest. “C’mon, man, you wanna fight for ‘er hand or whatever, go for it. I’ve got all night.”

The sound of your front door opening pulls Daryl from his current conversation immediately. As soon as his eyes land on the sight of you, stepping out onto your porch, his scowl softens into the loving smile that only you can bring him.

“Daryl? Is everything alright?” You call out to him, your concern for what is unfolding between the two men obvious by your tone.

“Everythin’s fine, almos’ done here!” Daryl calls back to you.

Seeing your expression relax makes his heart sing, even from afar, but it doesn’t last long. A look of alarm flashes across your face and you’re quick to point behind him.

“DARYL! LOOK OUT!”

Scowling, Daryl turns around just in time to duck out of the way of Spencer as he lunges for him, sending him stumbling. The moment Spencer is steady on his feet again, Daryl closes the space between them with a swift right hook to his jaw, Spencer landing on the ground with a thud. Standing over him, Daryl shakes his head.

“If ya wan’ed me t’ fight for ‘er, only had t’ ask.”

With that, he steps over Spencer as he sputters blood onto the gray street and rolls onto his back, staring up at the night sky in total defeat. Meanwhile, Daryl strolls over to you so casually, as though he hasn’t just made the most chivalrous and impressive display for your hand you have ever seen. Playing along, you hold your hand out to him and as he ascends the porch steps, he takes hold of it and gently kisses your knuckles, the two of you chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all, but both feeling heat rising in your faces at the intensity of your feelings towards each other, following such a gesture.

Hand still in his, you tug him as close to you as you can bring him and lean up to place a chaste kiss on his lips. You can both feel Spencer’s eyes on you as you do, bringing amused smiles to your faces, but a chaste kiss is the most PDA either of you want to give him the satisfaction of showing off. Leaning down to pick his crossbow back up, Daryl swings it over his shoulder, and you are quick to instinctively brush his hair from his face as you admire him in all his glory.

“My knight in shining armor.”

—————

taglist:

@ruinedbythehobbit @iamburdened @evilbabyelf @of-storms-and-sadness @crossbowking @spidergirla5 @jodiereedus22 @thanossexual @captain-shannon-becker @cordialgargoyle @romanoffs-bitch @daryldixonandfrogs @just-always-tired @pillowjj @the-musical-doodle @likeablevillain @irrelevantyettopicalusername @notquitecannon @alyisdead @polkadottedpillowcase @twdeadfanfic @wishingtobeforeveryoung1994 @sigynlokiem @courtnytrash04 @thatwrestlingfan91 @buttsology @prettylittleblog13 @milariskanavasi @whatanicepanohthatsjustme @your-new-mom @daryls-angell @lilzebub @amaroho @bakedcrispss @yes-sir-hotchner @wasted-years @kpopandharry @madshelily @datidixon @dumandbass @savageneversaw

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead imagine #x reader #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons

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crucifiedfaerie · 1 year ago

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Kylo Ren — SFW Alphabet

no warnings, just lots of fluff and lil bit of angst !! however, just bc its SFW, doesn't mean i want minors interacting w this, BEGONE !!! TO THE GLUE TRAP YOU GO !

— AFFECTION (how affectionate are they?)

in the beginning of your relationship, affection was very scarce. kylo wanted so badly to open up to you more, but was too afraid to, so when he would catch himself getting too close or too affectionate he would pull away and become that cold and calculated kylo again who you knew all too well. when he did finally admit his feelings, he couldn't get enough of you, as if he were making up for all of the lost time he spent pushing you away.

"i cant believe i waited so long to do this, what a fool i am."

— BEST FRIEND (what are they like as a bestie?)

the only hc i have for you as best friends would be if you grew up together in jedi training... and you guys would fuck w each other CONSTANTLY. like practically bully each other, it's all in good fun though. luke would refer to the two of you as partners-in-many-crimes because of the several messes you'd make doing stupid shit. one time ben almost burned the hut down because you dared him to light fireworks outside of luke's window while he slept. bad fucking idea.

"you idiot, he's going to kill us, you know?"

— CUDDLES (how do they like to cuddle?)

kylo loves holding you. his favorite is when your head is on his chest because it makes it easy for him to play with your hair. he also loves being the big spoon, wrapping his strong arms around your small frame. in those moments you were a tiny, precious thing that he wanted only to love and keep safe.

— DOMESTIC (thoughts on settling down? how would they be helping out around?)

kylo wanted nothing more than to make you his and his only forever. despite how kylo treats literally everyone else, he is a very doting partner and has a huge soft spot for you and only you. he's better at helping with cooking than he is cleaning. anytime he would try to clean, he'd never do it right or fully and you'd end up telling him to stop and do it yourself lol.

"what do you MEAN i'm not doing it right?!"

— ENDING (how would breakups go?)

its simply not happening. if he broke up with you, he didn't actually mean it and said it out of anger in the heat of the moment. if you broke up with him, he would probably lose his mind. his cold façade would shatter into a million pieces and he'd promise he would change, do better, do whatever it was you needed him to do. you were his and the mere thought of anyone else ever having you filled him with insurmountable rage and sadness.

— FIANCEE (how do they feel about commitment?)

kylo is devoted to you wholeheartedly. being his empress and ruling over the first order by his side would only solidify that.

— GENTLE (how gentle are they?)

when he isn't being a freak, he handles you as if you are made of glass. a pretty, precious thing that could break at any moment. if you fall asleep next to the fireplace, he will pick you up and carry you to bed, making sure the blankets are tucked around the both of you in the way you like, so you don't wake up cold in the morning.

— HUGS (do they like hugs? what are their hugs like?)

kylo loves hugging you, and you love hugging him. bc of his height, you are dwarfed by him and his hugs feel like getting tightly wrapped in a large, warm blanket. usually he just bends down to hug you, but sometimes he picks you up.

— I LOVE YOU (how long does it take for them to say the L word?)

again, kylo is terrified of showing weakness, so in the beginning of your relationship he's very cold towards you. every time he was around you he had to fight the strong urges telling him to be honest with you. after a long while, he did finally say it though. he was so nervous when he first said it, his eyes scanning your face for a reaction and his palms sweating. now he reminds you that he loves you all the time, especially if he's going out on a mission and won't be back for a couple weeks.

"don't look so sad, my star. i love you, you know i always come back to you."

— JEALOUSY (how jealous do they get?)

kylo is as jealous of a man as you can get. the mere thought of someone trying to take you from him fills him with a rage that rivals the fire of a thousand suns. one time he heard a guard having very loud, impure thoughts about his empress so kylo killed him. you have always been much more passive than he is, so you were not happy to see that he had killed someone on your living room floor.

"but my love- his thoughts were so loud! what else was i supposed to do?!"

— KISSES (do they like kissing? what are their kisses like?)

kissing you is kylo's favorite past time. if you both are out and his helmet is on, all he's thinking about is getting home so he can kiss you. sometimes if no one's around, he will lift his mask up just enough so it only exposes the bottom half of his face so he can get a quick kiss or two or eight in. his kisses are warm and never fail to send tingles down your spine, and you always say kylo tastes of cinnamon and smoke. to him, you taste of summer fruit.

— LITTLE ONES (how are they around kids?)

he's indifferent towards other peoples children, thankfully he's less harsh on them than adults, but he isn't pleasant to them either. one time he blew up on a servant boy that was no older than eleven, and you scolded him afterwards. "he's just a child kylo, don't be so hard on him." he has such a soft spot for you and admires the empathy you have for others that he will never have. he promised you he would try to be a little nicer. yours and his children however, he treats as well as he treats you. they are an extension of his beloved, after all. i hc that kylo is a wonderful father, making sure they receive the fatherly love he never got.

— MORNINGS (how do your mornings with them go?)

sometimes on busy days, he's gone by the time you wake up. you always look so beautiful and peaceful when you're sleeping, so he doesn't dare wake you up. instead he kisses your head and whispers that he loves you and that he will return shortly. he knows you can't hear him, but he likes to tell you anyways. on days he doesn't have to leave so early, you stay in bed together. kissing, cuddling, talking, other things. kylo is content doing anything as long as it's with you.

— NIGHTS (how do your nights with them go?)

this is a sfw post, therefore i cannot describe how your nights with kylo would go lmao. please refer to the nsfw abc's. afterwards though, kylo is a doting partner that takes care of you, cleaning you up and tending to every single mark he left on your body that he worships so much.

— OPEN (how open are they? when will they tell you more about themselves?)

the first few months of your relationship is like dating a brick wall, it is not easy getting kylo to open up. once he does though, he makes sure not to hide anything from you anymore. it took a lot of work and patience, but he loves and trusts you wholeheartedly.

— PATIENCE (how patient are they with you?)

kylo has a temper, and he tries so hard, but he does have slip ups sometimes. any time he blows up on you though, he apologizes immediately. you know he loves you because he absolutely hates admitting he was wrong.

— QUIZZES (how much do they remember about you?)

everything. every detail, every like, every dislike, your favorite color, your favorite flower, your blood type, your fears, hopes, and dreams. this man remembers EVERYTHING about you. at least fifty percent of his brain is an archive of facts about you.

— REMEMBER (what is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

the first time you told him you loved him. it was the first time anyone told him they loved him, and you made him feel like he was ben again. he used to be so scared of being that boy he tried so hard to kill, but you held that part of him so tenderly, that he knew he'd be an absolute fool to try to push that away.

— SECURITY (how protective are they of you?)

kylo protects you with his own life and would kill thousands for you, despite your disdain for unnecessary violence. you are the most important thing to him, and he would have to be dead before he let anything happen to you.

— TRY (how much effort do they put into dates/special occasions?)

kylo ren has an ungodly amount of rizz and i stand by that. this man buys you your favorite flowers, he sets up candlelit dinners, he watches the sunset with you, he makes you personalized playlists like every other fuckboy except he doesn't send it to seven other women. whether you're his empress yet or not, he treats you like royalty. @enviedear and i also have a hc that kylo is the type of guy to pick out your nail polish color for you, and then buy a tie to wear that matches.

"you'd look so heavenly in this shade of red, my star."

— UGLY (what is a bad habit of theirs?)

kylo has an awful temper and is prone to outbursts. he tries SO hard to not have a temper with you, but everyone makes mistakes. he always apologizes to you though. i also hc that kylo is a nail biter, idk it just makes sense ?? that man is a caged animal and emotionally damaged, he definitely has anxiety.

— VANITY (how insecure are they? what are they insecure about?)

our poor babygirl is sooo insecure about everything, no matter how much you tell him how beautiful he is. your loving words of affirmation always make him feel a little better though.

— WHOLE (would they feel incomplete without you?)

without you, kylo would return to the broken, shell of a man he was before you. if he somehow lost you, hundreds of innocent lives would be lost due to the rampage he'd go on.

— XTRA (a random headcanon about them)

another hc that liv and i came up with was kylo's and ben's music taste. kylo listens to typical male manipulator music like radiohead, the smiths, and deftones with some angrier shit like slipknot and korn. ben is a different breed of male manipulator that listens to the weeknd and pulls up blasting solo by future. we also hc that both cry alone to lana del rey.

— YUCK (what are some things they dislike?)

anything and everything that isn't you. his least favorite thing though, is when he can hear people's rude or impure thoughts about you. he hasn't told you this, but he's killed at least fifteen people for doing just that.

"personally, i think fifteen isn't enough."

— ZZZZ (what are their sleeping habits like?)

for the first few months of your relationship, he did not sleep around you. you were convinced he didn't sleep... like ever. after he became more vulnerable with you though, he would. you love how peaceful he looks when he sleeps. i also hc that sometimes he gets terrible, vivid nightmares that he wakes up crying from :(

#kylo ren #ben solo #star wars #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #star wars x reader #star wars sequel trilogy #the force awakens #the last jedi #the rise of skywalker

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astroboots · 2 years ago

Text

Hamster Days: A Moon Knight Tale

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader

Summary: You come home to Steven's empty flat only to be greeted by a furry visitor and no sign of Steven. AKA Hamsteven.

Word Count: 2,050

Moon Knight Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

Shit. shit. shit. shit!

Any Londoner will know that there are no lack of rodents in the city. Anyone who has taken two steps inside the tube will tell you that. Still that doesn't mean that the sight of one of those furry critters scurrying across the tiled floor of the kitchen isn't a shock and horror all the same.

Your heart was not prepared. It's pounding hard and fast, galloping against the inside of your chest until you swear you can feel it trying to stampede its way out of your throat.

You need to catch it. Get rid of it before any of the three of them comes home. Because Marc will throw a fit. He's already constantly whinging about the state of cleanliness in this flat as it is. If he finds out about this, the man is going to be scrubbing every inch of space with bleach. Then there's Jake with his rodent phobia, who will most likely try to torch down the place. Poor man is never going to sleep again. And Steven? Knowing him and his big bleeding heart and penchant for animals, Steven will try to keep the rat as a pet.

None of these options sounds ideal to you.

Problem is you have no idea how to go about catching a rat. So you do what you always do when faced with the unknown. You google it.

What follows is what always happens when you do. You get very unhelpful results.

According to google you should get a glue trap, a snap trap or live traps. All of which will require several shipping days and you need the rat to be gone now.

Especially with how brazen it is. Racing in circles around your feet. Slinking from the kitchen to the living area and onto Steven's workspace and up his desk.

It's not even trying to hide from you. In fact it's the opposite, calling full attention to itself as it's perched on top of one of Steven's thick books, standing on its hind legs to make itself appear bigger. More visible, as it watches you. Like it doesn't even view you as a threat. Then it starts squeaking loudly as it stands there, not moving from the spot, as if it's calling out to you in challenge.

Your eye roams the space for anything useful. But all you can see are books, books and more books. As badly as you want to get rid of the rat, you're not heartless. You're not going to smack it with one of Steven's books. Instead your eyes settle on one of the mixing bowls Marc used to make pancakes this morning that's been left to dry on the dishrack. It looks large enough to comfortably trap a rat.

You grab the bowl, holding it behind your back, out of the rat's view (why you don't know, because you doubt a rat would understand what you intend to do with it). Then you start to approach the desk, slowly, as not to spook it.

The rodent remain standing on the desk, tiny paws clutched close to its chest as it continues to incessantly squeak excitedly at you the closer you get. It almost sounds like chatter.

You're standing next to the edge of the desk now, and the thing is staring right up at you. For some unfathomable reason it doesn't seem to be making any move to escape from you.

Slowly. Cautiously. You try your best to not make any jerky movements as the hand behind your back slips forward, still gripping on tightly to the bowl. Then in one fell swoop, you slam down the bowl onto the desk.

Success!!!

Steven is late home from work today.

It's not an altogether unusual occurrence, and you figure that he must've managed to piss of his manager Donna and earned himself overtime with inventory.

What is unusual is that he hasn't texted you to let you know about it. In fact he hasn't texted you since this morning. No photos of his lunch or an endearing selfie, no silly puns, no nothing.

You sent him a text about the rodent trapped on his desk but he hasn't responded and that is unusual.

Even if Marc or Jake are fronting today, both would check their messages and send you a text in reply. Neither of them have.

With a sigh, you walk up to the rodent trapped inside the clear glass bowl.

Poor little thing looks distraught. It runs up to the barrier trapping it, pushing its pink nose and tiny paws up against the glass, as it stares up at you with big pleading eyes that feels oddly familiar to you and makes your chest tighten.

Up close like this, with the thing safely trapped behind glass, you realise that the little creature isn't actually a rat.

It doesn't have the signature long tail, just a stumpy little thing, the size of a rice corn on its rear. Its fur isn't black or brown, but an umbrous golden shade that shines sleek and soft.

It's a hamster.

Probably someone's pet. Which explains why it wasn't scared and didn't try to run from you. It must've escaped from one of the other flats. Must've mistaken you for its owner.

You can still hear the thing squeaking through the glass. It's been at it all this time, as if pleading its case with you.

It must be hungry.

There is an assortment of suitable foods for a hamster in this flat, considering that Steven is vegan. You grab a handful of pumpkin seeds and almonds, as you carefully tilt the bowl ajar (in case the critter makes a run for it).

To your surprise, the hamster doesn't even try to escape, and you smile in excitement. It pads its little feet right up to the palm of your hand, climbing into it and settles there as he stares up at you and you're so elated by it that you almost want to squeal back at the hamster.

You remove the bowl the rest of the way and scoop it up with both hands closer to you.

The little fella is still squeaking animatedly, even though it's literally sitting on its food. You grab a large pumpkin seed from your hand and push it to the hamster's pink little nose. It sniffs it hesitantly, finally quieting down for a second, as if considering it, then it grabs the offering with both its adorable little paws and shoves it down its mouth and cheeks.

It squeaks again, and you offer it another seed that's immediately stuffed down its cheek again. Then another, and another. Before you decide that it's enough of food, its cheeks stuffed so full that it's a choking hazard and settle it back down on the desk again.

The moment its paws settles against the wooden surface, it immediately rushes back into your palm again, refusing to be parted from you. You try a second time, only for it to run back into your hand.

It's so cute.

Its tiny front paws are raised and it almost looks like it's waving at you as it squeaks at you. Its fur is ridiculously soft to the touch. You've always wanted a hamster as a kid but your parents were allergic and now that you're an adult you have a different obstacle. Whenever you've brought up the prospect of pets, Marc will look at you drolly and point at Gus as he deadpans that "we can't have more pets. Goldfishes gets jealous."

But Marc isn't here now, and this hamster has obviously taken a liking to you. Marc will have to pry this cutie off your cold dead hands.

Jake would never forgive you if he found out that you let a rodent roam free in the flat. But in your defence you needed to catch up on work and you couldn't get anything done with a hamster perched in your hand. What were you supposed to do? Put it back under the glass bowl? You tried that all of once and it looked up at you with such sad big eyes that you caved in less than a handful of seconds and immediately picked it up again.

You justify it by telling yourself that there's no real risk of the hamster escaping. To your delight, the hamster follows you everywhere like a little duckling. And everytime you put down your hand next to it, it would immediately climb in and snuggle into your palm. It's the cutest thing.

It's your hamster now, whether the boys like it or not.

Besides Jake is hardly blameless in this situation. It's almost 10pm and there's not a sign of communication from any of the three of them. If they have any objections to you adopting a stray hamster, then they should've come home earlier and none of this would have taken place.

You type away at your laptop, sipping at your tea as the adorable ball of fur is curled up in your lap sleeping.

His (... her??) little whisker twitches in its sleep, feet jerking ever so slightly and you're enamoured with the sight.

How does one determine if a hamster is a boy or a girl? And for that matter, should you maybe name the hamster? You can't just keep referring it as "it" after all. What's a good hamster name?

Hammie? Ham-Ham? Ham-ilton? No, Marc will hate all of those puns and refuse to let you keep the hamster out of sheer stubborn principle if you named it that.

You tilt your head observing your newly adopted hamster, its long lashes and pink little nose. You think of how big and sweet its eyes are when it looks up at you and how, strangely enough, it reminds you of Steven somehow.

Maybe you should name it Hamsteven? You smile at the thought of Steven's reaction at hearing the name as you put down your teamug to your protesting bladder, and damn you really need to pee.

Carefully, you scoop it up with both hands and perch it on the mousemat placed on the desk, figuring that's soft enough that it shouldn't wake him (her?) And somehow, luckily enough, it's still fast asleep as you get up and quickly run to the loo.

In the silence of the cramped toilet, you squat down over the toilet seat and check your phone again for the umpteenth time. You know it's silly to be worried, because this isn't the first nor the last time the trio disappears on you (not with the nature of their work), even if the lack of head's up is out of character. Still you can't help but worry regardless.

You know your only choice is to wait and ride it out, you can't exactly file a missing person's report under the circumstances. With a sigh you wash your hands, before venturing back out into the living room and towards the desk.

From afar, you spot little Hamsteven scurrying around the keyboard. It shouldn't be too peculiar of a sight, except, Hamsteven keeps stopping and looking up at the screen only to carefully walk around the keyboard, sniffing and looking over the layout before it tentatively settles on a key and seemingly pushes it down with one of its paw and walks away again, only to repeat the behaviour with a different key.

If you didn't know better, you'd say that it almost looks like Hamsteven is trying to type. Which-- you realize how absurd and crazy that sounds even as you think it.

You shake your head as you approach the desk, and at the sight of you Hamsteven excitedly squeaks and squeal again as it runs up to the bright laptop screen, standing up on its hindlegs. Its nose and front paws are pushing up against the screen as if to show you something.

Your eyebrows narrow and you lean down closer to see words that weren't there before greeting you on the screen.

'help im steven'

A/N: This is dedicated to @guruan and Steven Hamster Pinterest Nonny who asked for this crazy thing.

This is what happens when Kevin Feige refuses to announce season 2. This is the depths to which I've gone to in my desperation for new content. I had a blast writing it. Let me know if you guys liked it. because I would be lying if I said I didn't have ideas for a sequel. Especially since Hamsteven didn't get to sleep on tiddies in this installation.

#oscar isaac #moon knight #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #marvel #marvel mcu

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year ago

Text

The mission was fine.

It wasn’t even a big one. It wasn’t even complicated. There were hardly any stakes.

Keith is exhausted.

He doesn’t know where it comes from, to bone-deep fatigue. Maybe it’s the way he’s struggled to sleep right his whole life, maybe it’s the tumultuous nature of being a paladin, maybe it’s the will of God. Who fucking knows. Not Keith.

He feels leaden. He doesn’t know how he summons the strength to walk to his room, doesn’t even remember doing the walking. He presses a heavy hand to the lockpad and keeps it there as the door open, because he realises abruptly that this is it, this is where it ends. The lockpad is currently holding him up. He can go no further — there is not a kilowatt of energy left in his body.

“Keith? What took so long? We landed at the same time but it’s been nearly fifteen — oh, baby.”

Keith’s vision is deeply unfocused, so he can’t see exactly, but he hears the soft thump of something set on a surface, then the familiar slide of Lance’s slippers against the floor.

Cold fingers resting gently on the side of his face shock him somewhat out of his stupor, and he blinks away the blurriness, focusing now on the face of his partner in front of him, eyebrows creased and brown eyes clouded in worry.

“‘M so tired,” Keith croaks before Lance can ask. He pitches forward and he’s damn lucky Lance is there to catch him, to stabilize his head on his collarbones and run gentle fingers through his tangled, sweaty hair.

“I see that,” Lance murmurs, troubled quality to his voice. He’s stunningly careful with his hands, taking time every time his fingers curl around a knot to untangle it without pulling, without hurting. He scratches the back of Keith’s scalp softly and Keith thinks he might just turn to liquid in Lance’s hands.

Lance presses a kiss to the crown of Keith’s head and then stays there, lips pressed to skin, hands falling down his sides to rest at his hips. “D’you know why?”

Keith shakes his head, exhaling long and slow, sagging deeper into Lance as he does.

Sometimes he just…gets like this.

He remembers how it would cost him at the Garrison. He would sink into these episodes of pure, endless, soul-leeching tiredness, weighed like a rock in his bed, asleep but aware of the hours and hours passing. When he shuts off like this time feels like thick honey, and he is trapped in the thick of it, trying desperately to yank his way through and only succeeding to get himself stuck further. He is a fly in a glue trap; the life is leeching out of him and he’s too groggy to panic about it.

Lance knows this, and Lance has never faulted him for it. It’s more than Keith has ever had before, more than he knows he deserves, deadweight as he is.

“C’mon,” he says, and then Keith is being tugged. Boneless as he is he does not resist, stumbling after Lance into their room, door sliding shut behind them. Lance tugs them further than expected, past their bed and to the ensuite, and he must read the distress in Keith’s face because he laces their fingers together and says in the same voice he uses when everything has gone to shit and Lance is their last hail mary: “Trust me.”

And Keith does.

Lance stops them a couple steps into the small room, moving Keith’s limbs for him so he’s leaned against the counter. He’s already down to his underclothes but doesn’t bother with himself for a moment, instead making quick work of the latches of Keith’s armour. He starts on the chest plate, unlatching it and pulling it off, letting it clatter to the floor. Keith is surprised at the relief it brings, at the extra breath that settles into his lungs.

Altean armour is made to be lightweight, but as Lance meticulously peels off every pieces of it from his shoulder pads to his boots, Keith feels as if one of the dozens of rocks on his shoulders has been removed, as if things are just a little bit lighter. Brazened by the newfound relief, however minuscule, he lifts his hands and reaches behind him to unzip his flightsuit, only to be stopped by fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“Let me,” Lance says quietly. Keith wants to protest but there’s the look in Lance’s eyes again, a bid for trust, an assurance that he can handle it, so Keith lets his hand drop back down to his side. Lance looks pleased, tugging down the long zipper and pulling the skintight fabric over Keith’s shoulders, down his hips, all the way down to his feet where he pauses for Keith to step out of them. Keith’s face burns, humiliated at his own babyishness, at his inability to undress himself like an adult; hell, like a kid. He knows Lance and he knows there are no unkind thoughts in his head right now, knows Lance has done this and more and for people in worse states than Keith, knows Lance has played nursemaid and clinician and sober friend and every other role where someone couldn’t function on their own and needed someone steady to function for them, because at the core of him Lance is whoever people need him to be. Because Lance will stretch and mold himself to help and help and help because he is painfully, endlessly, unbelievably kind, for all his brashness and bravado.

But the humiliation still warms him from head to toe, still makes acid churn in his stomach, still makes something crooked and twisted sneer in the back of his mind and whispers you think he will still respect you after this? after weakness? and Keith lets it echo because he can’t fight that sentiment off even when he has the energy to undress himself.

Skin still heated with his mortification, he watches as Lance quickly strips himself, stepping to the shower and turning the dials with great concentration. The sight makes Keith’s lip twitch involuntarily, at the furrow of his brow and tongue peeking out between his teeth. He stands with his hand under the water for well over a minute until he’s satisfied with the water, nodding to himself once before shaking out his wet hand and turning back to Keith.

Wordlessly, he links their fingers together again, squeezing three times in quick succession. He pulls Keith in and closes the curtain behind him, manoeuvring him so he’s under the stream, water soaking into his hair and pelting his bent neck and tense shoulders. It’s hotter than how he would usually have it, but surprisingly the extra heat is like a balm to his worn muscles, and it’s a struggle to keep himself upright.

He has no idea how long he stands under the spray. The only measure of time he has is Lance’s humming and the steam that slowly fills the shower.

Eventually though he forces himself upright, jaw set. He needs to wash off, needs to push through. He has been coddled enough — he is a grown man. He is a paladin of Voltron, whom others depend on for survival. What would they say if they saw him like this, struggling to wash himself, to move on his own? The faith in the universe’s strongest weapon would crumble in an instant. The fate of the universe would rest even heavier on Keith’s shoulders.

He counts to three in his head then forces himself to move, tried and true method. He catches Lance’s eye when he lifts his head, and Lance smiles at him. (He’s beautiful, all the time, but when he smiles he becomes for a moment the most stunning thing in the universe. Keith has seen so much of it and so he is sure.) He offers a weak smile back, because it’s almost impossible not to, and reaches around him for the shampoo bottle. For the third time that evening, Lance fingers wrap themselves around Keith’s wrist, stilling him.

“Let me,” he says again, and his voice is equally as quiet, equally as steady. “Let me help you.”

He holds Keith’s gaze and his expression is unreadable not because Keith can’t understand what emotion it conveys, but because it doesn’t fit, it isn’t right, what has Keith ever done to warrant that gentleness? What has Keith ever done to bring out such an intensity, such a single minded focus on taking care of Keith, as if he hasn’t been the one to care for himself his entire life? As if he isn’t the one who is meant to be doing the protecting, the caring? Keith is supposed to be strong. He is strong. He doesn’t need to be handled like strained glass, like the tip of a prince rupert’s drop, explosive under pressure. He can handle himself. He can.

“Please.” Lance’s grip loosens, slick anyway with soap, and he slides his fingertips down the palm of Keith’s hand, tracing small circles on the calloused flesh. “I want to.”

Keith makes a noise he’s never made before, a punched-out, hollow kind of sob. The last dregs of strength, of stubbornness that kept him standing, leave him. He slides to the floor, knees first and then they aren’t enough to hold him either. The tile is icy cold on his thighs, at direct odds with the heat of the water still raining hard down his back.

Keith starts to cry, and no amount of steam or water flow will hide it. The sobs and wails that rip their way out of his throat and chest are horrible, broken things, painful in the way they jerk him around, louder and more wretched than anything he’s ever sounded like before, ever. He knows he cried when he lost Shiro and he knows he cried when Shiro lost Adam and he knows he cried when he lost his Pa and a million times before and after. Keith has spent a lot of tears; they come when he’s frustrated or hurting or frightened and he hates the way they make him look small. But never has he ever clutched himself desperately together as hurt tears itself out of his lungs and burns his eyes, never has his body wracked with the effort of expelling this hurt from him.

He doesn’t understand where it’s come from.

The mission was fine.

There’s a click and a squirt, loud enough to be audible even over Keith’s cries. Seconds later Lance’s hands are in his hair again, fingers combing out the tangles, palms lathering soap deep into his roots. He takes his time to massage the soap deeply into Keith’s scalp, every so often moving his soap-covered hands to rub into his neck, his shoulders, his back. Over the course of Keith’s tears he hears the click of the bottle again and again as Lance moves to a different place in his body, spending careful amounts of time cleaning and caressing until the tightness in Keith’s muscles recede by pure loving force. Keith knows Lance is satisfied when his hands stray away for a moment and the stream of shower water is shifted, high-pressure stream shifting to feel more like the trickle of a creek, drizzling in rivulets down the dips and hills of his spine, his hips, his thighs. No soap ever stings Keith’s eyes, and soon the sound of Lance’s humming soothes some of the wound-up ache in his chest. The floral scent of the soap, of Lance’s soap, plays a part in the relief, too, a scent he has associated with security for longer than he has realised.

Soon Lance’s love is pressed into every inch of his skin, and the bonelessness laden in his body feels less like a sapping of energy and more like a moment of rest.

The steam still wraps warmly around Keith when the shower head turns off, and the weight of Lance’s hand on the wide expanse of his back is heavy and reassuring, rising and falling with each of his stuttered breaths. His finger traces a line across the base of Keith’s ribs and up the side of his chest, making him shiver, hugging the curve of his pectoral and travelling over the swell of his shoulder, running a line down Keith’s arms until it rests finally at the base of his wrist, where it circles once before linking around Keith’s pointer finger, tugging him gently to his feet, steady, and out of the shower. He stands eyes closed on the soft bathmat, water dripping steadily from his soaked hair, eyes burning from his tears and lips trembling.

Something soft and warm brushes against the curve of his ribs, tickling him slightly, making his muscles twitch and quiver. Lance drags the towel over his skin, mapping it in the same, slow, gentle way he washed it, soaking up the water and exchanging the wet towel for a new one three whole times before he finally gets to Keith’s hair. His fingers are deft then, too, digging the towel through his locks to squeeze out the water, pull it back from where it was stuck, soaked, to his skin.

Lance leaves the towel draped over his head as he begins to tug Keith out of the bathroom. Keith still has — he keeps his eyes closed, because he doesn’t think he can open them, because right now, he truly is fragile. He is tittering on the edge of somewhere he’s never been before, and he knows opening his eyes will send him careening over, and he’s not ready to fall quite yet. He trusts Lance to guide him, anyway.

Lance’s soft humming never breaks as he stands Keith in the middle of the room and then putters around; fabric rustling, more tubes and bottles clicking, some other sounds Keith can’t identify. When he comes back to Keith his hands are coated in something creamy and cool and fragrant, and he takes his time working the lotion into Keith’s skin like he did the soap; meticulous, fingers moving in small tight circles from area to area. He doesn’t miss a single square inch of Keith’s skin. By the time he finishes the stutter in Keith’s breath has faded and he’s steady, now, every time he inflates his lungs. He no longer feels the dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

He moves where Lance’s hands guide him, eyes still closed, stepping into soft pyjama pants and a loose t-shirt. When Lance pushes gently on his shoulders he sinks to the floor, feeling Lance settle on the bed behind him, leg on either side of him and fingers tilting back his head to rest against his stomach. He starts the comb at the end of Keith’s hair, carefully working through the thinner and more knotted pieces, before slowly making his way up to the roots and combing it all back. The drag of the teeth along his scalp is nice, but it’s nicer when Lance switches back to his hands, nails less abrasive and impersonal. He thinks Lance ties his hair back into a French braid, strands of hair pulled taut but not tight, not painful.

When Lance pulls gently on his shoulder, kindly asking him up, is when Keith finally finds within himself the strength to open his eyes, to fall, to careen off that edge. Lance is looking at him so lovingly, eyes dark as packed Earth, and inside them Keith melts and crumbles and rises again.

“Thank you,” he whispers, hoarse and crackling.

Lance smiles until crinkles form at the corners of his eyes. He cups Keith’s face in his hand and presses the softest of kisses to his lips, unexpectant and open and inviting. He pulls away but doesn’t go far.

“Of course,” he says, and it doesn’t escape Keith’s notice that he says it instead of you’re welcome, instead of no problem; of course, I will hold your weight, of course, I will help you remove your armour, of course, I will wash you, cleanse you, caress and anoint you. Of course, of course, of course. I would consider no other options. “I love you.”

You are not the first to love me, Keith thinks, impossibly, as he crawls into the sheets Lance has turned over for him, curls into him as Lance flicks off their lamp, tucks their sheets around them. He thinks of fathers and brothers and distant distant distant mothers, of teammates and father-uncle-figures and sisters and brothers, as Lance wraps his long arms around him, tucks his face into his neck. Keith thinks, No one has loved me like this.

“I love you too,” he says, pressing his lips to the hollow of Lance’s throat, and he thinks You are my centre of gravity. He thinks there is no weakness in the way he is loved. He thinks all he has left after being stripped to his soul is the strength Lance has wrapped around him.

He thinks he is so, so grateful, to love and be loved by Lance.

———

based on this post

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scrunckled-idiot · 29 days ago

Note

Any headcanons about how the mercenaries interact with a borrower?

errrm yesh aktualy 🤓

soldier: legit tries to kill them at first. LIKE THE FUCK IS THIS LITTLE THEIVING COMMIE SPY IN HIS BASE!? WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE!? makes it his mission to either kill them or take them prisoner, but eventually becomes like entrenchment for the goober. so like the borrower will be like sneaking away from the kitchen and then they'll hear this mf LEGGING IT AT MAXIMUN SPEED DOWN THE HALL. kinda like tom and jerry shenanigans. dw they always turn out ok :)

pyro: OMG A TINY LITTLE BUDDY LETS FUCKING GOOO!!! will instantly try to make contact with them without realising how terrifying it is in their perspective. chases them around the base kind of like soldier but with no malicious intent. eventually realises that they might be scaring the poor thing so stops chasing them. kind of like engie, they'll make these crude little cardboard houses slathered in glitter glue and stickers and make a little city in their room. absolutely ecstatic when they see borrower in one of the houses, but this time keeps their cool and just observes, giggling and kicking their legs. the borrowers just gonna play along and then they can go home- oh shit wait the giant gas mask guy set up a fucking tea party??? oh fuck yea dude, SUGAR COOKIES HORAYYYYY!!!

heavy: he wouldn't. he'd be too scared to. big man + little person? not a chance in hell. he'd probably keep his distance away rom them, pretending he never saw them. will probably leave leftovers out for them though cus he feels bad. if they're lucky, freshly cooked meals.

engineer: thinks he's going bonkers at first when stuff starts to go missing in his workshop. isn't too fond of the whole "borrowing" schlick, but he can understand. would build like little hideouts and dens for them and hide them around the base. purposely leave some spare screws, nuts, bolts, wire around the floor so that they dont have to parkour up to his desk or something. if he's friendly with them he'll just give em a wave, Mabey invite him over to his desk for some coffee and a break. then send 'em off with a bag full of supplies.

demoman: dawg his childhood fantasies just came true. his mother used to read him stories involving tiny people like elfs, pixies, Gulliver's travels, willow whisps, and borrowers. he'd be enamoured with them, but of course knows to keep his distance, he knows how frightened the wee things can get. he'd be as gentle as he possibly could when holding one though, letting them make the first move, and then scream internally when holding one.

medic: oh honey i dont even need to explain. you KNOW its instantaneous death. or trapped in the experimental cum jar. OR TAXIDERMIED!

sniper: probably thinks their just a weird looking cockroach so he'd try and spray them with pesticide or turn them into a kebab with his huntsman. once he figured it out though, he'd probably just shoo them away and to piss off. if he's chill with 'em though he'd probably handle them like a pet hamster or a rat. scoop them up off the floor into his pocket like "c'mon we're goin' to maccas". its like that one cat that hangs around your neighbourhood that you're chill with.

sorry didn't know what to do for scout and spy hun :(

#team fortress 2 #ask box #asks #tf2 g/t #borrowers #g/t merc shenanigans #tf2 demoman #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 pyro #tf2 heavy #tf2 soldier #tf2 engineer

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ittybluebell · 9 months ago

Text

Roommate | Daredevil G/T | Chapter 1

AO3

Matt Murdock didn't have anything against mice. He'd never been personally harrassed by one, but he understood the need to get rid of them. One easily turned into a dozen and with all the mess and digging into food, eviction was necessary. Despite how many rodents he heard daily, it wasn't something he thought about. The only reason mice were on his mind now was because one had moved into the floor, and he could hear it moving around as he laid in bed.

Now, like he said, Matt didn't have anything against mice.

Scrtch-scrtch-tick.

This one, however, was pushing its luck.

It showed up one night, moving in when he was out vigilante-ing and he only noticed the next day. At first, he didn't care. It was alone and hadn't yet realized there was food in his apartment. He had other, more pressing issues than a single mouse. It was a benign little thing - hardly a problem. Most nights, he could ignore the pitter-pattering and scraping or put in his noise-canceling earbuds.

Tonight, the mouse was too loud for earbuds. As he tossed and turned, Matt fumed, wondering what that rodent could possibly be up to. Rearranging furniture? Fuck, it sounded like it. Little mouse furniture.

Enough was enough. Matt threw a pillow at the floor and told the thing to shut up. To his surprise, it did. Matt sighed and finally went to sleep.

From that night on, he noticed a drastic decline in his downstairs neighbor's noise pollution.

How silly it was, Matt thought during a good mood, holding a grudge toward an animal. Especially one that was polite enough to let him sleep in peace.

Oh, how naïve he was.

The mouse quickly reinstated its grudge status when Matt noticed things going missing. It started with the bagels - a hole in the bag he noticed because the scent of bagel was particularly strong. Upon investigation, he discovered there was a complete lack of crumbs. And a chunk discreetly chewed from the middle. From there, things escalated. He smelled the shift in the air, smelled the remnants of another living being in his apartment. Little objects went missing - things even a seeing person might miss. But not Matt Murdock.

The sock was the last straw.

"What's the best bait for mouse traps?" Matt asked as soon as he entered the office.

"Cheese?" Foggy answered, confused. "Why? Do you have mice?"

"One. One mouse."

"How d- nevermind. Let me guess - you can't sleep."

"It's taking my stuff."

Foggy laughed. Karen huffed.

"At least tell me you're using non-lethal," said Karen. Upon his silence, she aww'd sadly. "Matt, no. It's just a mouse. You can't kill it."

"They're pests," said Foggy.

"But they're so cute. It just wants a place to live."

"Karen-" started Matt.

"No, no, she's got a point." Foggy spun his chair around. "Matt, you can't kill it! So cute and fuzzy!"

The lawyer-by-day, vigilante-by-night groaned. "Fine, I won't. Just stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Foggy, I can feel your eyes fake-tearing up."

Matt bought some glue traps and baited them with peanut butter. When Karen told him glue traps were worse - "They're so inhumane, Matt!" - he assured her that he'd know when the mouse got stuck; it wouldn't suffer. As much as the thing annoyed him, Karen was right: he wasn't going to abandon his no-killing rule for one mouse. (One mouse that must have a vendetta against him. He would not stoop to its level.) What kind of hypocrite would he be, huh?

The traps were set. Now to wait.

And wait.

A week passed. No mouse was caught. When he listened to its movement, he realized it was avoiding the spots he'd trapped. Avoiding the usual routes.

Smart. For a rodent. But Matt was smarter.

More traps, different bait. Traps disguised as the food and objects he'd noticed go missing, even the mate to his missing sock. It couldn't resist now.

Days passed.

Evidently, it could resist.

Foggy teased him about being outsmarted by an animal. Karen was on the mouse's side. Somebody must've told Jessica because he got a condescending text offering her services. Traitors, every one of them.

It all came to a head one terrible Friday night. Matt was already in a bad mood when he got home from work but going out, hearing and feeling New York City, pushed him over the edge. He was annoyed, his brain was overstimulated, and he just wanted to rest. The rooftop access door shut behind him and he threw his helmet into its trunk, about to shed the rest when the distinct sound of scratching and plastic crinkling in the kitchen cupboard caught his ear.

Matt stilled. It was here.

He marched with purpose toward the sounds.

That little bastard wasn't getting away this time. Catching it would be a satisfying end to a crappy day.

The mouse started fleeing before he was even close. It was headed for the other end of the cupboards - a hole in the floor Matt wasn't aware of but now could sense the air flowing from within. He'd have to seal that in the mor-

Mice didn't run on two legs.

Matt cocked his head, listening to the pattern of footfalls. He'd never cared to pay attention, but now it was impossible to miss. He knew what scurrying rodents sounded like. Whatever was in his kitchen, it was no rodent. It was bipedal. A bird? No, not with that speed. Not with that gait. He needed a closer examination.

Matt threw open the cupboard door. The first thing to hit his senses was the scent of corn chips.

The second was the heartbeat.

The creature's heart pounded swiftly in its chest. Air rushed from a mouth that was too upright for any kind of animal, a nose too humanlike. Small shoes hit the baseboard as it ran. Fabric rustled the same way he heard every single day in the street - like clothing.

Matt got lower, needing to be closer, needing to examine this little anomaly. How it moved, how it sounded, how uncannily familiar it was.

The living shape that his senses created was so alike to people that he was too shocked to outwardly react.

The little thing escaped into the floor, and Matt Murdock was left crouching there. Slowly, he shut the door. He took off the suit, dressed his wounds, and went to bed, his mind racing.

His body was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. Not when he was tracking the creature's movements. Every scrape, every soft thud of a step, the whisper-

Whispering?

"You're fine. He didn't see you. There's no way…"

Whispering. Okay.

Matt pretended he didn't hear anything and put in his earbuds. That was a tomorrow-Matt problem.

Unfortunately for tomorrow-Matt, another problem knocked on his door first. That problem rhymed with Stank Hassle and didn't like to be ignored. Frank did offer coffee when they left so at least it wasn't a total bust. It was a good opportunity to get Matt out of his head; to get a clear perspective of the night before. Matt decided he was exhausted and hallucinating. The alternative was a tiny person living in the walls of his apartment. Delusion was easier.

Delusion was also what kept the borrower from abandoning the apartment altogether.

Call them stubborn, or stupid, but Finch didn't want to leave. Borrowers could only get so lucky. Landing a decent apartment with an oblivious bean was a rare opportunity, and Finch had no intention of giving it up. They would use this good fortune. Even if they didn't deserve it.

Finch shook off the guilt following that thought.

They spent the first week setting up: finding a place to sleep and tidying it up, living off the rations they packed. They got a lay of the land, surveying the apartment and its infrastructure. The excessively bright billboard directly in front of the living room window, the kitchen, and - most importantly - the bean. Light - or lack thereof - was never an issue for him. Not once did he flip a switch or so much as use his phone, which read texts aloud to him. He hardly looked at whatever claimed his attention. Everything added up to limited vision, but they couldn't be sure. It was safest not to risk any assumptions.

Evidence pointed to some damn good hearing when Finch was carving planks of wood out of the floor's innards. They were minding their own business, content with their repetitive, calming task, when something large and loud impacted the ceiling a dozen paces away.

The borrower nearly jumped out of their overalls, giving a startled squeak.

"Shut up," yelled the muffled voice above.

Pretending their soul wasn't just violently expelled from their body, Finch smoothed down their curly brown hair and exhaled shakily, making a mental note to postpone noisy work till the bean was away.

And they did good on that: when the bean was home, Finch completed the quieter, slower tasks. They thought they'd discovered the formula for living under the radar, satisfied to have found a routine that worked.

Then the traps appeared. Finch cursed their luck. The jig was up. The bean set up gross glue traps in outer access points, a couple even getting to the paths Finch took. Finch avoided them and laid low for a bit, hoping the lack of activity would convince the bean they'd skipped town. But more traps appeared. Smart ones, too - they almost fell for a couple. Now, Finch knew a thing or two about a thing or two. They made new routes and took extra care when borrowing. They even started mapping paths to the apartments below. Despite their small stature, Finch had a lot of room for determination. After a life of sticking their hand in the fire, they learned to take the heat. If the bean wanted them gone, he'd have to try a lot harder.

Night fell. The bean was gone. He followed routines - ones he scarcely strayed from. It would be hours before his return.

Finch made their way to the kitchen. They pushed up the trapdoor and strolled through the cupboard. They still had to be careful: just because the human wasn't home didn't mean they could throw all caution to the wind. Leaving evidence was a massive negatory. Finch didn't care for stupid rules, but the rules of borrowing were locked in their brain. They were already careless with the bagels, something they couldn't afford again. Desperation wasn't an excuse for sloppy borrowing - not when it exposed them.

Finch observed the boxes and containers around them, reading labels and calculating risk and reward. There was no chance of getting into that cereal box, but the nutrition bars would be a good grab. The box was short and already open. Finch pushed a can of tuna against it and hopped on. They began extracting a bar only to realize they had no way of getting something so large home without a sled.

"No, that'd be too easy." With a huff, Finch dropped it and shoved the can back into place. "'cause food can never be-" plastic crinkled under their foot "-easy?" Finch inspected the blue packaging. It was an open bag of tortilla chips. They grinned.

The scent of corn chips filled the space as Finch unfurled the bag. They dropped their backpack and started breaking the triangular chips into smaller pieces. Salt-free, too? Hell, yes. They tested the backpack's weight, put a bit more inside, then pulled the strings tight. They slung the strap across their chest. Oh, yeah, this would last them a good while. Finch fought with the chip bag, trying to roll the top underneath like it was before.

"Come on. Stupid fuckin'-" They tried to simultaneously lift the heavy bag and pull the other end.

Over the sounds of plastic popping and crackling in their ears, Finch didn't hear a door open and shut.

DOOM.

They did, however…

DOOM.

…feel the approaching footsteps of the human bean.

Finch froze. Blue eyes snapped wide open, their head flinching away from the plastic. It couldn't be...

Finch bolted.

He's supposed to be out why is he back-

DOOM.

They didn't need to know why he was back - just that he was and he was approaching at an alarming rate.

DOOM.

Oh, fuck, that's actually really close-

The doors ripped open. The hinges didn't even get a chance to squeak.

Finch stumbled. Air caught in their throat. For a moment, Finch was rooted to the floor. Just a moment. Long enough to see the human's form towering beyond the counter, covered in some kind of dark red leather. Long enough to see boots more than capable of squishing the life out of them.

Legs like fenceposts bent as the human came unbelievably closer. Closer than Finch had ever been to a bean. A giant face suspended above them, features blank and expressionless. Not once did the bean look at them.

Finch ran. They didn't look back. When they reached the hole in the floor, they plugged it up and kept going. Keep running.

Only when they reached the safety of their shelter did they falter.

"Oh, shit," they gasped, resting their weight on a nearby post. If their heart didn't outright stop, they were sure it might burst from their ribcage. Finch felt that exploding was a reasonable response. "He didn't see me." The scene replayed in their mind, over and over like a glitched tape. "I'm fine. You're fine. He didn't see you. There's no way he saw you. Just breathe."

Delusion, like they said. It was a powerful thing. It pulled many tricks on the mind. Like convincing oneself that they weren't discovered.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet, one might even say, if they weren't one Matt Murdock. He never got that phrase. Nothing was 'too quiet'. In his - correct - opinion, nothing was quiet enough. There was always something creaking, breathing, or thumping, even in the smallest hours of the night. But on some front he had to agree: there was a suspicious lack of activity from the critter in the floor lately. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he couldn't deny that it wasn't an animal. Animals didn't mutter to themselves, in full sentences, in English. He wasn't mentally, emotionally, or spiritually prepared to assess beyond whatever that meant. In the moments his mind wandered, however - such as now, sitting and listening to a recording for his current case - he found himself pondering the tiny being regardless.

The peace wasn't an accident. Finch had been avoiding that place, giving themself and the air time to settle. They continued work on their residence, slotting together panels of wood and cardboard to form walls. One room would do for now - they just needed protection from the elements and potential scavengers slinking around. Skies above, if a cockroach tried anything, it was next on the menu. Grind up the little fucker into a smoothie. Finch wished a bug would: it'd be miles better than those godforsaken tortilla chips. Finch gave the wood posts they'd just secured a good push, nodding in satisfaction and moving on to the wall. It would be the last one to seal up their box of a house.

Four days. It'd been four days since Finch was nearly discovered; four days since they stared a bean in the face and got away unscathed. Four days since they got an answer to what they'd only suspected: the human couldn't see. That explained the brilliantly bright billboard, the sensitive hearing, the lack of lights - it explained a lot. Finch had to re-evaluate their approach to borrowing. This human would be extra careful about his possessions - the sock was proof enough - and notice what was out of place. In some ways, this both simplified and complicated things.

But borrowers were nothing if not adaptable.

Finch ventured up to a peephole in the wall and looked out. Nothing had changed except the bean now sitting at the dining table, papers and an electronic box neatly laid out on the tabletop. Casually dressed, he was listening to… a podcast? No, too personal. Finch liked podcasts. There was a crime involved, but this sounded like a conversation Finch would overhear more than something designed to entertain. So this bean worked in solving crimes. A detective?

They listened to the dry as hell audio a scant longer before growing bored and moving on. Hey, at least the bean was preoccupied.

Naturally, they found themself puttering toward the kitchen. Wielding two bent nails tied to their belt, Finch climbed up the cupboard door, using hinges and decorative bevels alike to hoist themself up. Those bagels were good. Were there any left? Nothing but corn chips really wore down a person's capacity to give a damn. They perused the counter, confident that the bean was sufficiently distracted by his work. Finch was disappointed to find the bagels sealed in an airtight container. It was their own fault, slicing up the bag so messily. They pulled a face and resumed their search.

A plate of mostly-eaten pasta sat before them. Fuck yes! Finch scuttled to it, pulling out rolls of tinfoil from their bag. Careful to avoid crinkling, they gathered up all the leftover noodles and sauce that would fit.

Finch squirreled away their haul, licking their fingers clean of evidence and ignorant of the man listening to their heist just a few metres away.

Matt stopped paying attention to the tape some time ago.

The sounds of Hell's Kitchen couldn't drown out the little inhabitant in his walls. A scent had blown into the room, vaguely familiar with hints of tortilla chip. He sat straighter and listened, idly shuffling papers and tip-tapping his fingers on the table. He found himself unable to be anything other than impressed as they scaled his counter like a mountain climber. Whatever was left from dinner became his visitor's latest plunder. That was fine; less waste, right?

He was disappointed when they returned to the walls. He wound back the recording to get some work done, but found himself consistently distracted by his small neighbour's goings-on. This discovery was just so unique, so strange - how could he not be curious? He heard them venture out again, across the apartment now. Into his bedroom. What could they be doing?

Oho, if Matt found any more socks missing-

He turned in his seat, about to rise, when he heard:

"You hafta to be shittin' me."

The voice, quiet in size only and bold beyond that, was the mildly annoyed tone of someone who'd been inconvenienced. Matt had heard it before, in the late hush of the night, when no one else would. Muttered curses and remarks that blended into the creaking and groaning of buildings and chatter and sirens of the city. One voice that Matt Murdock had tried very hard not to think too much about.

"When is enough too much, huh?" the voice griped. "Does he think I'm just gonna lay on one? 'Oh, felt silly today, stepped on the massive rug of glue.' How 'bout I drag this onto your floor, see how you feel walkin' in a minefield?" They growled. "UGH. Beans."

Well.

There was no denying it anymore, was there? A tiny person was living in the walls of Matt's apartment.

Matt leaned back, processing. He'd tried ignoring it - for the sake of his mental health and faith - because it was insane. It was impossible. It shouldn't be.

And yet…

Matt wanted - needed - to investigate further.

He got up, quietly, light on his feet. He didn't make it two steps before he heard a swear and the tiny person retreated once more. Into an electrical outlet, by the sounds of it.

Hm. He couldn't sneak up on them - not this time. They heard him- no. Matt quirked his head, considering. They felt him approaching. Like Matt, they could feel vibrations. Vibrations that alerted them of a threat. It only made sense.

Heh, 'threat'. Regular ol' Matt Murdock was the threat this time, not his alter ego. Wasn't that something?

The next time Matt encountered his new neighbour, he was trying - and failing - to fall asleep. There was too much on his mind for sleep. Frustrated, he huffed and flopped over, restless, his thoughts racing. Sounds of the city were extra distracting tonight. He considered getting up and making a cup of tea - maybe that would calm his mind.

Noises from the kitchen drew his scattered focus. He sat up, listening to the scuffing and tapping that he'd come to recognize as his uninvited houseguest. Three visits in one day. Were they always this proactive? Well, he did interrupt their attempted heist of his bedroom. Matt scooted to the edge of the bed. He would make that tea, actually. As he stood, he remembered sneaking didn't work last time. Right. Heavy-footed. However, he had a hunch that this attempt would yield a sneakier result.

Aided by socks, Matt softly padded through his apartment. Tiny - the name he assigned his little visitor - was fiddling with some kind of packaging on the top shelf. And as he got closer, lo and behold, they did not startle. His theory was correct: the further Tiny was from the floor, the weaker their pallesthesia became. Their ability to detect vibrations just wasn’t as sensitive as his own. Once he stepped foot into the kitchen, Matt dropped the Daredevil act and let himself be known. He grabbed a mug and turned on the kettle. Tiny's pulse quickened; their breath hitched. He gave them time to hide before he opened the cupboard for a tea bag. He quickly realized the box wasn't in its usual spot - his own doing, unfortunately.

"Stupid tea bags," he muttered for Tiny's sake; an 'I'm not looking for you, I swear!' assurance as he searched the cabinets. For extra sauce, he added, "Always misplacing them."

Would he forgo tea? He did start the kettle… as much as he got a kick out of playing the part of oblivious blind guy, causing Tiny undue terror wasn't his end goal. He wanted to test them, their cockiness, not scare them. Tiny may be a thief, but they were just trying to survive. Why else was food their number one haul? Matt dedicated his life to helping people in need. Wasn't Tiny part of that demographic? Weren't they someone in need? Unless small people were running drug cartels and trafficking rings, Tiny was innocent.

Doubt and guilt crept in. Maybe he was pushing the bit too far.

Matt was just about to get up and leave when something square and coarse pressed into his fingers.

He faltered, then pinched it, rubbing his thumb over the material. Its strong, earthy scent gave it away.

A tea bag.

Small shoes lightly retreated. Matt withdrew his hand. He held the sachet of dried herbs, cogs turning in his mind. He tilted his head.

Tiny handed him a tea bag. That…

Matt found himself puzzled and oddly touched. It was for their own good, to avoid getting found, but he couldn't not appreciate the nice gesture. He easily smelt where the tea was, of course. But Tiny didn't know that. Huh.

Maybe he was being too harsh about the sock.

The kettle's bubbling pitch rose to a squeal. Wincing, Matt shut it off. He dropped the tea bag into the mug and poured steaming water over it.

What a strange experience. He wondered what Tiny was thinking. Their heartbeat eased into the fluttering pace that he learned was its resting rate. It was the trait that had him most convinced his roommate was a rodent of some sort, though the way they squeaked when startled was a close second.

Matt threw out the tea bag and took the mug to his room, leaving Tiny to their task.

The next day, he casually slipped questions about tiny people into a conversation with Foggy. (It was not casual and quite random, actually.)

"You mean, like… fairies?" Foggy cautiously asked.

Sort of? Matt didn't know whether Tiny could be considered a fairy. They certainly didn't seem like the fairy type, not with the kind of language he heard them utter. Did fairies say 'fuck'? Would that break some kind of fairy law?

Karen told him about a book series that she'd been obsessed with as a kid: it contained many smaller magical beings. Brownies, for instance. Matt settled on definitely not that one. What favours was he receiving? Aside from the tea bag - an isolated incident - absolutely none.

Matt wasn't convinced they were a magical creature. Really, they just… seemed like a normal person, albeit smaller. They hummed to themself, snickered at their own dumb jokes, and swore a hot streak that would impress even Castle and Jones. Matt was pretty damn sure they'd been building a house under his floor, though he noticed all the loud busywork was put on pause when he was home, most notably when he was sleeping. Another nice gesture that was also for their own self-preservation.

Maybe they were a mutant. Or maybe they were mutated, like him.

When Matt got home, he discarded the glue traps. It felt wrong to leave them now that he knew it was a person he'd been trying to catch. Guilty, he started leaving crumbs in easy-to-reach locations. It wouldn’t hurt him any - his grocery budget wasn’t gonna tank because of some scraps. If chips and leftovers were what they were after, then they had free reign over the countertop. That didn’t stop him from being cheeky about it, though - if Tiny was getting confident, he might as well play along.

He found Tiny’s courage something to marvel at. Roaming a giant’s home? Without fear? His vigilante persona was literally named Daredevil and he was impressed.

However, bravery and foolishness were not mutually exclusive. That’s when the cockiness came in.

Matt was minding his business, washing the dishes, when Tiny wandered out. Brows hitching up, he continued sponging the plate. Surely, they wouldn't-

Oh, but they did.

Unwavering, Tiny climbed up the counter they same way as before. They walked up to the pan on the stove and hooked a leg over. Matt fought hard not to chuffle. This was getting out of hand. Matt remembered an adage about not feeding animals or else they'd grow dependent. Had Matt inadvertently done exactly that? Animals that were accustomed to people often didn't see the danger. Tiny was certainly no animal, but the absence of caution they displayed in the moment was, frankly, ridiculous. It was a massive leap from the times they would flee his presence. He was starting to think he'd played too ignorant.

A smirk tugged at his lips upon hearing the leftover eggs being pilfered. When he turned to fetch the pan, Tiny was already hopping to the floor and disappearing behind the fridge.

Stealing right behind his back. When was enough too much, indeed.

AO3

#g/t #giant/tiny #goldfinch (oc)#matt murdock #daredevil g/t #giant tiny #the borrowers #borrowers #g/t community #gt #g/t writing #daredevil #marvel g/t #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #daredevil fanfiction

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brighttears · 1 year ago

Note

heyy bright 😁 so i’ve been realizing that i think most of your fics are Jackson/ after QZ joel (correct me if i’m wrong though, this is just what i think i’m noticing) and i’m wondering what are your thoughts on QZ Joel? would you ever write for him? (^з^)-☆

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description except female sex organs and having hair, no use of y/n

Word count: 9.7k

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), unprotected PiV, dirty talk, pet names (baby, baby girl, sweetheart, angel, good girl), creampie, Joel has a big ol weiner, drinking, mention of violence, blood, mention of prostitution (does not occur, has not occurred in the past), smoking (cigar, cigs briefly), sad!Joel for a minute but happy ending :), Tess doesn’t exist (sorry Tess)

A/n: you are right i’ve been noticing that i lean too much on Jackson so thank u for this request and i’m gonna try not to do that. had no intention of this being this long it just kind of happened lol. i know i didn't explicitly answer your question but i hope this explains some? idk this just came out of me so here it is i hope you enjoy !!!

—

Boston is ugly. It’s impossible to breathe a clean breath, impossible to get clean. Joel’s lungs are black and he doesn't smile. He may sleep, but he gets no rest, and you can see it easily in his eyes. The QZ is full of sickness—lying, cheating, stealing, there's no honor here. It's impossible not to have some of it rub off on you. It's almost impossible to see anything past it. Almost.

The first time Joel saw you he felt like a rat stepping onto a glue trap. He hadn’t realized he had stopped to stare until someone bumped into his shoulder, taking him back into the bustling street, and then you’d disappeared and he honestly wasn’t sure if he’d actually seen that beautiful girl or not. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, dropping dreams or ghosts down just to make things interesting. He mostly shook it off. Still, only half believing that you were even real, he’d catch himself scanning around, looking for you out in the streets. And then he saw you again, and again, minding your business somewhere across the street, painting over Firefly logos while under guard’s watch—never somewhere that he could get to. Every time he saw you felt like taking a hit of you, and he always wanted more. Whenever he found himself with too little to do, he’d set out, treating Boston like a maze to find you, slipping around booths and through speakeasies and alleys. Despite how packed Boston is, goddamn, you were hard to find. He was aware that it wasn’t… normal behavior, but that’s as far as he got in caring about that. It was a frustrating hobby, though, like an itch he couldn't scratch, because he didn’t understand what he was feeling, or what he wanted, or who the fuck you thought you were, doing this to him, or how he was going to get himself out of this one. He had to interrogate himself to figure out that what he wanted was for you to need him.

He wanted you to be with him, never leave his side, never want to leave, and he’d be so good to you, he’d be the knight to your queen. You had him bad, you were driving him crazy.

You had burrowed your way into his head. It was nice to have something to daydream about, though—your smile, a smile that he gave you, that’d be for him. He’d daydream about you dancing, you’d be twirling with your eyes closed, arms out, all lit up in orange light like evening sun but holier, and he’d reach out and your fingers would brush his and you’d smile with your eyes closed because you wouldn’t have to open them to know that it’s him. And then he’d spin you into his arms, wrap you up, hold you safe. He’d daydream about his hands on your stomach, holding your back against him, your hair on his face. He would dream about you taking his face in your hands, kissing him, loving him, fucking him. He imagined your voice—put together from small bites of ‘overheard’ conversations—telling him you’re his.

They used to make rings for this shit. Now all you’ve got is metaphors and sex. What a world to love in.

The problem with all of this, however, is that he wanted to know you already. Joel doesn’t know how to develop this kind of relationship, with anyone, actually, and he cringed at the idea of actually trying to do it. If he did even end up finding you, what the fuck was he supposed to say? He genuinely could not come up with an answer. So, thank god for Robert—never thought he’d be saying that, but on this day only, thank god for his cheap, dumbass tricks, and Joel’s dumbass for agreeing to trade with him, and being ripped off again, because that’s how you met.

Being the coward he is, Robert had sent a third party to meet with you and him—apparently buying the same product—that somehow thought you wouldn’t check the goods, and then you spent the whole day together hunting that fucker down. You were the one who threw the first punch once you found him, and Joel liked that because he didn’t feel bad for hitting him, too. And then you got your ration cards back, and you came home with him.

In just those few hours, a bond had formed, and all those days he’d spent looking for you fell away. Cliches were clicking in his head. He offered you his smuggled jungle juice and somewhere to clean off your bloody fist.

Now, you’re here in his apartment, the door swinging softly shut behind you. Joel stands frozen across the room from you, a knee sticking out, unsure if you can feel the rope of tension between you or if it’s just him. He wants you here and it makes him uncomfortable. Mind blank and swimming at the same time, he’s not sure what to say. When he does, he can’t find the correct conduct, weakly and awkwardly jutting his chin out in a sort of nod. Finding himself unable to speak softly, his cadence is a mess that rolls through almost incoherently. He can’t believe how silly the sentence that came out of him is:

“Have you been lookin’ for me as hard as I’ve been lookin’ for you?”

You shift your weight. “Maybe.”

Joel barely ever has company. To be frank, the few times he’s had women over, it’s been for sex, and the longest they stay is if they fall asleep, and they’re almost always up and gone before he wakes. So, here is a beautiful woman in his apartment, and he wants you, so his first instinct is to get you in bed. That doesn’t feel right though—not because he doesn’t want to fuck you, but because he wants more than that. He doesn’t want a one night stand. He wants to savor you. He wants to know you. He wants you to stay.

The unfamiliarity and lack of clarity of what to do here frightens him.

“So you got a rag I can stain?” You break the silence for him, holding your hand to massage your palm with your thumb.

“Yeah, uh,” Joel walks into the kitchen, flicking his eyes around. He knows what rag you can use but he forgot that it might be too embarrassing to bring out. There are not many options though, he can’t let you use the one clean rag he does have.

“If you can’t find one it’s alright, I can use my shirt, I just need the sink.”

Joel turns to you, taken off guard, but catches telling details when he looks you up and down. Your jeans are dark so you can’t immediately see that there are brown stains around the ripped knees, and lines of more old blood are swiped over the side of your thigh, which he knows come from wiping off a blade. Realizing that you do in fact live in the same world as him, Joel opens a crooked drawer and pulls out a rag that used to be white but is now mostly brown with dried blood. Without looking at you, he wets the somewhat stiff cloth in the sink and hands it to you.

You barely pause, taking it casually. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He mumbles, hiking up his jeans and trying to covertly watch you wipe away at your hand. A large part of him wants to take your hand in his, wipe and dab at it himself, make sure it’s clean, and then bandage it, slowly and carefully. He wants to take care of you, show you gentleness and kindness, but, no matter how much he wants to be soft and personal, to connect, he seems unable to actually act on it. His face flashes in self depreciation before he instead goes to the floorboards in his bedroom, fishing around for that drink he promised you.

A smile spreads over your face as he emerges back with the bottle and Joel almost stops dead in his tracks at it, at him, because of him. Well, because of alcohol, but he was the one providing it, at least.

He trades you the bottle for the rag and you waterfall it while he scrubs drying blood from between his fingers. Your face twists up as you swallow and you laugh.

While he watches yours, Joel can feel his lip curling up and he asks, “What’s that for?”

“This shit is pure. I’m used to it being watered down.”

“Oh, yeah. Got that from Robert, actually.” He tells you, motioning towards it. “One of the only times he’s been useful.”

“What are the other times?” You stay smiling.

Joel mindlessly circles the rough cloth over top his hand and looks down when he answers, “Well, today.” Because he brought me to you. These half–admittances are escapees, like his brain can’t help but be truthful with you. No matter how much one side screams ‘danger’ at the other, he needs to do something to make an attachment, he needs you to know that he wants you around, he can’t let you slip away. He can’t get himself to say that last part, though.

You hum and hold the bottle out to him. He swipes the rag over his hand one last time, then tosses it onto the table and takes the bottle, wishing you’d let your lips around it so he could get a taste of you without taking any risks.

Risks. What is he willing to do for this? For this feeling? How far is he willing to be taken with it? He can barely grasp the ideas behind it. It’s familiar, but what is it? How much does he care about its definition? He swigs.

“Have you traded with Robert a lot?”

Joel nods as he swallows with a grimace, then elaborates, “You could say that. More like been ripped off by ‘im a lot.”

“So you’re a chump?” You smirk.

Joel halfheartedly glares at you and you only smirk further. “No. Just desperate. Not a lot of options.” He passes the bottle.

“So you’re the kind of guy who takes what he can get.” You say before raising it, to your lips now.

He almost chuckles, watching your mouth, “I didn’ take shit, remember?”

You shrug and hand him back the bottle. “So what are you gonna do with all those ration cards now?”

Joel focuses on being able to tell what of what he’s tasting is the alcohol and what is you. He licks his lips after he swallows. “Don’t know yet… What’re you gonna do?”

“I was thinking about buying a really expensive coat. Like a mink's fur coat.” Joel gives you a look like he’s not completely sure if you’re being serious or not. “I’m kidding. I’m getting fucking food. I’ve been skipping a meal a day for the last two weeks saving up for what we didn’t get.”

As he hands you the bottle again, the thought of that pangs Joel’s chest. If you stay with me, you’ll never have to do that again. I can provide for you. “I have food.”

You stare at him as you lift the bottle to your lips, and after you swallow, say “I’m not asking for your food.” Your face is straight and voice bristled.

“No, I know,” Joel stammers, “I was just offerin’—”

“I don’t want your food.” You shove the bottle at his chest and cross your arms once he takes it, leaning back a foot.

An offer like that is no longer simple friendliness, but Joel didn’t think about that before he spoke. Intentions mean less than jack shit and social rules are more like laws to live by these days; you probably think he’s trying to bargain for sex. “I’m sorry,” Joel closes his eyes and shakes his head, “that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, ok, well, thanks for the drink, I’ll see you around.”

“No, wait, I’m sorry,” he reaches out for your arm, and even though he lets go as soon as he closes his hand around it, it’s enough to scare you away entirely and you rush out of his apartment without looking back, slamming the door shut behind you. He jerks it right back open, holding himself in the doorway with another “Wait,” as he watches you barrel down the hallway and disappear down the stairs. “Fuck.” He whispers. Joel retreats back into his apartment and slams the door behind him, stopping just inside to rub his hand over his forehead. It’s a fair reaction on your part, he just happened to be the 1% of people to make a move like that not intending to harm you.

This is the exact opposite of what he was going for. His hand slaps to his side as he lets it fall.

As Joel’s eyes wander over the table, he catches something in his peripheral, and spots two ration cards. They’re not his, they must have fallen out of your pocket.

Like a shot, Joel snatches them up and is out the door, bounding down the steps and throwing himself out through the front door. He skids to a stop just outside, turning left and right until he spots you still making haste away from his place. “Wait!” He calls out again as he weaves through the street toward you. When you stop and turn to him his hand shoots up, showing you the cards.

You shoot daggers and as soon as he’s in front of you, bark, “I’m not a fucking prostitute. I’m not gonna fuck you for food.”

“No, no, count your cards, these aren’t mine, they’re yours. I swear.”

Still glaring, you pull the stack out of your back pocket and flip through them. When you finish, you bite the inside of your cheek, shove them into your pants instead of your pocket, and hold your hand out for your missing two. You’re staring him straight in the eyes as he hands them over and you add them to the rest, and then your expression softens. Joel takes this opportunity to try to have you give him another chance.

“I swear, I didn’t mean any a that like that. I know how it sounded, I wasn’t thinkin’. I’m not lookin’ for anythin’ like that. I swear.”

You chew on your lip for a moment. “Okay. Fine.” You blink and pull at your waistband.

Joel takes a deep breath, but his relief is short lived. Shit. Now what? I can’t ask her to ‘come back to my place’, and if I ask to walk her home she’ll probably think the same fucking thing. Joel is not used to trying to gain someone's trust. What would convince him? No answer comes.

Gravel shifts under your foot as you turn more towards him, resting a hand on your hip and cocking your head. Suddenly, Joel feels pressure under your gaze and readjusts his posture, straightening, but struggles with his gaze. The interaction is one of assessing dominance—more of you checking his. Joel grinds his jaw with his eyes focused down on the hand on your hip. This goes against instinct, which would be to puff out his chest, cross his arms, raise his chain to glare down his nose. He is not afraid of you, you’re not trying to threaten him, and he understands what you’re doing and that he needs to convey a level of submitance; he owes it to you now that he’s made you suspect he’s trying to manipulate you into sex. His throat bobs as he swallows his pride, then shifts his eyes back up to yours. When you relax, he lets out a breath and follows.

“Okay, look,” you begin, “I’m not helpless just because I’m a woman, I can carry my fucking own, you should know that by now, but… I know Robert’s got guys, and I am aware of the risk of being a woman, and I also respect the buddy system. So, walk with me?” It’s your turn to struggle with your gaze, flipping your eyes between his and the ground.

A confetti cannon goes off in Joel’s head. “Alright.” He nods.

“Alright.” You nod back, take a step backwards, then turn back to where you were heading originally. The two of you fall into an even stride, silently focusing on your death stares as you journey through the loud, filthy, reeking streets of the Boston QZ. Joel thinks he spots a couple suspicious characters as you walk and is grateful that he came after you and that you let him walk you home.

The sky’s blue is beginning to darken and the crowds are dwindling. Curfew is fast approaching, but Joel doesn’t want to ask you how much further, because, for one, he doesn’t want there to be a whiff of doubt that he’s no less than happy to be doing this, and, if it does get to be too late, maybe you’ll let him spend the night. It’s unlikely that you’ll be having sex, but that’s fine; he guesses you’re right, he is the kind of guy who will take what he can get.

“Okay, you’re free to go.” You snap Joel out of his thoughts, pulling out a bit of disappointment that you’re already here. Your building is short and wide, with graffiti littering the bottom and most of the low windows boarded up or taped over with rustling plastic. A burly and sunburnt young man smokes a daring cigarette on the steps and you exchange amicable nods with him.

Joel pauses, looking around and hiking up his pants trivially. The lack of promise that he’ll ever be able to speak to you again stirs anxiety in him and he searches again for the right thing to say. “Alright, well, it was nice to meet you.” He struggles again with some kind of cordial inflection, nodding and clearing his throat.

“You, too. I’ll see you around.” You nod back, then add a reassuring “Okay?”

Joel nods again, staying to watch you go. Once you’re out of sight, he takes a deep breath. The man on the steps spits and eyes Joel, so he leaves, hustling back to make it before curfew.

Back in his apartment, Joel returns the alcohol back under the floor and his bloody towel into its drawer. He strips his flannel, removes his boots, and lays back on his bed, the setting sun casting a sheet of orange over his body. Pulling his pillow under his head and folding his arms behind it, Joel sighs loudly and shuts his eyes. Today was fucking exhausting, more for his mind than body. It has been the strangest day he’s had in a long time. Laying with his eyes closed, Joel picks through his mind for explanations and answers. What’s happening inside of him? What is he looking for? What happened today? His brow pinches as he wracks and wracks.

Friend. When the word surfaces it breaks with panic and Joel jolts into a sitting position. Girl–friend. He forgot that that’s even a word. He rubs his face with his hand until he feels like he knows where he is again. What the fuck going on with him? Does he think, what, that he’s gonna take you on a ‘date’? And go where exactly? One of those slimy speakeasies, stay for five minutes until a fight breaks out and/or FEDRA fucking crashes it? Oh, yeah, how about spending the night sitting in opposite cells? That would allow for a lot of alone time, except for the fully armed and immoral guard. He could take you out past the walls, maybe find an abandoned restaurant and hope neither of you get bit or killed while checking it out so that you can sit down on dust caked chairs to clink glasses full of dirt.

That shit isn’t possible. Joel lets himself fall back into the mattress.

Maybe a quick fuck will do the trick after all.

But, still with that thought comes a gust of dread as he imagines then seeing you out on the street in the days following and having to avoid eye contact. Well what if you could just keep having sex? And just, hang out, you know, maybe if you could… come to live with him and then that way—fuck. That’s like dating.

‘Dating’ sounds so stupid, like you’re going to go sit at a diner sipping the same milkshake with two straws.

Well what if you’re just as fucked up and broken as he is? Would that make it any better? Then he wouldn’t scare you if he gets night terrors because you get them, too, and you’d understand about the violence and bloodshed. Thinking more on it, though, Joel realizes that all that that would really mean is that you probably have the same amount of fucking issues with ‘friends’.

“Shit.”

Joel flips to his side, shoving his arm under the pillow again to press his face into it. He’s lost, and fucked. Maybe the answer will come to him in the morning. Probably not, but he’s fucking tired, so let’s just say it will.

—

The morning brings no answers, only more confusion and anxiety. His head has become jumbled in the night and Joel’s not sure about any of it anymore.

Too close. He doesn’t even know you. You could be one of Robert’s guys, for all he knows. No, that makes no sense. If you were going to rob him you would have already. What else could you want? Jesus, did you drug him? He knows the truth, that he has feelings for you, he just really does not want that to be the case.

But, at the same time, there is the brown haired puppy dog that still lives in him, dreaming up how to get you flowers and how much he likes your hair and your eyes and how you talk. You’re a beautiful person, both in the surface level, physical sense, but also as an individual being. Even though you’ve only known each other for a day, he has seen enough to understand that you are, at least to a level, a safe person. Tulips, he needs to find tulips for you.

Either way, he just needs to find a way to slow this all the fuck down.

He shouldn’t get involved with you. You shouldn't get involved with him. He shouldn't trust you. You don't know who he is. He could change for you. You’re gonna get him killed. He’s gonna get you killed. The life he wants with you isn’t possible. He’s the kinda guy who will take what he can get. God, he needs to fuck you at least. Goddamnit, he doesn't want you to think that's all you are to him. Can’t you at least just be friends? What does that even mean? He wishes he never met you. He immediately takes that back. Why is this happening to him? Both sides of him can dig that last one.

Joel groans and rubs his face with his hands. He stands, stretching his arms up and squeezing his eyes shut against the bright yellow morning light. His arms drop down to scratch at his chest over his sleeveless undershirt. Socked feet sweep over the hardwood floor over to the kitchen where he slaps cold water from the tap onto his face. Noticing wisps of blood still on his hands, he scrubs at them with his nails under the water. He forgot to sign up for any work today because he spent all day yesterday dealing with Robert, and… hanging out with you.

With another whiney groan, Joel swats the faucet’s handle off and plants his hands on either side of the sink, letting water drip from his nose as he stares into the drain. Hanging out? People do that. He’s seen people just kind of sit around somewhere and talk, not doing deals, but, like, on their porches, sitting on side by side folding chairs. Yeah, people hang out. He imagines himself asking you if you want to ‘hang out’; he’s chewing gum with sunglasses and a backwards hat on, you’re in pigtails and reject him and he kicks rocks on his way home.

He has had friends before, but it was from traveling in a group, trying to survive, when you kind of have to spend all your time together. There’s little choice and little room to decide if you actually like this person, little time to even actually get to know them, and they die a lot. That’s what he’s used to, and that is not what he wants with you.

“The fuck am I doin’.” Joel mutters to himself, watching trails of water shine as they trickle down towards the drain.

Soft, fully brown haired Joel swings his legs on one of his shoulders: “Go out n’ see if she’s around.”

Baggy–eyed, forever frowning Joel digs his fingers into his other shoulder: “If you ever see her again, you better walk the other fuckin’ direction.”

Puppy dog Joel furrows his brow and leans over to look at the other: “She’s a nice girl.”

Morose Joel glares back: “No such fuckin’ thing. An’ if she is, we’ll fuckin’ ruin ‘er.”

“Jesus. You’re paranoid. Can’t you just let us be happy?”

“No such fuckin’ thing.”

Joel smacks his hand to his forehead and pushes away from the sink. He lifts the bottom of his white shirt to rub his face dry and goes to sit back down on his bed to pull on his shoes, grabbing his other flannel and finishing buttoning it as he walks down the hall to exit his apartment building. He’s not sure what he’s doing—not admitting that he’s going to end up heading in the direction of your apartment—but he needs to get out of his head, and the QZ offers plenty of distractions. Here’s one now, as soon as he steps outside—

“Hey friend,”

Joel whips around to the voice at the corner of his building, a man his size but wiry, with saddle brown skin and an overly genial smile.

“You look lost.”

Joel narrows his eyes.

“Well, if you’re feelin’ lost—”

“Give me a fuckin’ break.” Joel cuts in. “That shit is meaningless. Hope is dead, jackass.”

The man’s face instantly falls, disheartened, and he leans his shoulder against the brick. Joel huffs and moves on, shaking his head. That look makes a small part of him remorseful, like a thorn in his side, so he decides to stop at a speakeasy.

He has to squint against the rising sun as he walks, so he doesn’t catch you until you’re right on him, asking, “Where’re you headed?”

Joel freezes, placing his hand on his brow to shade his eyes to see you smiling. Like remedied, all that anxiety and apprehension rolls off of him like water off a duck's back. “For a drink.” He answers, returning a serene smile.

“Don’t you have that at home?”

“Yeah, well I jus’… wanted to get outta there.” He shifts out of the suns glare.

You hum and nod. “I get that. What about my place? I don’t have alcohol, but I do have a cigar.”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. “A cigar?”

You nod. “Well they didn’t have any mink coats, so I got the second best thing.” Your mouth twists up into a mischievous smile and you swivel your torso back and forth. When Joel’s lips start to curl, you turn, watching him over your shoulder as you walk until he joins you.

When the two of you get to your apartment, the young burly man is still on the steps; he winks at Joel as he follows you past, and Joel stares back until the door shuts behind him. Inside, as he follows you up the narrow, winding staircase, he spends the entire five-flight journey to the top floor conflicted about where to let his gaze fall.

“Alright, this is my floor.” You glance over your shoulder at him then grab the door frame to swing into the tight hallway. “End of the hall.”

Your apartment is much smaller than his, and wide. Cracked, off white paint cries uneven, chipped stripes that reach up to the crown molding. Your bedroom is to the immediate right, a narrow room opened by two glass double doors. At the opposite end is another glass door, tall, that opens up to a fire escape. To his left is your kitchen, which is just the wall lined with cupboards, a sink, and white refrigerator. In front of him, a couch is half visible, the rest hidden behind the corner, under a row of three windows. Like his, the curtains are thin torn pieces of fabric. Just before the corner next to the entrance to your bedroom is a gray folding table with three tan metal folding chairs. Walking in, Joel can see in your room a twin bed with rosy sheets and no headboard, its head shoved in the space between the tall glass door and the wall with a thin pillow and singular white sheet. He hopes you have a bunch of other blankets shoved somewhere he can’t see, because it’s only barely summer anymore. The long wall opposite is taken up mostly by bookcases, which hold some books but mostly by all sorts of other things, including clothes. A ragged chair sits next to it, back facing him. Shoved in between the shelves and the tall glass door is a tall lamp, a thin piece of pink fabric laying over a disfigured shade. The carpet is worn and somewhat cluttered; right next to that chair is a pair of lacy black underwear. Joel rips his eyes away from it back to you in front of him, disappearing around the corner for only a moment before reappearing with a fat, half smoked cigar. You twist it in your fingers with a wide smile, flipping open a Zippo lighter in your other hand.

“How did you get that?” Joel asks, astonished. He hasn’t seen a cigar in years but has dreamt about smoking one more than once.

“My friend on the steps outside. Don’t tell anyone, though. Come on,” you nod your head back around the corner and he follows you into a cramped, mellow blue and yellow tiled bathroom. You push out a small broken crank window high up on the wall, pull the door shut behind Joel, and light up the cigar. Leaned against the sink, Joel watches you, very aware of the close quarters. The end of the cigar lights up deep orange and crackles. Your brow is furrowed, Joel can see the hairs of your eyebrows and lashes, a tiny scar in the corner of your eye over the bone of your eye socket. When you pull away, dense smoke snakes out of your mouth. You look down at it as you attempt smoke rings, getting one good one but failing at the rest. When you laugh the rest of the gray puffs out of your mouth.

“Damn it.” you giggle, and hand the cigar and lighter to Joel.

He has to relight it and watches the flame over the end. He sucks in stale, earthy smog; it tastes ancient, but still has some of that discernable cigar flavor. As it fills his mouth, Joel closes his eyes, leans his head back and moans before opening his mouth to let the smoke leave. His eyes are on you as they open, and yours are half lidded, focused on his mouth, a slight smile on your lips. They slowly crawl back up to his eyes, and you look away. Joel takes another puff and makes a sound to get your attention, attempting rings as well, not doing much better than you did.

You hold your hands out, “Ok, let me try again.” You take your time and Joel watches your tongue working in awe. You make a good three rings. Smoke puffs out of your mouth again when you smile at him and pass the cigar back.

Joel focuses his efforts on the rings but keeps his eyes on you watching his mouth. As you do, your smile grows, eyes half lidded again, and you lean your back against the window’s wall, turning your head to see him blow four perfect rings.

“You’re good at that.” You chuckle, staying on his mouth even after he’s done. He takes another puff.

“Practice, I guess. Even though it’s been awhile.”

You hum and finally tear your eyes away from his mouth. He offers the cigar but you shake your head, “That thing is nasty, I’m afraid I’ll throw up if I take one more puff. You can keep it.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm. All yours.”

“Thanks.”

“I got it with you in mind, anyway.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. You look like a cigar guy.”

“Well, what did I do to deserve this?”

Your eyes go back to his mouth. “Nothing, I guess… I knew it’d get you over here.” You look down and smile.

Joel sucks in murky smoke, letting it fill his mouth, and wonders how you taste. He’s never wanted someone's saliva in his mouth so much. He reaches behind him to balance the cigar on your sink to let it extinguish on its own. “I won’t make you watch me smoke that whole thing. I’ll take it home with me.” Turning back, he looks you up and down, admiring you, and says, “Thank you.” Those are another set of words that Joel cringes at, but he means it, and he needs you to know that he is grateful for this. The last gift he got was a box of bullets from Tommy on his birthday—not to say that’s a bad gift, or that he’s ever expecting anything on his birthday, but, you gave him a gift, just because, and it’s a luxury. He can’t believe you’re real, he wants to reach out and touch you just to be sure.

“Mhm.” You smile, lifting your fist to rest your lip on, laying your other arm over your torso to support your elbow. Joel drifts over the details—the edge of your lip poking out from where it presses on a finger, the muscle and bone structure of your wrist. He fully appreciates the color of your skin as he follows it until its end at what he can see of your collar, how your chest shapes around the position of your arms. He sees you briefly squeeze your arm around yourself and his eyes are on your hips when he hears your foot shift under you and your body moves a little closer to him.

“Joel?” Your quiet voice brings him back, and you’re blushing.

“Hm?”

Your eyes flutter and you push yourself off from the wall, moving your hand to scratch the back of your head, then face him, though still not looking at him, “Nothing, um, I dunno,” you chuckle nervously.

“What?” He coaxes, growing a light smile.

You finally look at him, folding your arms over your chest and cocking your head as you ask, “Do you have anything going on today?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

Could this be what he thinks? Are you asking him to ‘hang out’?

“Do you wanna… hang out?”

Good lord in heaven, you are.

“Yeah.” He says, then blinks, shifts, and repeats more enthusiastically, “Yeah.”

“Cool.” You offer a small, twitching smile. “Well, we can get out of this tiny bathroom.”

“I don’t mind it.” The truth suddenly jumps out of Joel and as soon as it’s out, he looks at his feet. Please, please, please, don’t let this be him ruining it, again, because second chances are basically extinct.

“Why not?” Your tone is light, not angry or affronted. He looks back up, pausing to consider you, how beautiful you are, how much he really does enjoy being this close to you. The more he realizes how few inches are separating you, the more he aches for your body on his. He swallows hard. Is he being sleazy?

You shift closer and his heart rate picks up. “I mean, I don’t really mind it either.” A light blush blooms over your face and Joel’s lips inadvertently part. When you move closer still, Joel straightens up from the sink, letting his hands rest at his sides, hoping you want them on your hips. “I like being close to you.”

“I wanna be closer.” Joel tells you quietly, then swallows hard again.

Out of the corner of his eye, while he focuses on your face, Joel sees your hand rising cautiously, then feels it rest on his shoulder. He permits his hands to your hips.

From there, naturally and easily, you connect. Your lips touch softly when they meet, then promptly conquering more of each other’s, and finally he tastes you, a pure elixir, and hangs onto your lip with his teeth so that he can raise the dose. Joel breathes deeply through his nose as he savors and his hand brushes up your hip, catching under your shirt and pulling it up slowly with it; feeling your skin warm and bare under his touch shoots directly into his veins. You remove your mouth from his to instead purr into his neck and Joel moans, then adds quietly, “Jesus.” You chuckle before refocusing your lips, gently nipping at and skimming over his skin. His hand glides up to the back of your head and he softly moans again. Lazily, Joel allows you to start slowly unbuttoning his flannel, appreciating his contact with your body and your sensitive touch on his neck. The only way he knows he’s not dreaming is because of your pinching teeth. Once his flannel is undone you smooth your hands down the length of his torso, fingers slipping off of him just before his belt, then come back up, slowing on his shoulders for permission to slip the shirt. Joel takes his hands off of you for the three seconds it takes to pull his flannel off, feeling your hot breath on his neck as you pull away with his shifting. Your eyes meet again and Joel’s heart flutters at how large your pupils are. He watches them move down to cross over his shoulders, your hands following your eyes, and then you look back up at him and bite your lip. Like you’ve flicked a switch with this simple movement, Joel takes your mouth with his tongue and grabs your hips to pull against his. Briefly, he regains composure to check, “Is this ok?” and you confirm with a nod back into his lips, slinging your arms around his neck and rolling your hips. “That a girl,” it escapes him, scaring him for only a moment, but you whine an encouraging moan and press yourself into him. The force leans Joel back over the sink and he has to throw a hand back onto it to keep himself steady.

“Shit, ok, this room is too small now.” You chuckle into each other’s lips and then you pull away, keeping a grip on his hand as you turn the knob and take him around the corner into your room.

Standing just before your bed, you turn back to him and take his face in your hands, sliding your palms over his beard, fingertips on rough skin. They slip into his hair as you bring his face to yours, working back in your welcome tongue. His hands slither around you and then he squeezes you into a hug, relieving his ache for your body, relishing in the pressure of his hold. As you breathe out your head falls back and Joel moves in, licking into a hickey, too absorbed to give a shit about leaving marks. When a hand travels down to your ass and squeezes, you make a sound and hitch your body up.

“You like that?” Joel purrs, fully loose lipped and glued back on yours. When you ‘mhm’ into his mouth he squeezes again, hiking you up himself.

“Joel,” his lips force you to mumble.

“What is it, babygirl?”

All you do is whine, but your answer is in the hand that slides between your bodies to cup the stiff bulge between his legs.

“You want me to fuck you?” He basically growls, sliding the hand up from your ass to grip your side and the other up to your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek and forcing you to meet his eyes. There’s a desperate tweak in your brow that tells him all he needs to know but he waits for you to say it.

“Yes,” you whimper, and then he walks you back onto your bed, the two of you falling onto it with little pause with mouths and hands. Messily, he licks and nibbles at your lips and paws at your chest. Your hands spread over his thick, bare shoulders and biceps, legs shamelessly widening more than they need to under his hips, then hook and pull when he doesn’t bring them down himself.

“You’re fuckin’ horny, huh?” He asks with a slight smirk.

“I just want you. I just want you.” You mumble.

Joel’s brow twists up and he kisses you deeper. You want him, you want him, you want him. “I want you so much, baby. God, I need you. I’ve been wantn’ you so bad since the first time I saw you,” the words are doing nothing more than spilling out of him, but he’s gone now, “so beautiful, such a beautiful girl. You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, tugging his shirt up his back.

Joel pushes himself up to stand on his knees and pull his undershirt up and off, then stays over you, panting. Slowly, mindfully, his hands smooth up your body, hooking his thumbs under your shirt, lifting it. You watch his eyes and lift your arms when his hands ask. He slips your shirt off carefully and lets it fall on the floor, and then you’re bare underneath him. The adoration is palpable in his touch as he smooths his calloused hands from the V of your waist over your belly, splitting to slide over your sides but meeting again on your chest. He pets your breasts, teasing your nipples with fleeting touch, and then suddenly dips his body down to lick and tenderly nip one of your nipples. Then his wet lips drag up your collar, your neck, and back to your lips, and his mouth and tongue are gentle but passionate. Joel cherishes every touch you share. Then, your hands go back down to the bulge under his jeans, one rubbing over the cup while the other tugs at his belt. He chuckles into your lips and then rises again to undo his belt. When you try to tug down your pants you both understand the trouble and Joel hoists his legs over you to stand beside the bed, letting you up with him so that you can both undress as quickly and easily as possible. For a moment all there is is the sound of belts clicking and fabric brushing against skin. For whatever reason, you both start to laugh breathily until reattaching mouths smother it out. You fall back on the bed, your legs back open, and Joel wastes little time getting his hands on his dick, unable to help himself from a few strokes before he positions himself at your entrance, swiping his tip up and down your wet slit. Laying his forearm on the bed allows him to stroke your cheek with his thumb.

Nearly slurring, Joel asks, “You ready for me baby?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “I want you, Joel, please,”

“You don’t need to beg, sweetheart, I gothcu,” he kisses you tenderly, but it breaks as he fills you and you both moan. Joel’s forehead rests briefly on your lips when he looks down to watch himself pushing into you, his fingers pinching his base to guide himself, he prizes this picture of him in between your legs, opened wide for him. As he fits his large, stiff member inside of you your fingers comb through and then grip his hair, making him moan. “Goddamnit baby, what a good girl, takin’ me like this. I know it’s a lot. I know.” He assures you as you squeal, toes curling as he plugs you up. Joel swings his head back up, biting his lip as he watches your face, impressed with himself when he sees your pupils almost disappear back into your head. He nips at your lips but your mouth stays open until he stills his cock inside of you.

You groan, “Oh my god, Joel,”

“Yeah?” He mumbles as he begins to move. You clench around him when you moan and he swears, moving his head down to bite your neck gently as he continues to take himself in and out. He smiles when your hands claw at his back and release his teeth to speak, “Such a good girl for takin’ me like this. You’re a fuckin’ angel.”

“Ok, Joel, I’m good, I’m good, please fuck me,”

Joel growls and links his teeth on your lip again. “Told you darlin’, no need to beg, I’ll give you what you need. How do you want it? You want it hard?”

“I don’t fucking care just fuck me,”

Jesus, if heaven’s real this is what it’ll be.

Joel trusts your word and starts to fuck you how he wants—deep and hard, pounding your pussy in final satisfaction of the need he’s been pinned with since the moment he saw you. The room is full with the sounds of your moans and skin on skin.

“God, look atchu, pretty girl, god, your pussy’s so fuckin’ tight for me.” The sensation of him bumping your cervix and your cunt enveloping him fully is keeping him going like he’s a quarter operated ride that someone slipped fifty cents into. “That feel good, baby? Huh? Does that feel good?” You slap your hand onto the wall above you to keep your head from hitting it with the force of Joel’s thrust and repeatedly breathe out yeses. Joel groans at how your nails dig into his shoulder. “Tell me, tell me how good it feels,”

“Yes, Joel, it feels so good, you fuck me so good,”

“That’s righ’, baby. Gonna treat you so good. So good. So good baby you feel so good.” Joel leans his head back as bottoms out. When you almost scream, Joel stops, frightened, “Shit, you ok?”

“I’m fine Joel,” you laugh, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. It was—it was good, that felt really good.”

“Oh, alright, I’m sorry, I’m—”

“No, no, I’m fine, Joel it’s good,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, fuck—ok—” you push Joel up and his heartbeat quickens with anxiety. Unsure, he simply follows your movements, climbing off of you, letting you tug his arm and flopping back on the bed for you to mount him.

Now sitting up on your knees on top of him, you study him. “You’re so fucking hot, pretty boy.”

A wide smile spreads over Joel’s face, pumping rosy cheeks, and he throws an arm over his eyes modestly. The reaction is spontaneous, Joel being unprepared for such praise.

“You are!” You giggle, moving his arm and dropping on your elbows to kiss him. One of his hands goes to your hair and he squeezes your hip with the other with eager grip. You rise back up, a line of spit briefly linking you, and your hand trails down over his chest until it comes to his cock, bulging over his stomach. He twitches and breathes out as your hand slides over it and he beholds you above him.

“Fuck,” you purr when you slip him in. Joel strains his arms down to grip your thighs, breathing out a loud moan. “Shit.”

“Goddamn,” he whispers, then says, “come on, baby, take all of it.” You sit down on him slowly, hands landing over his chest, and he brushes his hands up and down your arms. “Thas’ righ’ baby. So good for me.” Joel moves to your hips, pulling them down and in to start to move inside you, forcing himself to be gentle. Your head flips back as you let out a loud, pornographic moan, and Joel can no longer keep himself reigned in. Gripping your hips, he’s now moving them more than you are, one hand gripping your ass, guiding you to angle down, taking more of him.

Riding him like a mustang, your fingers skim over his wrists, unable to grasp them. “Fuck,” You whimper, brow twisted up, eyes closed.

Joel takes his hand off of your ass to grab your face, squishing your cheeks, “Eyes on me, sweetheart.” You moan and obey, he keeps your face in his hand to make sure you stay. “Good girl. Stay with me baby.” He grunts and briefly bits his lips as he begins moving his hips up into you, thrusting his cock even deeper inside of you until he’s bumping your cervix again. You squeak and close your eyes, leaning your head back until he jerks your face, reminding you softly, “Eyes on me.” Your hand slaps on his chest as you adjust your posture, though Joel’s grip stabilizes you enough, holding you in place. He releases your cheeks but keeps his hand on your face, letting his palm and fingers brush over the side of your head as you bounce, his thumb on the back of your neck, supporting your head up when you try to let it fall back. “You’re so beautiful. Bet you look so pretty when you cum.”

“My god, Joel,” you pant, “I knew you would fuck me so good, you’re gonna make me cum,”

Joel’s eyes light up and he inadvertently smirks, “Yeah?” Eagerly, he tells you, “I wanna make you cum, baby, I wanna feel you fuckin’ cum. You’re bein’ such a good girl lettin’ me fuck you so hard like this. God, I wanna make you cum,” His hips bump up into you and he tugs on yours in a tempo that buries him as far as he’ll go inside of you. Prizing his view, Joel notices a bulge, coming and going at a suspiciously similar rhythm as how he’s fucking you, and when he realizes that it’s him, heat spreads through his chest and he only fucks you harder. “Oooooh, baby,” he looks back up at you and your chest and face are flushed. “My angel, look at you. Go ahead and cum on my cock, babygirl, I know you’re ready to.”

Your pipe out desperate moans as you bounce on his cock and your hands shoot up, one twisting your hair behind your head the other on your face, smoothing down over your face and mouth down to massage your breast.

“Does that feel good baby?” He almost whines out the question, desperate for praise, for affirmation that he’s being good for you.

“Yes, god, fuck me Joel, I need you, oh my god please,” you cry out.

“You gonna cum for me? Cum on my cock like a good girl?”

You close your mouth, whining through sealed lips, then pop them back open to moan almost unrealistically pornographically, but the way your pussy squeezes him proves it unmistakably genuine.

“Ah, fuck,” Joel lets out loudly as your legs shake and tighten around him, just like your cunt does, and his thrusts are basically out of his control. His mouth falls open and his eyes squeeze shut, almost seeing white, a sweet taste filling his mouth as the euphoric pleasure you provide him trembles to a peak and he groans as he cums in a pussy–drunk frenzy.

As he comes out of it embarrassment starts to run over him at his gusto, but the look on your face calms it—your brow is furrowed up, eyes closed with your mouth slack like his. Your back is arched with your hands resting on his thighs, panting.

You let out a loud breath and flip your body back to look at him, smiling, “Shit.” A breathy laugh shakes out of him and you sit back, still with him inside of you. Then you rise up off of him, “Oh, fuck,” you stand, almost tripping, “I gotta go clean myself up. I’ll be right back.”

Joel basks in the glory of your figure walking away, still fully nude, pattering through your apartment, then disappearing around the corner. He leans back, turning his head to view the sky from the dirty glass door. It’s a picturesque baby blue, dotted with a few puffy white clouds. Fuck the other shoe, if it drops it drops, he just wants to be here right now, with the sun warming his bare chest, nose full of your scent, his lips swollen and dick still wet with your cum. Joel takes a deep breath. Maybe it’s dramatic to say he’d be happy to die here, and it’s not entirely true, but it’s just that he feels content for the first time in fucking years.

When your padding steps sound again, Joel shifts his upper body up, watching you approach, and then you slip into bed, nudging him so that you can lay side by side facing each other. The top sheet is cast lazily over your bodies and a comfortable silence falls over it. Joel tries to memorize the details of your eyes and admires the way his mouth has plumped your lips.

Lying in bed with you here in this cramped apartment feels like a dugout, and he wants to go back in time, to any point over the last ten or so years, to tell himself that this is waiting there for him, just to let himself know that it’s gonna be ok. He can’t believe he’s still in Boston.

“Can we stay here for a while?” He asks you.

You nod, “We still have all day, pretty boy.” Joel smiles and you move to kiss him, long and light. He hooks your lip in his mouth, asking you nearer, and, without breaking the kiss, you lift yourself up, only your chest off of the bed, supporting your body up with your elbow. To hover over him, you reach your hand over to plant next to his head. Joel’s hands slither up your face to the back of your head, assuring your connection. All he wants is your lips.

“Baby,” He whispers, his voice high.

“Hm?”

“Nothin’. I dunno.”

You smile, peck another gentle kiss, and then lay back beside him. You shift closer to each other and your legs tangle.

After a couple of still moments, you take a deep breath and address him, worry in your voice, “Joel…”

“What is it?” His brow pinches in concern.

“I’m just worried… maybe I should have waited.” You say quietly, brow slightly furrowed as you gaze into his eyes, raising a loose fist to your lips.

He pushes his hand out to brush the back of his finger over your wrist, “Why’s that?”

You pause. “Cause… I don’t want… I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to have… you know, a one night stand. I mean, for this to be a one time thing and then I never see you again.”

Joel’s brow furrows as he assures you, “Me neither, no, no baby, I wanna see you again. I want you to stay. I wanna stay. I wanna know you.”

You uncover your mouth to smile and your eyes twinkle, “You want to know me?”

“Wull… yeah.”

“That’s such a nice thing to say.”

“I mean it.”

“Well, I wanna know you, too.”

Joel’s contentedness pauses. He didn’t think about that part and he’s not sure if he wants you to know him. Yes, desperately, god yes he does, but, no, his soul is covered in soot. You shouldn't, he doesn’t want you to see him, know him, because he’s bad.

“What’s that face?” You ask.

“What face?”

“That face you just made. You don’t want me to know you?”

How did you read him like that? He’s not sure which side he should take with this so he says nothing.

You sigh and blink, then place your hand on his cheek, stroking it with your thumb once. It’s warm and solid against his skin and flowers bloom in his chest.

“If I’m gonna let you know me, you gotta let me know you. That’s the deal. I think we’re pretty similar, Joel.” You take another deep breath, “I haven’t had someone in this bed with me in a long time. I haven’t touched someone like this in… forever. I don’t like to let people get this close. I’m letting you get close, though. Because I really, really want to. But part of me really, really, doesn’t. For some reason, I trust you. I hate saying that. But I just do. I really like you, Joel. Maybe you’re gonna break my heart. I decided that that’s ok. I just really want to know you.” Your hand slides down to his neck, over his shoulder, then down to the middle of his sternum. “So, that’s the deal. If I’m gonna let you in, you gotta let me in.”

Joel isn’t sure why there are tears wetting his eyes. He wasn’t ready to be spoken to like this, to be cared about. The longing to hear words like these has long been buried and he never expected any of that to be fulfilled. He blinks the tears back, swallows hard, and murmurs a tender “Ok.”

Your hand slides back up to caress his cheek. The affection in it floods him and he melts into the bed, eyes falling closed. When he opens them again, it’s like this is all there is; he can’t see anything else except for you, and those pink sheets, and the light behind you coming through the window.

He can’t help this feeling of safety with you. He smiles. You smile back.

You can’t make Boston any better, but now, Joel is taking his first clean breath of air, and it smells like you. The world is ugly, but love makes it bearable. And now you’re here, and he’ll wait to tell you, but he figured it out, he’s sure he loves you.

…Metaphors and sex, sex and metaphors.

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