#these are how the items i look in my head

[acexsmhking]

You can't just say dilf Toby and then go about your day. You forgot we all bunch of freak about Toby-

: ̗̀➛ DILF!Toby x Reader

Note: ugh anon you’re so right I’m sorry. Cause even I’ve been scrolling back to my comment thinking about it 😭🤚🏾

Listen listen, Toby a man now. Thirty-one as of Apirl 28. That’s quite old especially for someone who should’ve passed by 29. And gosh does he look it. Every bit of manliness, bit of some boyish charm when he’s with you

But when he comes home? That hard glint in his eyes, folds and wrinkles from frowning and furrowed brows. You’re reminded just how much older than you he is. It makes that gentleness he reserves just for you that much better

And he notices. How sometimes you just rub your thighs looking at him. Maybe play with a few gray hairs that have started coming in. From age and stress.

I wouldn’t say Toby goes out of his way dating someone younger, but seeing how much you enjoy it? He uses it against you whenever he can. The biggest is making the DILF part truly genuine. Knocking you up with a kid.

Maybe after a few old man jokes you start noticing how he stalks you more often. A predatory glint in his eyes. Doesn’t help if he just came back from.. hunting— a family. Tempted to take children’s items now, almost like he’s nesting.

Finally he does snap. You’re between his legs, arms tangled around them as you rest your head suspiciously close to his crotch. Cleaning the metal of his hatchet before he stops and looking down at you. Brushing a few hairs from your face causing you to look up.

“Darlin.” And you’re soaked. Melting really. That husky voice says it so sweetly with all authority it could muster. “Hm?” You’re turning more towards him, one hand resting on his thigh as you let the other grab at his belt. A dorky smile on your lips as you look up at him.

“Been thinkin’.. maybe we should start trying. Genuinely.” Your eyes widen as you look up at him, moving more upright. “Are you.. sure? I mean we’ve talked about this but—” all he does is nod before slowly standing up, helping you along the way as he pulls you in by the waist.

You feel that throb in your cunt as he pulls you in the house, all the way to the bedroom. It isn’t rare that he’s gentle but it is rare he doesn’t just take you wherever you are. “What you wantin’ to do it right?” You snicker, wrapping your arms around his neck. He nods again, already tugging at your skirt.

“It’s going to be a long night, I figured you’d appreciate the comfort.” Hand moving up to hold your hair as he pulls your head back revealing that pretty neck. A twitch in his jaw. “Very long night.”

: ̗̀➛ So sorry I haven’t been actually writing too much y’all. It’s just been difficult I’m not gonna lie. But ugh… Toby is always on my mind.

[riddlesrizzler]

This Could’ve Been an Owl

summary: somethings are left better as an owl... characters: jim! mattheo. pam! reader. dwight! draco. stanley! theo. kelly! blaise. andy! enzo warnings: none, just poor draco word count: 1.2k

The meeting was scheduled for 9:00 a.m.

At 9:07, the coffee pot was still sputtering like it was about to explode, Enzo had somehow broken his granola bar into four unequal, crumbling pieces, and Blaise was halfway through a monologue about how the new client’s assistant looked “mysteriously like a cursed Siren” and “definitely blinked sideways.” No one was listening. Except Theo, who stared blankly into his mug like it might transport him somewhere else.

You sat near the end of the conference table, doodling in the margins of the meeting agenda you had printed yourself - not because you cared, but because you were the only person who Draco didn’t openly accuse of being a spy. Your latest sketch was of a dragon incinerating a tiny stick figure labeled “Draco.” It was breathing glitter fire. You smirked and tilted the page slightly so Mattheo could see it.

He bit back a laugh - that sharp, breathless sort of grin he always wore when the two of you were silently conspiring. He leaned back in his chair, his quill spinning between his fingers. Cool. Careless. Definitely about to do something stupid.

Draco cleared his throat for the third time.

“Right,” he snapped, slapping a clipboard down with unnecessary force. “Now that we’ve all decided to grace the office with our presence-”

“I’ve been here since eight,” you said sweetly, not looking up from your doodle.

Mattheo coughed to cover his snort.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “-we can finally begin. Item one: someone - and I will find out who - placed an undetectable expansion charm on my filing cabinet. When I opened it, I was temporarily sucked into a dimension of-of-clowns.”

There was a long pause.

“Sounds like a personnel issue,” Theo muttered, deadpan.

Mattheo raised a hand. “Did you happen to see your performance review while you were in there?”

Blaise burst out laughing. Even Enzo wheezed around a mouthful of granola.

You smiled, pressing your hand to your mouth like it might muffle the giggle clawing its way out. Mattheo gave you a sidelong glance, and the shared triumph of this is going well passed silently between you.

Draco did not share that sentiment.

“I am compiling a list,” he said darkly, flipping to a page titled Suspected Troublemakers in aggressive block letters. “It will be submitted to upper management by end of day.”

Mattheo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Is that the same list where you put ‘Suspicious Soup Behavior’ next to Enzo’s name?”

“I knew that bisque was cursed,” Draco barked.

“It was from the breakroom,” Enzo offered helpfully. “Pretty sure it was labeled ‘Mattheo’s.’”

Mattheo blinked. “I don’t even eat soup.”

You rested your chin on your hand, watching all of this unfold with mild amusement. Honestly, Draco brought it on himself. He held these meetings like they were Auror interrogations, and somehow always ended up the victim of some minor magical sabotage. The fact that he hadn’t yet realized it was a two-person operation - orchestrated mostly from your desk and carried out with Mattheo’s charming recklessness - was a miracle.

Draco slammed his clipboard shut. “Enough. Item two: The break room incident-”

“Which one?” Blaise asked. “The cauldron explosion? Or the time the enchanted toaster tried to duel me?”

“The glitter bomb hidden in my teacup,” Draco hissed. “I’m still sneezing sparkles.”

Mattheo tilted his head innocently. “Are you sure it wasn’t your personality finally showing?”

You couldn’t hold back the laugh that slipped out - sharp and warm and completely unprofessional. Draco turned his glare on you.

“Don’t look at me,” you said, shrugging. “I only printed the meeting agenda. Which, by the way, doesn’t say anything about glitter bombs.”

Enzo tried to raise a hand. “I kind of liked it. You looked festive.”

Draco muttered something about incompetence and stormed toward the whiteboard, where he began drawing a complex diagram titled “Office Sabotage Network.” He included tiny, cartoonish caricatures of everyone at the table - yours had a halo. Mattheo’s had devil horns. Blaise’s was winking.

You leaned sideways, whispering to Mattheo behind your hand, “Do you think he’ll realize the glitter was charmed to explode with sound if he yells?”

Mattheo grinned at you, wide and gleaming. “Ten galleons says he finds out in the next sixty seconds.”

As if on cue, Draco turned around. “Now-listen carefully-”

BANG.

A shimmering cloud of pink and gold exploded over his head, raining glitter down on the table in elegant, sparkling sheets. Draco shrieked. Blaise screamed in solidarity. Enzo applauded.

Mattheo casually dusted off his lapels and looked over at you like nothing happened.

You smiled at him - that slow, knowing smile that said, We’re the best team this office has ever seen.

Across the room, Theo sipped his coffee, nodded, and muttered, “Finally. Some entertainment.”

It was the next day, the morning after the glitter bomb incident, when Draco Malfoy arrived precisely thirty-seven minutes early.

He was wearing tinted goggles. His wand was gripped like a sword. His cloak had been replaced with what looked suspiciously like a dragonhide apron, and he muttered under his breath as he tiptoed through the office, checking doorknobs and breathing heavily through his nose.

You watched him from behind the reception desk, sipping your tea.

“Do we think he’s… okay?” you asked no one in particular.

Mattheo leaned his elbows on the counter, hair messy from the wind and lips curved in that familiar, conspiratorial grin. “He’s fine. He’s just been... glitter-traumatized.”

“Is that a real condition?” you asked.

Mattheo’s voice dropped a notch as he leaned a little closer. “Want to help me find out?”

You gave him a sideways glance, pretending your heart didn’t trip over itself. “That sounds suspiciously like you’re asking me to commit a crime before noon.”

He smirked, tapping the countertop between you with his finger. “Come on, receptionist. Live a little.”

Before you could answer, Enzo appeared, holding a suspiciously oversized croissant and wearing the expression of a man who knew far too much.

“Just to be clear,” he said, mouth full, “are we all pretending that you two aren’t in love, or…?”

You choked on your tea. Mattheo turned and gave him a long, slow blink. “Do you ever start a conversation normally?”

Enzo held up his hands. “I’m just saying - if I had someone looking at me like that every morning, I’d probably have proposed by now.”

Mattheo glanced at you again. His smile shifted, softened. Less teasing. More real. And for a moment, it felt like something charged and unspoken settled in the space between you - a question neither of you had asked out loud.

But before anything could come of it, a shrill, victorious laugh echoed from down the hallway.

“Oh no,” you muttered.

“...He’s sprung the trap, hasn’t he?” Mattheo asked.

“Definitely,” Enzo said. “And he’s way too smug about it.”

Sure enough, Draco reappeared seconds later, eyes wide with triumph and goggles slightly askew.

“I knew it,” he barked. “Don’t act surprised - I saw the glitter residue. The prank empire ends today.”

“Is that what you named this? A ‘prank empire’?” you asked dryly.

Draco ignored you. “I’ve installed anti-prank wards across the office. Invisible, advanced, and regulated by magical law. Any trickery, and-” He paused, then pulled out a little red orb from his pocket. “This detonates.”

You blinked. “Detonates?”

Blaise, walking in with a latte, frowned. “Like…explodes?”

“No,” Draco sniffed. “It alerts me.”

Mattheo tapped the orb lightly. “So it yells at us?”

Draco bristled. “It’s an alert system!”

“Right,” Mattheo said, turning to you with a glimmer in his eye. “Definitely not a glittery magical snitch.”

Enzo reached for the orb. “If I charm this thing to meow every time it goes off, does that count as sabotage or improvement?”

“Touch it and I hex your eyebrows off,” Draco snapped.

Mattheo, still watching you, leaned in close enough for your shoulders to brush. “Let me guess,” he murmured, voice low and sweet, “you’ve got a better plan already.”

Your cheeks warmed. “You think I don’t?”

“Oh, I know you do,” he said, eyes flickering to your mouth for just a second too long. “The real question is… do I get to help?”

Your breath caught slightly. The way he looked at you - like he already knew the answer - made it hard to remember why you hadn’t crossed that line yet.

Thankfully - or unfortunately - Enzo spoke up.

“Or,” he said casually, “you two could just go on a date already and stop setting the building on fire with your eye contact.”

Mattheo didn’t even flinch. He just turned back to him, still smiling. “What do you think the glitter bombs were? Foreplay?”

Draco sputtered.

Blaise nearly dropped his latte.

You blinked at Mattheo, somewhere between mortified and impressed.

He arched a brow at you. “Too much?”

You shook your head slowly. “Only slightly.”

There was a pause, and then-

BANG.

The red orb Draco had been holding suddenly burst into shimmering purple mist. It clung to him like fog, swirling and hissing, before erupting into a chorus of cats meowing furiously.

Enzo blinked. “Okay, so maybe I touched it a little.”

Draco screamed something about betrayal and stormed out, the orb still meowing behind him like a haunted nursery rhyme.

Mattheo turned to you again, grinning.

“So,” he said. “Lunch break prank planning?”

You smiled, eyes lingering on him longer than you meant to. “Only if you buy me a muffin first.”

He offered you his arm like it was an inside joke. “For you, anything.”

[moesthoughts]

roommate ! natalie scatorccio

your roommate is the hottest girl you’ve ever met, all you do is talk about her with your friends. Unfortunately, word gets back to her.

pairing ➥ natalie scatorccio x fem reader

warnings ➥ fingering r! giving, cunnilingus r! receiving, dirty talk, fwb, college au, no crash au, switch! reader and nat, semi public sex

Starting your freshman year at college, probably the most eventful thing in your life. All the packing, wondering why high school went so fast, commitment, adulthood.. It’s scary. Meeting your roommate was even more anxiety inducing, especially since you looked a total mess after driving about 3 hours with a packed car that you weren’t able to even keep there since you’re a freshman.

You were tired, your mascara smudged, an outfit you put together within 3 minutes, unpacking your bags. You got there pretty early, so you weren’t expecting your roommate to show up anytime soon. Your head perked up once you heard heavy footsteps enter the room, your first thought was that your mom forgot the keys or something. Instead, your eyes laid on a gorgeous bleach blonde girl, sunglasses covering her eyes, a dark shade of lipstick on, and the coolest outfit you’ve ever seen. Your jaw practically hit the floor as you stared at her in awe.

“Hello to you too.”

She said, a small smirk curling on her lips. You instantly became embarrassed, and looked back to your box, definitely not the most friendly thing you could’ve done, but it didn’t seem like she cared all that much. You listened as her footsteps echoed behind you to her side of the room.

As you unpacked, you slowly started to hype yourself up to talk to your roommate. You kept telling yourself that you would speak to her after you at least finished unpacking everything. And you did, you placed your last item onto your bed and quickly turned around, confident enough to greet her.

“Hey, I’m sorry for earlier, It’s just so early I didn’t even realize I wasn’t speaking.”

You said, introducing yourself after you apologize. The girl looked up at you, her eyes scanning your figure. You thought about retreating back to your side of the room, forgetting about this interaction all together, until she stood up and offered you her hand.

“I’m Nat, nice to meet you.”

Ever since then you’ve developed a small liking for her. The way she dresses, how she purses her lips while focusing on something, how talkative she can be, you don’t realize how head over heels you are for this woman. Also within that time, you’ve been making friends who Nat introduced to you, Jackie Taylor and Van Palmer, you learned that they’ve known each other since highschool.

Overtime you warm up to them all, and your feelings for Nat deepen. You confide in Jackie and Van, rambling about how much she’s on your mind.

“I mean, she’s just.. so attractive and nice— and she’s my roommate?? I can’t escape it.”

You never pick up on the knowing look the both of them exchange, nonetheless they listen. They give you advice, nag you to just tell her already.

“Jesus, If you don’t tell her, we will.”

Is a joke Van always makes when you ramble, you never took it seriously until it came back to bite you.

It’s almost 1 am, the bass of the music drumming against your ears. Jackie invited you and Nat to a party at her sorority, it feels like a club more than a simple party though. You take the opportunity to get as drunk as you can, forgetting about those pesky assignments that always take away your free time. You’re stumbling around, laughing with random people you meet, and enjoying the music.

As you wander around the house, you bump into Nat, making her drink spill all over you. You pause for second, looking at your white tank top, stained with the spiked punch.

“Shit— Sorry.”

Nat mutters out before realizing who you are, the person who she was previously searching for. After hearing from Van that you have the hots for her, she needed to test out the theory, see if it’s true after all.

“Nat! It’s okayy, I don’t care. Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

You’re obviously very drunk, which makes her smile. She doesn’t want you to walk around with a dirty shirt, so she grabs your wrist and drags you towards a bathroom near by.

“Cmon, let’s clean you up.”

You both reach the bathroom and she closes the door, clicking the lock shut. Your eyes follow her while she grabs a towel and soaks it, dabbing it on the stained part of your shirt. Her hand placement makes your heart skip a beat, her fingers curl around your waist, her other hand is working on cleaning you up the best she can, the towel sometimes tapping against your boobs.

“Did you offer to do this so you could touch me?”

The alcohol finally gives you the confidence you need, your hand wraps around her wrist with the towel, a smirk pulls at your lips. Nat scoffs, and looks at you with a knowing expression. She leans in closer to you, the eye contact driving you both up the walls.

“That reminds me, I was told you’re into me. That true?”

Your stomach does flips, goddamn it Van. You don’t let her confronting you make you back out though, instead your eyes flicker down to her lips and back to her eyes. You close the gap in between you both, eliciting a gasp from Nat, and the towel in her hand falls to the side. You can taste the alcoholic punch on her lips as she deepens the kiss, pressing you against the counter. Hesitantly, your hand slips under the hem of her skirt, you press your finger into her clit, making her whimper against your mouth. You tease her, only softly touching her wetness. She whines, wanting more friction, more than what you’re giving her.

“Fuck.. please.”

She whispers, rolling her hips into your fingers. You get to work, rolling her clit. Your mouth latches onto her neck, sucking at the sensitive skin. Nat’s grip on your hips become tighter, she lets out the quietest of noises. You can’t believe you have Natalie Scatorccio folding at your touch, whimpering in your ear to continue. You’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks, finally you have her all to yourself, at least for now.

Your fingers penetrate her, moving at an agonizingly slow pace. You want a reaction out of her, and you get what you desire. Her legs are shaking, muttering about how much a tease you’re being. You move your fingers faster once you’re satisfied. She lets out a soft moan, catching your lips with hers. You groan into her lips curling your fingers in just the right places that send her to cloud nine.

“Yes.. right there.”

Nat babbles into your lips, and she pulls you towards her, wanting more of you. You’re already so wet and you aren’t even the one receiving, you squeeze your thighs together. After a few more minutes of you working an orgasm out of her, she cums around your fingers. a string of swears falls out her mouth while she slumps on your shoulder. You recall your fingers and clean them off with your tongue. The experience sobers you up a little, and you come back to the reality that this isn’t your bathroom, and that you both are at a public party. You slowly worm your way out of her grasp and head for the door.

“There’s so much we need to talk about— but maybe later? We are still in public—“

Nat grabs your arm and drags you back over to the counter, she pushes your hips against it.

“Not yet.”

She leans into you to whisper in your ear, you let out a shaky breath as she kneels down in front of you. She trails kisses down your stomach, each one leaving a mark to match the mess of lipstick on your face. She stops when she gets to the top of your short shorts. You look so hot, it’s all that goes through her mind. While you both got ready before the party she was checking you out, the shorts you’re wearing make your ass look amazing. Slowly, teasingly, she unbuttons your shorts, unzipping them, purposefully grazing your panty line with her knuckles. You shiver under her touch, you can’t help but buck your hips into her touch. She hums and pushes your hips back against the counter. You whine, needy and desperate.

After what feels like hours, she slides your shorts down to your feet. She kisses your clothed cunt, drinking in the gasp you let out. You realize she’s giving you the same treatment you gave her, teasing you, being painfully slow with her actions. You grip the counter and try not to roll your hips into her touch. She dips her fingers under your underwear and slides them down as well, she curses under her breath once she’s met with your glistening cunt.

“Shit.. You’re so wet..”

Nat can’t hold herself back anymore, she dives right in, her tongue circling your bundle of nerves affectively making you moan. Her nails dig into your thighs as she eagerly tastes more of you, her tongue exploring your wetness. She lets you grind your hips into her tongue, she groans into your pussy, the vibrations making your head fall back against the mirror. While her tongue laps your clit, her fingers enter you, instantly taking a fast pace. Every time you make a noise you swear she goes faster, causing you to fall apart around her.

“You’re so hot..”

Nat mumbles, her words shaking you to your core. All of a sudden she hits your sweet spot, and you can’t hold back anymore, you finish. She rides out your high before withdrawing her fingers, licking them clean the same way you did. She goes back to lap your juices, you whine due to your sensitivity. She helps you get dressed, composed, with a quick kiss she leaves you alone, whispering about how she’ll see you when you’re back home. You don’t know what just happened, but you definitely aren’t drunk anymore.

this idea has been haunting me i needed to write it out.. ALSO TY FOR 500!!

req me!

masterlist

[annwe24]

SPOILED SUMMER

simon riley x reader

student life doesn't suit you well. simon is here to scratch that itch. not that it helps.

cw: eating disorder (very little), age gap, mention of stalking, excuse my bad english :(

You are a darling. 

Not the kind that makes heads sway nor have your name on top of the class list. The kind that gives back spotless reports every month to your parents, good enough to make decent friends, never goes past your curfew, head down, silent. 

But not silent enough.

Your mother doesn’t know her sweet fawn curses and thrashes, items haphazardly thrown in a fit of anger, the secretive jerk of the hand, nails digging painfully when your father tells your mother to wash the dish, iron his shirt. A poor attempt to drown the repressed rage. Itching and suffocating. That is where the problem lies: too much trust. So much so that when she sent you off to half a country away, all sad and wrinkled smile, the only reminder you got was to get enough rest and call the family back.

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Ultimately, you’ve reached a point in your life that you have to ask: “Is this how I live the rest of my life?” One meal a day, never slack off in class, never bother to drink. Clutching the dress in your hand, voices overlapping one another in your head, telling you to get past it, do something for once good grief. The dam finally broke. With a heavy heart and makeup, that night, you finally end up in a corner of a dingy bar with your friends, hyper aware of how tight your grip is on the glass, almost as tight as your smile, praying tomorrow you won’t wake up to a strange bed and an equally strange face when the alcohol does its thing. After all, your parents and you didn’t work hard to finally earn that scholarship, flew half the world away, only for you to hit different kinds of low. 

Well, shit.

The only thing that you manage to learn and memorise real good after half a year away from home is how good it feels to have big burly arms wrapped around your waist, puffs of hot breathes on your neck, the satisfying scratch of stubble on the side of your cheek, never this gentle, never this bare. You should be freaking out, make a call, speed away. Instead, you find yourself sinking deeper to the pillows beneath, digging your cold toes into his warm thighs and biting the inside of your lips. Silent. You feel like if he wakes up, somehow, the very bed you are on would dissipate and you’re back to your cramped bedroom, a rude and blunt end of a dream. 

Eventually, he does wake up. The only way you know that is because of the rumble of his chest on your back followed by a guttural grunt into your neck like a bear getting up from hibernation, and you still refuse to look at him, acknowledge your own doing. Contrary to your belief, the bed did not collapse. All you get is this confusingly long stare of his boring into your face before finally muttering a “mornin ’.” and disappearing into the bathroom. The nonchalance of it all is eating at you alive. It comes as natural as waking up to your husband and not this military guy you were too eager to trail your hands over his tattooed biceps last night in a hot stuffy bar.

Too eager, both of you.

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“What else did he say?”

You frustratingly press the phone closer to your ear if that is even possible by now. The cooling fan did little to sooth the humid summer heat. 

“Nothing much. Kept askin’ for your number.”

You only answer with a thoughtful hum, pretending to be unaffected when there’s nothing you want to do more than right now is to shove your damn address into his old phone. Poor thing. You wonder if his contact list is long enough to make a swipe down, how your name would look like written in it. Would he stay up at night, in his bed, exhausted after work, trying to fight off sleep and typing in your name on a random app, hopefully catching a glimpse of the forbidden fruit. Down bad like how you like it. 

“Think you’ll come see him after summer break?”

There it is. The question you have been asking yourself even when stepping into the airport. Toss a bone and run maybe.

“You think I should?”

“Honestly, I was about to pity the guy whenever I went there for a drink. He always asks the same thing. Phone number, which university, stuff like that.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so worked up that morning, you would have noticed the empty paper coffee cup from the shop you work part-time perched proudly on the coffee table. 

[oneinnocentprincess]

"I do treat them like people." She said in agreement, something she was passionate about and stood by. "I'm just not...used to things like this. I was hardly ever needed for council meetings back home prior to the engagement...then suddenly I was meeting with them multiple times a day." It was exhausting, she did not understand how he still had energy now after meeting with them.

Eleanor glanced down at her hand, watching his gentle movement on her. The one positive to this all was that it was easy talking to him, that he did not act like other kings she's met in the past. The warnings she's heard from wives, the toll of being a king's wife...none of that really seemed to happen here. She was allowed to be vulnerable around him and tell him her dislikes. "I do not believe my make up being ruined is a good look." She said matter of fact.

"Really?" She lit up at his offer, the concept of bringing something similar to her study at home here did give her a sense of comfort. "Are you sure no one will get upset if I completely gut out a room?" Not everything, but most things would likely need to be taken out of whatever room. The walls would most definitely need to be painted and while the flooring she would prefer to be changed...she could settle with covering in rug designs she's far more familiar with. Already in her head she was mapping out what items would do best in a room like that.

"I still cannot believe that is a thing." Her mind lingered on the concept just because how absurd it sounded to her. She tried to picture last night but then add in the element of an audience. How could anyone do that? "Thank goodness." Eleanor said with a small smile regarding his comment of the banquets.

Oscar listened, his expression steady as she worried aloud about earning the council’s respect. “Authority isn’t about volume,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “I raise my voice in council because half of them are half‑deaf and three‑quarters stubborn, not because it wins loyalty. They’ll respect you because you ask the right questions and treat them like people, not pawns. If anyone needs reminding, that’s my job, not yours.”

At her self‑deprecating crack about “caring makes me cry,” he reached across the small table and brushed a thumb lightly over her wrist. “I’m not lying, Eleanor. Caring is dangerous—for rulers who fake it. When it’s real, people notice. Tears included.” He gave a faint smile. “Besides, the dishevelled look rather suits you; it proves you’re human in a hall full of polished masks.”

He let her reminisce about her old study without interruption, then offered a practical bridge. “Choose a room here and make it yours. We’ll bring in your trunks, your fiction, the little things that smell like home. Call it a study or a refuge—whatever you need. The castle shouldn’t feel borrowed.”

Her horror at the idea of an artist in the bedroom drew a quiet laugh. “Agreed—no audience, no portraits.” He held her gaze, tone still light but sincere. “We keep the doors shut, the ropes optional, and any ‘art’ stays in our heads. Privacy first, curiosity second.” He took a sip of wine, eyes warm over the rim. “As for banquets, we’ll survive them together—and escape early when boredom strikes.”

[whitecompri]

This is another request of sorts but can we get the Triple S boys and scourge that have sons rather than daughters with the reader? a more interesting dynamic if they had sons, Playfighting and stuff

Like Father Like Son

Pairing: Sonic x Reader; Shadow x Reader; Silver x Reader; Scourge x Reader

Genre: Fluff, comedy

Rating: G (General Audience)

Warnings: None

A/N: Thank you for the request! It was really fun to imagine them with sons instead of daughters. I can't even express how much I simply love writing scenarios like this, it always warms my heart. I hope you like it!

Sonic

It was still quite early, and the sound of mischievous laughter filled the backyard. The little hedgehog walked by carrying a box that looked much bigger than him, placing it on the green lawn of the garden.

“Check this out, Dad, I found more stuff we can use.” The little one’s green eyes looked up, spotting Sonic, who just chuckled and reached out to ruffle the spikes on the boy’s head.

“Nice one, kid, we’re gonna build the best racetrack right here.”

“Then I’ll beat you!” the little one smiled, showing the gap from a recently lost baby tooth.

“You’ll have to be faster than me!” Sonic winked at him, crouching by the box, grabbing some cloths, and in the blink of an eye, vanishing from his son's sight, leaving behind only a trail of blue blur.

Grunting, the little hedgehog grabbed more items from the box and dashed after his father, leaving a small blur in his path.

He stopped right next to Sonic, his eyes widening at what he had made.

“Dad... is that a loop made of slides?!” The young one’s jaw dropped, staring at the improvised and probably not-so-safe construction of three kids’ slides glued together with wood, nails, and tape, forming a small loop.

“Well, I tried at least. A bit of adrenaline is always welcome.” Sonic crossed his arms, his green eyes scanning his son for a minute before a mischievous smile crept up his lips. “Son... race to the starting line!”

Without giving the little one time to reply, Sonic had already vanished again, leaving only the blur behind.

“Hey! That’s cheating, Dad!” he yelled, but quickly ran too, determined to make it on time, stopping beside his father. “I’m gonna tell Mom you’re cheating.” He said with a pout.

“The backyard’s neutral territory, kiddo. Your mom can’t hit me here... and it wasn’t cheating... just a little dad advantage.” Sonic laughed, placing a hand on his waist.

“We’ll see then. I’m gonna win this time...” The little one turned to face the improvised track they had built. It was a track mainly made of wood, with various objects found hidden in the attic and around the house, forming the perfect race path—though not exactly the safest.

“Whoever loses has to take the trash out for a week...” Sonic muttered, stretching to get ready.

“I’m in... I’ll even throw twice as much trash just to give you more work...” The little one teased his dad, quickly stretching, hopping in place, then getting into starting position.

“Alright, kid...” Sonic mirrored the stance. “On three... One...” The countdown had barely begun, and Sonic felt the familiar breeze of something supersonic breaking the sound barrier, seeing only the small blue streak left behind as his son had already started. “Clever, trying to beat your old man with dirty tricks, huh?” Sonic laughed, dashing off after him, catching up to the little one quickly.

“If you can do it... I can too...” He jumped over an obstacle, landing hard on one of the planks, causing part of the track to collapse behind him. Sonic barely managed to jump over the broken wood, gasping, curling into a ball, and chasing his son with a Spin Dash.

The little one looked back, eyes wide, then grunted seeing Sonic right behind him.

“Give up, Dad!” he shouted, speeding through the loop made of slides. Then, he stepped on a plank and launched himself upward. Sonic exited the Spin Dash, running normally again, a proud smile spreading across his face as he saw his son, happy and full of challenge.

However, his eyes widened when he heard the wood of the track cracking, looking ahead—the exact spot where the boy would land was completely shattered after all the chaos of the race.

With a determined look, he boosted forward, using a chair to launch himself upward, catching the little hedgehog who let out a small yelp of surprise as he was grabbed.

Landing safely on the lawn with his son in his arms, the two fell on their backs and stayed there.

Then, Sonic started laughing, a content smile on his muzzle.

“What are you laughing at?...” the little one asked, panting.

“Nothing, nothing, kid...” Sonic propped himself on his elbow, looking to the side at the little one. “You did great, but you’ve still got a long way to beat your old man.”

The little one just sighed.

“I would’ve won... But... Thanks for saving me, Dad... I think I would’ve had more splinters than quills if it weren’t for you...” He gave a small smile.

Sonic nudged him with his elbow, and the two sat up.

“But when I grow up... I’ll be faster than you!” the little one said with a determined look, clenching his fists.

“Ha! You bet...” Sonic affectionately ran a hand over his son’s head. “And when you do, I’ll be your number one fan...”

The two stayed there for several moments, just laughing and enjoying that father-son moment. That’s when, in front of them, a loud crash made both look up, startled, as the racetrack they’d built in the huge backyard began to collapse—wood cracking, metal clanking, and within seconds, only a cloud of dust and debris remained.

“...Can we ask Uncle Tails to build the track next time...?” the little one asked quietly.

“Definitely...” Sonic said, scratching his neck.

The back door creaked open, and you peeked out curiously, narrowing your eyes. You’d been hearing suspicious noises for a while, but after that huge crash, you had no choice but to come see what the two were up to—only to find a war zone with two very similar blue hedgehogs sitting in the middle of it all.

Their ears, almost in sync, turned back at the sound of the door opening and your approaching footsteps. Slowly, their frightened faces turned, two pairs of green eyes staring at you in fear.

“...What were you two doing out here?” you said threateningly.

They stood there frozen, sweating cold, not knowing what to say to justify the mess.

“It was Dad’s idea!” the little one pointed at Sonic, then vanished in the blink of an eye, dashing into the fields.

Your eyes followed the blue streak, then slowly turned back to Sonic, seeing his dumbfounded face and wide eyes, staring at where his son had just been.

“So? Wanna start explaining?” Sonic scratched his neck, gave a nervous laugh, then quickly ran up to you, pressing his muzzle to your face and stealing a quick kiss.

“I promise I’ll clean it all up and make it up to you later!” Then he vanished as well, the wind from his sprint ruffling your clothes.

Crossing your arms, you sighed exasperatedly, but couldn’t help the nasal chuckle that escaped. You really didn’t know what you were going to do with those two.

Shadow

The cold breeze gently stirred his black fur, the hedgehog’s ears twitching side to side, catching all kinds of sounds—mostly the constant chirping of crickets.

That’s when he picked up a sound—a small twig snapping, then the rustle of tall grass. Shadow’s closed eyes opened slowly, his red irises scanning the surroundings.

He didn’t see anything, but he knew someone was there.

Then, an electric sound—and a golden, glowing arrow was launched from the bushes. Shadow just tilted his head slightly, the energy arrow cutting through one of his quills in half and disappearing in the air behind him.

The black hedgehog was enveloped in energy and suddenly vanished from where he stood, reappearing right behind the figure hidden in the grass. The small one let out a surprised yelp, falling backward into the soft grass.

“...Still not good enough... You make too much noise.” Shadow crossed his arms.

The small black hedgehog with red streaks stared into his father’s crimson eyes, letting out a low ‘hmph.’

“You hear too much...” The little one crossed his arms, adopting an impassive expression, even while sitting in the grass.

“The goal here is to train your stealth... You can be sure enemies will hear a lot better than I do...” Shadow sighed, sitting down on the grass as well.

The little one’s eyes shifted, focusing on the window of the house.

“...My power’s still unstable... I can’t focus my Chaos Spears...” he whispered.

“Practice... you’ll get it with time...” Shadow’s hand moved to his own head, grabbing one of his quills. He winced slightly as he pulled it out, handing it to his son.

The quill was split in half, slightly burnt by the energy that had caused the damage.

“See? It was close...” The little one held his father’s quill, his eyes widening.

“...I almost hit?” he said softly, jaw dropped.

"...Yeah." Shadow confirmed.

"B-but... Dad, now that I think about it... if I had hit you... Would it have hurt a lot? I still don’t have control over my power..."

Shadow placed his hand gently on the boy’s head in a comforting way.

"I’ve been through worse... We’re here so you can learn."

The little one grunted, looking away, grabbing tightly onto his father’s quill.

"I can dodge, no need to worry about hitting me, just focus on stealth." The black hedgehog smoothed his son’s quills.

"...Okay..." The young one looked at his father, now with a more determined expression.

"Come on, one more time, watch how I do it..." They both stood up, the little one watching intently, eyes fixed on each of the father’s movements.

Shadow picked up some nearby stones from the ground, tossing three into the air. He made a motion with his hands, launching three quick Chaos Spears. The attacks flew with electric sounds, hitting their targets with precision and turning the little stones into dust.

Shadow’s gaze turned to his son, pride filling his heart as he saw the little one so impressed by his powers.

"Did you watch closely? Now it’s your turn..." The hedgehog picked up a slightly larger stone. "Ready?"

The little one clenched his fists, his face showing determination as he nodded firmly.

Then, Shadow threw the stone into the air, waiting for his son’s attack.

The little one stepped back a few paces, trying to calculate the attack’s trajectory. He panted, then made a motion with his hand, launching a single Chaos Spear.

The attack flew quickly in a straight path toward the target.

However, just a few centimeters from hitting the stone, the yellow strike veered off course suddenly, heading straight toward a nearby power transformer on a street pole, causing a small explosion that still shook the ground.

The two hedgehogs, wide-eyed, watched the scene, the explosion’s glow lighting up their faces as all the streetlights and house lights in the neighborhood began to go out one by one.

"...Dad?" the boy said uncertainly.

"That happens... could’ve been worse." Shadow crossed his arms, when suddenly both of their ears turned toward the house door, hearing it creak open.

"...Did you hear that?" the hedgehog whispered to his son, closing his eyes.

"Yeah... I think my hearing is good too..." The little one took hesitant steps, hiding behind his father.

Shadow turned to him, revealing a yellow Chaos Emerald, placing it in the boy’s hands. Around them, in the once-quiet neighborhood, they could already hear the sounds of curious Mobians and approaching sirens.

"...I have a new challenge for you, son..." Opening his eyes, he looked at the boy now holding the Chaos Emerald. "Get inside the house without your mom seeing you and lie in bed to sleep." He said quietly.

"...Alright." The little one nodded, holding the yellow gem tightly in his hands. Then, he took a deep breath. "...Chaos Control!..." he whispered as softly as he could, being enveloped in a flash of energy, disappearing from beside Shadow.

You fully opened the door, wrapped in your pajamas, looking around the spacious yard. Seeing the glow, your eyes widened upon spotting the street pole with the transformer on fire.

Taking a few more steps through the dimly lit yard, your eyes focused on the figure of Shadow, standing with arms crossed, also watching the flames.

"I was looking for you... I was going to ask why we lost power, but I think I figured it out."

Shadow just let out a hum of acknowledgment, indicating he heard you.

You stopped beside him, looking at his expression—impassive but soft—he uncrossed his arms, wrapping one around your waist, pulling you closer.

"By the way... What are you doing out here at one in the morning?" You asked, giving him a suspicious look.

"...Just training."

You raised an eyebrow at him.

"And our son...?" You asked, discreetly looking around to see if the little one was nearby.

"Sleeping in his room like he should be..."

"Right... And what happened here?" You pointed at the transformer, seeing him quickly look away, the pieces starting to fall into place.

"A Chaos Spear went wrong..."

"I see... I suppose it wasn’t you who launched such a misfired Chaos Spear, huh?" You asked, chuckling, already well aware of your son’s lack of aim when using his abilities.

Shadow simply remained silent.

"Relax, love, you two aren’t in trouble... At least not as long as you keep it a secret that you destroyed the street transformer..." You nudged him with your elbow, making him raise an eyebrow this time. "Just... just try not to keep him up too late, and be careful not to hurt him when you’re training..." Your voice softened this time. Standing on your tiptoes, you kissed his cheek.

Then, you stepped away from him, walking back into the house while yawning, content that Shadow was so dedicated to training your son.

The hedgehog watched your figure disappear into the house. Then, he sighed, a discreet little smile curling at the corner of his mouth, filled with deep contentment for the family he now had.

Silver

The room was silent, the orange light of the setting sun shining through the half-open windows. In the center of the room, Silver sat cross-legged on the rug, his hands palm-up, eyes closed.

Right in front of him, the little white-furred hedgehog opened one eye slightly, the golden iris watching his father, trying to make sure he looked exactly the same.

"...Now, take a deep breath... Concentrate..." Silver said softly.

The little one nodded, filling his lungs with air, imitating his father, then gently exhaled, trying his hardest to maintain focus.

"Great... channel your energy, calmly." Silver began to be surrounded by a light blue aura.

The little one followed, a slightly weaker aura forming around him. He closed his eyes tightly, forcing his concentration, clenching his teeth and trembling a bit to try to control it.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open, no longer feeling the rug beneath him. He had begun to levitate—but without any control. He flailed his arms, trying to regain balance, but without success, he felt his body turning upside down.

"...Dad...!" he called out, exasperated.

Silver immediately opened his eyes, widening them at the sight of his son floating upside down.

"Look, you did it... Not the way we expected, but it’s a start!" he said cheerfully, levitating over to the little hedgehog, holding him in his arms and righting him in the air.

"Thanks, Dad..." he sighed in relief. "It’s harder than it looks..." His hands clung to Silver’s fur, afraid he’d start floating out of control again.

"You’ll get the hang of it... Come, I’ll help you keep your balance." Silver started guiding his son around, floating through the air. The little one panted softly, trying to keep control of his powers.

"It's making me dizzy..." he said quietly.

"Want to come down?" Silver asked, and the little one nodded.

However, as they began to descend, for a second, the hedgehog let go of the boy, causing him to lose balance a little. But instead of falling, the scare made his powers surge slightly, enveloping him in a stronger aura for a moment.

Silver’s eyes widened, and he moved slightly back as several toys, clothes, and objects began levitating around the boy.

"Whoa, whoa! Easy with those powers." Silver said, dodging the floating items.

The little one was upside down again, but this time, he laughed.

"Dad, that was fun, I could feel the power flowing!" He looked at his hands, clenching his fists, feeling the telekinesis.

"I’m impressed, you managed to lift a lot of stuff at once. You’re not feeling tired?" Silver stopped next to him, helping him upright in the air again.

"Nah, the opposite, actually..." He focused on one object, bringing it closer, making the toy spin around his finger. With a mischievous grin, he aimed and threw the object at Silver.

The hedgehog easily stopped the toy using his own power, smiling playfully in return.

"Trying to catch your father off guard, huh..." The hedgehog chuckled, levitating a pillow, making a hand motion and hurling it at the boy, who couldn’t dodge or stop it in time.

He gasped when the pillow hit him, then laughed right after, a look of joy in his golden eyes.

"...Was that a challenge?"

"Maybe. Let’s test your powers." Silver said, lifting some clothes. "Let’s just avoid injuries, or your mom will kill me..."

"Got it..." The little one smiled, levitating some stuffed animals.

A small battle broke out in the room at that moment, with objects flying and scattering in every direction. The space was filled with cheerful laughter and the sound of things hitting one another.

In no time, the relatively tidy room was completely messy, almost turned upside down, looking like a tornado had passed through.

In the center, the two hedgehogs were still going at it.

"I'm winning by the amount of stuff thrown..." the little one said challengingly, tossing three more plushies, which were easily dodged or stopped by Silver.

"Victory goes to whoever lands the most hits!" he said, throwing the plushies back and hitting his son, who gasped with laughter. "I've had to use my telekinesis to fight things way more dangerous than my own son." Silver laughed.

"I bet... But I'm not gonna lose." He prepared to launch more plushies, but suddenly stopped when he heard your voice calling from downstairs.

"Boys, what are you two up to up there?" Your words came out a little muffled, but perfectly understandable.

The two hedgehogs froze in place, finally realizing the chaotic scene the room had become. They exchanged fearful glances, their ears drooping as they heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Speed-cleaning competition?" Silver whispered.

"You bet..." the little one quickly nodded.

The two landed on the floor, placing the floating objects back down as well, beginning to use their powers to gather all the mess and organize it. Putting the clothes in the dirty laundry basket, the plushies back on the shelf, and the pillows back on the bed.

Silver stood beside the bed, running his hand over the sheet, making sure there were no wrinkles or signs that a telekinetic war had just taken place.

When you opened the bedroom door, you narrowed your eyes, scanning the room for any clues that indicated the mess they had made, but you only saw the two hedgehogs sitting on the rug, exactly how they were some time ago.

However, both of them had suspicious expressions, avoiding eye contact and fidgeting with the rug’s fabric.

"You were up to something, weren't you?" Crossing your arms, you stared at them.

"No! Not at all." Silver waved his hands, trying to dismiss the question.

"Yeah... We didn’t do anything..." the little one still avoided eye contact, fidgeting his fingers impatiently.

Looking around the room again, you let out a nasal chuckle.

"Well... As long as you can fix the mess before I see it, like you just did, I don’t see a problem... Have fun." You turned around, closing the door behind you.

The two sighed in relief the moment you closed the door.

"That was close..." Silver scratched his neck.

"Yeah..."

"Well, next time, we’ll play somewhere that’s not your room..." Silver placed his hand on his son's head, gently ruffling it.

"I like that idea... there's that tennis court nearby, we could use the tennis balls, right?" the little one suggested, leaning into his father’s touch.

"Good one, kiddo, we’re definitely going there." Silver smiled happily. "Come on... let’s get something to eat, you must be tired." Standing up, he helped the little one up too, both leaving the room cheerfully, eager to spend more time in these friendly competitions.

Scourge

It was early morning, the first rays of sunlight were already coming through the window. Scourge walked slowly down the hallway of the house, entering the kitchen. He yawned loudly, his eyes still half-closed from just waking up.

He wasn't wearing his jacket or his signature sunglasses yet. He scratched his neck, running a hand through his messy quills, trying to fix them.

Stopping in front of the kitchen counter, he grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured himself some coffee. He began sipping it slowly, looking for a bit of caffeine to wake himself up.

But he had barely made it halfway through the mug when he grunted, feeling a solid hit to his side just below the ribs.

He recoiled, placing a hand on his side, looking over to scan—and raising an eyebrow when he saw the little green hedgehog, with sky-blue eyes just like his.

"What the hell...?" Scourge asked impassively.

"Time for our daily throwdown, Dad! I'm provin’ I’m the tougher one!" He clenched his fist, growling and going all in for another punch at his father. Scourge easily caught the little fist with his larger hand, holding the boy’s hand firmly.

"Seven in the damn mornin’? Ya kiddin’ me, kid?" The little one tried to dig his tiny claws into his dad’s arm to make him let go. But it didn’t even tickle Scourge.

"I was catchin’ ya off guard, old man!" He bit his dad’s arm, but again, to no effect.

Letting out a nasal laugh, the green hedgehog released his son’s arm, bent down, wrapped his arms around him and lifted him up. The boy’s arms instinctively went around his father's neck, growling softly despite his clearly flushed face.

"Cool it, kid, or I’ll show ya who the real old man is ‘round here." Holding his son in his arms, he picked up the mug with his free hand, taking a sip of coffee. "Want a cookie?" he asked the child, in a softer voice than he intended. He saw the boy nod.

Grabbing the cookie jar and opening it, he brought it close to his son, watching the tiny hand let go of his neck and reach into the jar, grabbing a cookie and putting it in his mouth.

"Heh… ya somethin’ else, y’know that? Kinda adorable." Scourge chuckled.

"…Shuddup…" he muttered, clinging tighter to his father's fur.

Both their ears twitched toward the kitchen door as they heard footsteps approaching, their blue eyes scanning until they saw you enter, rubbing your eyes.

"Good morning, boys..." you murmured, passing by the two and grabbing your own mug.

"Mom!" the little one practically jumped from his father’s arms, running over and hugging your legs. Kneeling, you picked him up too.

"Hm? What’s the problem? Stay in your dad’s arms..." You smiled at the boy, smoothing out his messy green quills.

"…Gotta beat Dad in a fight… no matter what…" Scourge raised an eyebrow, a playful smile spreading across his face.

"Beat me, huh? Kid, ya can’t even reach the damn cookie shelf!" The green hedgehog laughed, heading to the sink to wash his mug.

The little one growled again, now jumping from your arms and charging at Scourge with clenched fists, ready to throw another punch. The hedgehog laughed, easily dodging the first hit and blocking the second.

"Cool it, hothead… damn, ya really are my kid, huh?" Scourge laughed again, dodging yet another punch from the kid. "Yo, those tiny fists’a yours actually sting a bit, ya know?" He turned to you. "Hey, gimme a hand, would ya? Your kid’s tryna knock me out here."

"You’re the one who encouraged him to be like this, now deal with it." You said quietly, watching the little one charge again. Scourge wrapped his arms around him, lifting him up.

"Admit ya lost, Dad!" He squirmed in Scourge’s strong arms.

"Never… But keep swingin’. When ya reach the cookie shelf on your own, then maybe I’ll say ya won…" He laughed again, hugging his son, the little one blushing again and wrapping his arms around his father's neck but refusing to say anything about it.

"Well… at least Mom likes me more…"

"Hold up..." Scourge turned to you. "That true or what?" he asked, indignant.

"I’m not getting into your battle of egos..." Turning around, you went to wash your mug in the sink.

Putting the little one down, Scourge quickly walked up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"C’mon, ya like me more, don’tcha?" Scourge laughed.

"I’m not picking between you two, you both know I love you equally..." You let out an exasperated sigh, but kept washing the mug.

"Dad! Hands off’a her!" the little one said, grabbing his father’s fur to pull him back.

"Back off, runt, she’s been in love with me way before you even existed!" Scourge said, clinging tighter to you.

"Could you two stop this silly jealousy between yourselves?" You turned your head, watching the scene behind you.

"Never!" they said in unison, continuing to cling to you.

The little hedgehog began headbutting Scourge’s leg.

"Feel my quills!" he said, determined.

"You tryna hurt me or give me a freakin’ massage with those fluffy lil’ things?" he teased.

"I’m wanna beat ya!" He used all his strength to try to push his father, but to no avail.

"Yeah? But ya won’t…" The boy only growled. "Hey, tell you what, call it a tie an’ I’ll hook ya up with somethin’ real tasty later…" Scourge said with a grin, releasing your waist and holding his now no-longer-attacking son.

"What kinda snack we talkin’…?" The little one let himself be picked up again.

"The cheesy kind..." He smoothed his son's quills, fixing them.

"Deal..." He leaned into his father’s touch, gently holding his green fur.

"Aight, champ, time for some action flicks on the TV."

"I want one with big explosions ‘n stuff!" the little hedgehog said excitedly.

"You got it, little man."

Your eyes scanned the two disappearing through the living room door, their laughter continuing in there. Shaking your head, you couldn’t help but chuckle. It was amazing how they not only looked so alike, but also shared exactly the same energy.

And even though you had no idea what to do with the two of them, you knew deep down in your heart that you loved them both way too much.

[twstfanblog]

*~Fatherhood Fables~*

A/N: Hello all, and a happy Father's Day! I'm so proud I managed to get this ready in time for the holiday. A special thank you to @bun-lapin for letting me use her lovely OC Hui-Yan because I ship her and Lilia in my canon. This is one of many ways I have to sling shooting my OCs that I've never spoken about at you guys. There's a little info block after the story for any questions you'd have. But also, if you wanna learn more about them, don't hesitate to send in an ask, enjoy! Warnings: Mentions of surgery in Skully's part, Mentions of burn injuries in Rollo's part, Mentions of cannibalism in RiddlexFloyd's part Pairings: YuuxMalleusxAzulxJamil, RiddlexFloyd, TreyxJade, CaterxIdia, AcexDeucexJackxEpel, LeonaxRuggie, VilxRook, SebekxSilver Word Count: 6.2 K (Each ficlet is around 400-500 words)

Riddle x Floyd

Sunday brunches had become a fun weekend tradition in their household. Everyone would sleep in late, have a morning of lazing around in pajamas before heading to a delightful seaside bistro along the boardwalk. The restaurant had a wide range of menu items, though they were most famous for their fresh-caught seafood selection, Floyd and Larimar’s favorite feature of the bistro. But, as Riddle sat across his family in the booth, he felt concerns bubbling up in his mind. While Floyd was eating an almost nauseatingly big seafood platter, Larimar was ripping apart a king crab with his teeth and bare hands.

The five-year-old was deceptively small, Riddle could hold him comfortably for nearly two hours straight, but had a grip strength that could potentially crack bones if he put his mind to it. So, to watch his adopted child snap the spiny shell like a twig wasn’t what worried him. It was the glee and speed that Larimar devoured the meat inside of it.

“...Floyd, should we be encouraging this?”

The Eel-Mer looked up from his plate, chewing absent-mindedly on a fishbone, “Encourage what?” 

“...” Riddle gestured to the side, raising an eyebrow at the sickening crack of shell under tiny hands, “Our child?”

Floyd glances to his right, raising an eyebrow at Larimar dipping crab meat into a bowl of butter, “He’s eating?”

“...” Riddle sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Crab, Floyd. He’s eating crab. Is that…Should he be doing this? Is this not some form of cannibalism?”

“Hmmm…Well…” Floyd takes the moment to place a hand on Larimar’s head, his aggressive hair tussling not slowing the child down from his meal in the slightest, “He’s a coconut crab. He’s already a cannibal.”

…

“What?”

“Ah, are you worried?” Floyd moves his hand, shoving a finger into Larimar’s mouth. The child barely registered the added meat in his maw, chewing on his father’s finger before realizing the different taste. His face pinches, making a loud retching sound, and tilting his head to remove Floyd’s finger.

Floyd held up his hand, the index finger bloody, “See? He doesn’t even like how I taste. Plus, he’s way too small to kill either of us on his own.”

Sighing, Riddle passes his husband a napkin for his bleeding finger, “I can tell you’re trying to calm me and it’s not working.” Riddle wonders if there was a parenting book on raising your child to not be a cannibal…

Trey x Jade

Piping flowers with two small icicles pressed to his ribs had become a skill Trey didn't think he'd develop in his adulthood. Sighing, Trey finished a rose, using his scissors to pluck it from the nail and hold it to the child clinging to him, “One more for me?”

Icsac pulled his face from the fabric of Trey's sweater, dark blue eyes still wet with unshed tears. He blew gently, the fog of air hardening the frosting by chill alone before he tucked his head right back into Trey's side.

The flower joined the other chilled blossoms, tucked in neatly with fresh, unfrozen buttercream and piped leaves. He taps the child on the head, smiling at the nervous face looking up to him, “I gotta put this in the fridge, ok?”

Icsac pouts, but detaches from his side, quickly ducking behind the island to be out of view from the other side.

With another sigh, Trey makes sure the customer's order was safely in the fridge before looking at the others in his kitchen, “Ok. What happened?”

While Icsac ducked lower, Jade remained completely unbothered at his station of stirring the bubbling jam insert. The mer hummed, turning to Trey in question, “What do you mean? Clearly, there wasn't a small mishap of any sort.”

Icsac's head just barely poked over the edge of the island, pointed ears almost drooping, “I…I accidentally killed one of papa's new mushrooms…” The ice fae turned toward Jade, “I said I was sorry…”

Trey raised an eyebrow toward Jade, “He's apologized. You're the adult in this situation.”

“And I believe a proper punishment is to return him to foster care.”

“Jade!” Trey's yell barely overcomes the high-pitched whine of Icsac.

Jade laughed, turning off the stove and moving the pot to the counter, “You two clearly need to learn when I'm joking.”

Trey sighed, letting Icsac cling and cry into his shirt, "I can tell. Icsac is still getting used to you.”

Walking over, Jade knelt to the ground to be more eye level with Icsac, patting the eight-year-old on the shoulder to gain his attention, “I brought you home myself, not to mention forging the proper licensing and paperwork to be listed as your foster parents-”

“Yeah, we should be trying to make that actually legal-”

“-I have no plans on giving you back.” Jade finished off his speech by bringing Icsac closer, pressing a kiss to the sniffling fae's forehead. Standing back up, Jade continued, “Plus, since that mushroom did completely break down after exposure to below freezing temperatures, the seller lied to me.”

Trey sighed, shaking his head before walking across the kitchen, “So that's what you were mad about.”

Jade had bent at his hip, tilting his head in question to his son, “Icsac, what is the internal temperature land mammals start to shut down?”

“32°C.”

“And how cold can you make your ice?”

“Um…-400°C?”

Trey had walked back over, whispering into Jade's ear with a stern expression, “Don't use our son to kill people.”

“Oh, I would never…”

Cater x Idia

Idia drummed his fingers in increasingly complex beat patterns, a nervous tick he had unfortunately picked up in his adult life. Though he knew everything was perfectly fine and safe, he couldn't help but worry over one of his little AI-fants entering a physical body for the first time.

Ortho had spent almost half a year simply designing what he called a ‘new era of robotics’. And Idia had to agree with him, seeing the specs. Nanobot repairing systems, flexible synthetic skin paneling, realistic feet. Ortho had outdone himself in an effort to make his nephew as ‘human-passing’ as possible. And while Apollo would probably never have an arm canon, the 500 million-volt taser was more than enough to make Cater and him feel assured of their child’s safety.

Cater was beside the body, having dressed it in a loose-fitting shirt and shorts combo while Idia and Ortho ran final checks, “Sunshine, why did you want a physical body? I know you said it was for dancing, but you can do that in one of the digital spaces your Papa Idi made for you, cuties.”

Apollo hummed, a tiny sun sprite on the screen hovering around the checklist, “Because~, I wanna learn to dance. Learning stuff is more like uploading here. I wanna have a physical body that has to learn the movements. It'll be that more amazing when I perform!”

Idia laughed under his breath, making sure every system was fully connected before closing out the maintenance tab, “I show you idol groups one time and you’ve been stuck on them ever since. It’s ok to be interested in other things, you know…”

Rolling his eyes, Cater handed Ortho the transfer wire, “Look who's talking. Ortho, all ready?”

With a thumbs up, Ortho winked at the sun sprite on the screen, “On your mark!”

Apollo rushed into the body, the wires connecting it to the main computer flashed in an iridescent sheen before a ‘Download Complete’ message was shown on the screen. The body's hair starts to ignite, off-white strands quickly gaining a reddish hue to match Cater’s hair. Two big eyes blink open, irises turning like a color wheel before they settle on yellow to match Idia.

Sitting up, Apollo looked at his hands and limbs in amazement, “Whoa…everything is…so 3D…”

Apollo was attempting to move off the platform before Ortho could warn him. Both of the height and the fact that he wasn’t properly prepped to try walking unaided yet. Every adult in the room screams when the baby android goes face first into the floor, a small cracking sound being heard on impact.

While Ortho rushes to the computer, pulling up programs to start diagnostics and repair systems, Idia and Cater fret over their child's cracked face plate and nose leaking a pale blood fluid. 

The baby android rubs his face, looking at the fluid in wonder. Apollo’s eyes only seem to glow brighter, realizing just how human his experience was going to be, “This is gonna be awesome!”

Ace x Deuce x Jack x Epel

“Hey! Put him down, don't you try to sway the judge in your favor.” Ace scowled, glaring at Epel from his place on the floor.

Epel glared back, pausing in pressing kisses and raspberries to Russell's cheeks, the baby giggling and squealing over his smallest father’s deadpan voice, “Ah birthed the damn babe, Ah’ll kiss and tickle ‘em as Ah please.”

Ace huffed, pointing to the large round rug he was sitting on the edge of, “You can't get him all primed for play, he'll just crawl to you instead of actually picking! Put him down!”

It was a stupid idea, but dinner wasn't going to be ready for another thirty minutes, so they had time to do stupid things. Russell's first birthday had just passed, their son much bigger than the tiny redheaded baby Epel had cursed and sworn was a demon from the deepest crevices of Tartarus. With four people taking care of him, Ace had been convinced that their son had a clear favorite among his fathers. And what easier way to showcase it than allowing him to pick which he preferred?

Epel and Ace had continued making faces at each other as they argued, Ace stopping short on a sentence to yell and point at someone standing behind Epel.

Turning around, Epel clicked his tongue and glared at a sheepish-looking Jack with a now-empty baby spoon in hand, “‘EY!?”

The beastman shrugged, looking away as Russell made grabby hands toward him, “I just wanted to make sure he still liked mashed potatoes…”

“Of course he does!”

“It's basically the only thing the lil bugger eats now!”

Sabotage aside, the three of them sat — IN EQUAL DISTANCE — from their son in the middle of the carpet. All of them smile at the baby, cooing and making eye-catching hand movements to coax their son to them. The race was tight, Russell moving around the rug to each parent but never within grabbing range for someone to claim victory. 

Ace smiled, elation clear on his face when Russell started to make a beeline for him, “That’s it! Come to daddy!”

Epel frowned, trying to wave Russell toward him, “No! Come to yur mama, baby! Ah fed ya!”

“Epel, that is the literal bare minimum…” Jack spoke, his ears pressed to his head.

But when Russell crawls past Ace, still babbling excitedly, the three look up. Deuce had come home without any of them hearing the front door, already having removed his officer’s jacket, he held a white cake box and scooped a squealing Russell into his free arm. He kisses Russell on the temple, smiling to the group and holding out the tote, “I brought home cake! Why are you all sitting on the rug?”

…

Epel sighed, closing his eyes in what could only be called defeat, “Ah can’t fault his choice…”

“Juice really was the obvious answer to this…”

“We’d all make the same pick…”

Deuce looked at his husbands in confusion, “What are you guys talking about?”

Leona x Ruggie

Leona was sure that if his younger self could see him, he'd mark him a poor imposter and sentence him to death. Because at no point in his adolescence did he ever think he'd be lying under a tree in the backyard of his villa, being accosted by multiple children putting bows in his hair.

But he was, and that was his life. Taking in eight kids who had broken into his and Ruggie's kitchen had now led to over a hundred wayward children in their care. He couldn't complain. It's what he wanted to do in the first place: to offer change and a chance to those who'd never receive one otherwise. With a heavy sigh, he turned his head to watch Ruggie with a different flock of children. Jabari, standing beside him sticking out like a sore thumb as one of only three hyena beastmen in their current care.

The older hyena was kneeling, pointing to budding plants in a garden plot with kids enraptured in his explanation. Ruggie had thought it up only a few weeks ago, wanting the children in their care to know how to supply their own food. The threat of hunger was always on his mind, even after their years together and the literal basement full of provisions.

At a sharp tug, Leona growls, tilting his head away from over-eager hands, “Don't try to brush my dreads. You'll pull all my hair out.”

Sadiki pouts at him, her hyena ears and arms folding after throwing the hairbrush to the ground in frustration. Akili pipes up, tying even more ribbons into his hair that smaller kids hand him while others clip in barrettes.

“You should get rid of them so we can brush your hair again.”

He got them because these brats managed to brush his hair to the point he had an actual mane. He doesn't say that, never wanting to make the little nuisances feel bad. But instead of saying that, he shakes his head, stopping Akili from tying another bright green ribbon in his hair and making the barrettes click and clack against each other. As the younger kids all giggle, he moves to stand up, ignoring their whining.

“Alright, enough of this. I have to make sure you brats have food tomorrow.”

Sadiki stands, gripping onto his pant leg and trying to stop him from leaving the shade of the tree, “We have enough! Play with us!”

“...” Leona scoffs, smirking down at the little girl before bumping her off, making her roll down the hill with a shrill scream, “Says you. The second you don't get a snack, you'll try to run away again.” He watches as the other kids decide rolling their way down is the better idea. He laughs under his breath, walking into the house and leaving the sounds of laughter outside.

Azul

He floated in front of his children, his two beautiful girls with the love of his life, head in his hands. They were too much like their mother, from the weakness they made in his hearts and down to their violent nature. It was supposed to be a quick and easy deal, one so quick and easy that both parties had brought their children along as they discussed the final terms of their contract.

From the quiet atmosphere, there was a sudden scream. He and his client both assumed the children were playing together. Only to realize the scream wasn't full of joy, but was actually a singular child wailing. Instead of finding the children being threatened by a shark or other creature, they found his two perfect girls absolutely throttling the other child. Now the two mer groups were floating apart from each other. His client checking over her still crying child, and him attempting to scold his darlings after having to forcibly pull them off the boy.

“...I don't…I don't even have the words. What in the seven seas were you thinking?”

Scylar had spoken up first, pointing to the whimpering child clinging to his furious mother, “He was bein’ a cunt!”

“Scylar.”

Charysa wasn't far behind, pouting as she pointed toward the other child too, “Mama said we don't take shit from nobody down here!”

“Charysa!?”

Azul glances over his shoulder at the angry woman with her son tucked close to her tail. Turning back to his own treasures, he curled down and whispered harshly, “Now, I would never be one to tell you not to defend yourselves, it’s basic instinct and I’m fully aware of what your mother is like. But, there are two of you and one of him, it was clearly in your favor. I beg you girls to be a bit more covert.”

Charysa whines, her tentacles swaying as she twists in faux nervousness, “But, daddy…he was being mean.”

“Girls-”

Scylar shot forward, leaning over Azul’s shoulder and pointing toward the still whimpering child, “He was trying to pick on us, because he said his mommy picked on you, and it was fine because you were an octotwerp and we’d be no better!”

…

Azul turns. He stared down the now familiar woman, her expression now slightly panicked as she nearly sweat under water, “...Oh? Is that so?”

Jamil

If Jamil were a person who could joke about his childhood, he'd claim he became a father at six. That was when he became aware of the fact that he'd have to be the one who made sure Kalim didn't eat poison off the ground or walk into traffic. But now, in his early twenties, a small person strapped to his chest, Jamil wonders if Kalim was really as bad as he thought he was growing up. Maybe he was simply too small to be taking care of Kalim the way he was.

Because JJ was clingy, clingy to a point he and Yuu were mildly concerned he was some form of colic from how hard he'd cry if he wasn't being held. But, without fail, the second he was in their arms, he'd go quiet. Maybe fussy if he still wanted a bottle. But normally-

A sharp tug to his side bang makes Jamil's thoughts pause, looking down at big matching coal eyes as he gently detangles his son's tiny fingers from his hair, “Yes, my little Viper, can you be helped?”

Jamil had only known JJ for about four months, and he already knows every last one of his son's responses. A pout means he's too hot, and Jamil needs to figure out how to cool him without removing him from his body. His tongue sticking out is hungry. Normally, it was, anyway. Jamil had learned that JJ will do it if caught staring or simply ‘Being a silly’ as Yuu would call it. There was no tell Jamil needed for a diaper change. With his son normally strapped directly to his person, Jamil could tell the moment he’s son so much as farted.

The more recent response, Jamil thought with a warmth in his heart, was his favorite. JJ had started to smile, eyes crinkling as a small laugh bubbled out of him. A development that had both Yuu and Jamil claiming their son looked like the other. While Yuu brought up the fact JJ was his actual clone, Jamil would counter that JJ smiled more like Yuu than himself.

With the very act of being perceived being all he wanted, JJ moved to press his cheek back to Jamil's chest. Seeing the baby had settled himself, Jamil could help but smile himself. Going back to folding the laundry as he thought, ‘Silly…’

Kalim

“Moe~, are you sure you're okay staying home? It'll be fun to introduce you to your grandparents, all of your aunts and uncles, your cousins, your second cousins-”

“I'm fine.”

Kalim keeps smiling at the nine-year-old, laughing when the boy holds the book higher to hide behind.

“Ok. I'll bring home something good for you! Be good for Zayan*!” Kalim called out, fixing his headpiece before leaving for the night.

Kalim wouldn't like to admit it, but Jamil was right in saying he was overzealous in adopting. But, he couldn't in his right mind leave a child alone in the alleyways of the Silk City, even if he tried to mug him. In his defense, Mozenrath came along easily, letting himself be checked over and bathed. Only then did the child seem to lose any of the bite he had in the alley, being downright shy around Kalim and the staff if outside of his new bedroom.

With a pout, he even remarked how Mozenrath refused to use any of the gifts Kalim had given him. The clothing he used, obviously, the rags he was in didn't last long once he was out of them. The glasses were harder to accept, but Mozenrath couldn't deny that his vision was better wearing them.

What truly broke his heart was the refusal of the toys. Board games, plush toys, and cards were all left unplayed with. A few were even still in their boxes. Kalim wasn't sure why his gifts were unrecieved; every time he'd ask if Moe liked them, the child would simply flush in either anger or embarrassment and refuse to explain himself.

After speaking with Jamil and his friends, he decided the best course was to stop gifting him things and, as Yuu suggested, ‘Let the kid breathe.’

Later that night, as he came home, Zayan met him at the entryway carrying an excited energy.

“Hm? What's happened?”

The tiger beast had led him toward the TV room, the wall-to-wall screen still playing a movie he had purchased for Mozenrath on low volume. Curled up in the sunken couch and fast asleep was Mozenrath, clutching a white furred otter plushie he had refused to touch before.

Kalim could barely keep his squeal in his throat, turning toward the smiling beastman behind him, “Did you-”

Zayan was not Jamil; no one could ever replace his brother in all but blood. But seeing him hold up multiple polaroids and his phone gallery filled of a sleeping Mozenrath cuddled with a stuffed animal, Kalim decided he was doing a perfectly fine job. 

Vil x Rook

Vil wasn’t entirely sure if he had ever seen his life being this…domestic when he was younger. But he couldn't lie about the happiness he felt. He stood in his kitchen, humming under his breath as he prepared a veggie platter for himself and his son to share as a mid-afternoon snack. Though it was a soon-discovered ‘flaw' of the Cabbage Patch Fertility Clinic’s* process, having a child who greatly enjoyed vegetables was a godsend.

Looking out the window, sighing slightly at seeing his little angel face plant into the dirt. At the very least, he jumped right back to his feet and kept running around, Rook’s hunting dogs chasing him in play. Opening the kitchen door, he yelled out, “Finley! Come inside, it's snack time!”

Vil could only chuckle under his breath at how fast Finley changed course to the house. Now with his six-year-old in front of him, Vil kneels down and starts to wipe the dirt and grass from his baby's clothing, “I'm happy you love playing outside, it keeps you healthy, but please try to not become one with nature?”

“Yes, papa!”

Vil wipes at Finley’s face, frowning when the specks of dirt don’t leave his skin. He'll deny doing it, but he licked his thumb and rubbed a bit harder only to realize it wasn’t dirt. It was a freckle. His baby was getting freckles.

…

Vil burst into tears, now that he had seen one, he was seeing all of them at once. Little sun spots across his baby’s arms and legs. And most adorably across his nose and cheeks, just like his father.

The man in question had appeared in the kitchen the second he heard Vil’s wails, “Mon roi, what has happened!?”

Vil could only grip their baby by his face and point at the spots, “Freckles! He has freckles!”

“Freckles!?” Rook was soon right next to Vil on the floor, smiling and looking over every spot on his son's face, “Oh! BLISS! Kissed by the sun and every ray of joy under this blue sky!” He kept going, waxing on and on while Vil had all but crumbled to the ground at his son becoming even more adorable. The model repeatedly slammed his fist onto the ground as he proclaimed no one else in all of Twist could match his son in cuteness. ‘Cutest in the land’ being the title he would hold forever.

Finley stood, pouting lightly while his dad cupped his face and squished along his nose and cheeks, “Can I have celeby now…?”

Malleus

Sweets had started to go missing from the ‘personal kitchen’. Though it was less of a kitchen and more of a pantry his grandmother would always hide her favorite treats. A habit he and his family had adopted as time went on. Inside, Silver kept a single jar of honeybutter, Sebek kept apple chips, no one was sure what was in the jar that Lilia had hidden in the cupboards, but he and Yuu had a shared ceramic jar of orange peel cookies.

Malleus wouldn't question the decreasing supply if it wasn’t for the fact that he hadn't had any and Yuu was currently away in the Sunset Savanna. And the rules of the snack cabinet held strong; no one was allowed to pinch from others, much less an actual dragon’s horde of cookies.

He had ordered servants to keep watch of who entered and exited the hall in hopes of catching the thief. He even had Sebek stationed at the door for an odd number of days, but nothing came of the mini investigation. Cookies had continued to disappear, sometimes Malleus even opened the jar to complete nothingness, not even a crumb left behind.

Sighing, Malleus slipped away from his current rotation of envoys, making the choice he deserved a little treat for all of his work that day. And he would have had one, if he hadn't found three naked toddlers crowded around his cookie jar with crumbs coating their faces.

They all stared at each other with wide green eyes, and for a moment, Malleus wondered whose children they were, until he took notice of their horns and little fat tails. Suddenly, each child shoved a cookie into their mouths, turning back into their smaller dragon forms. While the first two had exited quickly, Malicent had doubled back, using his tail to send the cookie jar crashing to the floor before scurrying out the door between his feet. 

Malleus stood stunned before realizing what he had just seen. A sense of pride filled him; his children had learned to shift into human forms! Only to have the feeling replaced with fond annoyance as he chased after his children, yelling as lightning struck outside, “Thieves! Little moon-cheeked thieves!”

Sebek x Silver

“Sebek, you have to hold him at some point.”

Instead of responding, the half-fae simply hunched his shoulders higher. The sound of plates clacking together growing faster as he washed the dishes. 

“...” Silver sighs, turning away and making sure the bottle was held properly for Beau* to eat.

Ever since Beau came into their home, Sebek had taken a sharp change into being completely silent. He helped around the cottage more than ever, but that was never a problem before. They had fallen into the rhythm of sharing chores easily. But now, Sebek did almost everything himself before Silver even had a chance to get up in the morning. With literally every other chore completed, all he had was tending to Beau. And while that was an all-day chore, it was just one he had assumed they would share together. Sebek refused to speak around or even touch Beau. There was only one moment that Silver could recall, having fallen asleep and woken up to Sebek changing Beau’s diaper as though he were defusing a bomb.

“...” Beau ate in his arms blissfully, a carbon copy of the infant Silver used to see in his baby pictures, only with strawberry-hued hair, “Sebek…you can tell me if… if he makes you uncomfortable-”

A dish in the sink clanks hard before the half-fae turns around furious, “IT'S NOT-” he snaps his mouth shut the second he sees Beau’s eyes look toward him, “...I just…I'm…very loud…I don't wish to scare him.”

“...What?”

Sebek groaned, drying his hands and finally walking over. He sat beside Silver, looking toward Beau with a pinched expression, “My mother tells me babies are sensitive. They have no experience in the world and are frightened easily. I don’t want him…to find me scary…or equate me with yelling or loud noises.”

“...But you are loud.”

“Hey-”

Silver chuckles, taking the bottle from Beau and holding him to his shoulder, closer to Sebek, “He’s ours to raise. He can’t only know me, Sebek. You have to show him who you are as well.”

He watches with a smile, Sebek’s nervous expression fading as Beau reached out toward him. Slowly, the half-fae took Beau into his own arms, holding him stiffly but smiling at the mumbling baby.

“Plus, imagine his fright if he actually heard you later on. The shock of you being able to yell would scare him worse than the actual noise.”

“Ok, I get it.”

Lilia

“And you're not sure what's wrong?”

Lilia sighed, stirring his long turned cold tea, while talking to Silver on the phone, “No. She's been dealing with body soreness for weeks, and now she's even vomiting after meals. Neither of us is sure what's ailing her. But the doctor should at least be able to give her some type of medicine for relief.”

“That's a positive, at least. I hope Ms. Hui-Yan* heals soon. Beau is wondering when we can visit again; he wants to show off how he's improved his sneaking technique…”

“Has he?” Lilia perked, always happy to hear about his technical grandson.

“Not in the slightest. But Sebek indulges him.”

Lilia chuckles, “On another note, you should really make a habit of calling her ‘grandma’, at least to Beau. I'm feeling old being grandpa while she gets to keep being Ms. Hui-Yan.”

“Father, she'd kill me.”

“Oh, she'd barely maim. You boys really need to understand my wife more-”

The front door was slammed open, Hui-Yan stomping into the home and kicking the door shut behind her, “Pay respects to your Gods, Vanrounge, you are about to meet them.”

“Is that her?”

“Yes, she just got home. Hello, Sugar Knife! What did the doctor say?”

Hui-Yan didn't even acknowledge the pet name, eyes focused with homicidal thirst on Lilia, “You will pay for what you've done to me…”

“...” Lilia looked to the side before glancing back at his wife. His posture straightened to run as a bead of sweat ran down his temple, “What have I done?”

“I'm pregnant.”

…

Lilia spoke, his mouth moving faster than his brain could filter, “Is it mine?”

…

Hui-Yan's expression had eased from murderous to blank. Seconds passed before she reached to her side and unsheathed her sword without so much as an eye twitch.

“...” Lilia sighed, his mind fully caught up to the current conversation and what he just said, “Yeah, that's fair.”

Silver sat on the couch of his home, blinking in mild confusion at the sounds of battle over the phone. He hung up when the two elders started to scream and screech in their respective native tongues.

Beau appeared beside him, moving his way onto the couch and looking at his father’s phone and lighting up at seeing the contact, “Grandpa! Are we going to see grandpa?”

“No, grandpa is…going to be a bit busy.”

Rollo

Gilbert was so small. Small and sweet, like a little grape. 

Rollo sat at his desk, taking a break from signing forms, looking to the side of his office. His adopted son sat on the ground, using his singluar arm to draw. Scarred and weak, Gilbert seemed completely ignorant of the cruelties he's already been a victim of.

Rollo would look at the boy, his son, and think of a grape vine. How, without fail, there was always a berry much smaller than the others. Overshadowed or started later, it was an eyesore to the rest of the healthy fruit. He never cared for them; without fail, they were always the sour ones of the bunch.

But Gilbert was different.

Once home from the hospital, his burns healing into discolored pink skin. Gilbert continued on with his life, fresh and new it was. Rollo knew the reason Gilbert was so blessed was because he didn't know any better. All he could remember was what his life was after the fire that took so much of him and his parents.

A laugh makes Rollo focus. Gilbert, with effort, stood and moved toward him. With a wide-eyed smile, he held up his artwork. One figure clad in black with a harsh line for a mouth and a severe expression, holding hands with a smaller figure with a smile, grasping a flower.

Rollo smiles, plucking the small and scarred child into his lap, “What a lovely picture. We must have it framed with the others…”

Fellow

Being a free man was hard, but he couldn't think of a better place to be. He's surprised that simply agreeing to snitch got him and Gideon off the hook for kidnapping and slave trading. But the Shrouds kept their promise. He was free of a criminal record, and he had started to receive a small fund for living expenses not even a week after the trial.

He stirs the watery stew, looking over his shoulder to the two minors at the table waiting on dinner.

Gideon hadn't wanted to go, but Fellow wasn't going to allow the cat beastman to pass up a formal education to save his own pride. The first week was rough for Gideon, having never been to school and being mute, but he had found his stride easily enough.

The cat beastman pointed to his workbook, smiling as Renold mouthed out the problems. Renold was an addiction Fellow never thought possible. At first, because he couldn’t fathom bringing another child into a life of crime to be something used against him. Then it was because living legally was insanely expensive, though most of that money was being put toward renovating and repairing Playful Land.

But neither he nor Gideon could leave the little fox beastman on the streets after seeing him alone for days. At the very least, he could read and write, so he was already doing better than Fellow and Gideon were at his age.

Two children in his care, a steady stream of money, and blueprints to rework Playful Land into a functioning drifting school? Those were never his plans, never a possibility to the person he was before meeting those NRC brats. But, smiling to himself, Fellow couldn't help but think the future looked brighter than the old carnival lights he had grown used to.

He grabbed their mismatched bowls from the drying rack, ladling up their dinner, “Stew’s done! Books off the table!”

Gideon moved quickly, gathering up his notebooks before putting them in his cubby. Renold took the bowl from Fellow, looking at the food as his ears twitched around, “What’s the difference of stew and soup?”

“Ah…Soup is watery, stew has chunks.”

“...This is soup.”

“Keep talking and I won’t give you a chunk of beef in your next bowl.”

Skully*

A child. He had a child now. A problemed child, one reanimated with cursed bugs and malevolent intent. It was hard to think of what was more terrifying: the fact that he and Sarah* were only taking him in for the final months of his junior year, set to rip him open and pull every last wiggling, sinister critter from his skin and flesh later that day. Or the fact that he has a teenager in his home for the weekend.

At the knock of the front door, Skully nearly threw his coffee mug into the sink and raced over to reach it first. He smiles as he just barely beats Sarah, the green-haired woman slipping on the hall carpet and crashing into the wall as he swings open the door. He’s seen Mario, he’s known the boy since he was an actual boy. But now, with context and the added responsibility of being his legal guardian, it truly was like seeing his bouncing baby boy for the first time.

Mario stood there, texting on his cell phone with one hand as he spoke, “Hello, I’m here.” With a sigh, he pocketed the device and stepped past Skully into the entryway, pulling a large suitcase with him, “So, let’s just set some boundaries. After the surgery, you won’t need to do much for me. Just allow me to keep using your home as my primary mailing address until my internship is over and all will be-”

“Welcome home! My son of the grave! Oh, this will be splendid!” Skully threw his arms around the cat beastmen, lifting him clear off his feet as he peppered his face with kisses, “Once you’re all healed up from the procedure, we'll have a family photo! And take a vacation! And rework the family mausoleum for your coffin. Oh, happy days!”

Skully went on and on, still refusing to place the 18-year-old back on his feet. The manic energy only growing stronger once Sarah had managed to make her way to the door as well, the two adults far too excited to make ‘family plans’.

Mario wonders if this was how he seemed to others at school. Sighing, he rolled his eyes and managed to free an arm, patting his new foster father’s head, “I see why the headmistress told me ‘Good luck’ before she left…”

Zayan is a Rajah OC I made for my Future Arc! He's Kalim's new servant since he signed off on Jamil's permanent sabbatical.

The Cabbage Patch Clinic is actually a name I got from @bun-lapin! It's basically a super advanced IVF clinic where they gestate the baby on site. Side effects include your child loving the hell out of cabbage.

Beau is my OC Louis's son and is technically given Silver's dropped name. Louis asked Silver to raise his son because he did not want to accidentally raise him racist like he was.

@bun-lapin's OC!

THIS TWINK DIES WHEN I SAY HE DOES

Sarah is neither confirmed nor denied to be his life partner.

[koshkamartell]

No One But Me

notes: this is the final instalment for this series. It has been my greatest writing achievement so far as a writer in this fandom and I am proud of it. Thank you to the readers who have always commented and engaged with me and given me the inspiration to keep going. I hope this was worth the wait for you.

*Six months after the events of the final chapter*

According to the guards manning the radio towers, the extensive perimeter bordering Jackson appears undisturbed by any threats or danger. Since the stand off with the band of raiders and the shoot out there hasn't been a hint of trouble in the air. Joel himself has not come across any sign of the infected or raiders in the last six months but he still takes his patrol duties seriously. He embarks on his own survilence walk every day and reports his findings via radio twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. He likes being useful, to still be able to fulfill an important role for the community while not living inside the gates.

The only time Joel ever sees another person is when Tommy makes the trip to the cabin to deliver Joel's monthly supply of rations. Joel never quite realises just how much he misses human contact until the moment he spies his younger brother approaching through the woodland.

Tommy has been his saviour, the only thread holding his life together; if he had been left alone at the raider's cabin that day he would have remained there in the snow alone and weeping until he collapsed, left to succumb to the elements and for his body to eventually rot into the earth. It was Tommy that stayed with him and held him until all his tears had dried, all while you were transported back to Jackson with the group of patrolmen who had accompanied Tommy.

It was Tommy who had made sure Joel was close enough to town to keep an eye on. Tommy who had given his older brother another chance at life, the only one who had refused to let him be swallowed by the self destructive and poisonous shadow that has plagued him since the day Sarah died.

The two still hadn't talked much about what had happened - perhaps both men were too ashamed, or maybe because there just wasn't anything more to say, for the salient points were the most simple. Joel kidnapping you had been repugnant, inexcusable. Oscar had loved you and he had died defending you, a tragic outcome that Joel could not have foreseen. Maybe Tommy did not see the need to punish Joel any further, for his state of suffering seemed punishment enough to endure; in a dreadful twist of irony Joel was reliving the pain of once again losing that which was most precious to him.

The brothers unload the wagon together now, Tommy handing Joel supply items one by one which he stacks on the porch. Tommy hauls a sack of flour and passes it over to Joel when he clears his throat and speaks.

"So, uh, Ellie told me somethin' last night," Tommy says in an offhanded, casual sort of way. Joel's hands tighten around the sack at the mention of Ellie's name and his head snaps up to look at the other man.

"Ellie?" He rasps, eyes flitting over Tommy warily. "What happened? She okay?"

"She's fine, just said she wants to see ya." Tommy turns to grab a basket of fruit from the wagon. "Didn't say why, though, so don't ask me."

Joel's breath catches in his throat at the same time his heart skips a beat. Did he actually just say Ellie wanted to see him? He gawks at Tommy, mouth parting in disbelief, uncertain if his bad hearing was playing tricks of him.

"What?" Joel murmers weakly.

"Yeah, she said so last night after dinner," Tommy gives a slight shrug. "Asked me to organise a meetin'."

Joel dumps the sack of flour onto the porch with a grunt and sets his hands on his hips. He frowns and blinks rapidly, nonplussed and unsure how to process the news. He's been dying to hear any news of Ellie, always swift to inquire with Tommy about how she's doing, but this is completely unexpected. Nervous excitement begins to bubble inside his guts, but along with it is a troubling mix of trepidation and alarm.

Joel stares down at his boots with a contemplative scowl on his face, his mind already slipping into a silent state of deliberation. He cannot forget how Ellie looked that fateful night, the way heart wrenching way her youthful face twisted with anger and betrayal. In that moment his world had shattered, just as Ellie's trust in him had been shattered, and he truly believed that she would hate him for the rest of her life.

What has changed within this last six months? What could have happened to persuade her to want to see him?

"You can come back to town, meet her and hear what she has to say. If ya want, ofcourse." Tommy tactfully suggests, placing the fruit basket next to the flour. The action snaps Joel out of his thoughts and makes him shift his weight between his feet.

Joel runs his hand over the lower half of his face and clears his throat. "Uhm, yeah, alright. Sure."

Tommy leans against the porch column and crosses his arms. "How's about you come into town tomorrow afternoon? Have your meetin' with Ellie and see what happens after that."

Joel's eyes sweep over Tommy skeptically. He honestly thought Maria and the council would never let him in through the gates ever again. He deduces that Tommy must have omitted some pretty big details about just what had gone on out there at the raider's cabin, about the relationship dynamics with you and he. If Maria had known he had raped you and abused you there's no way in hell she would agree to let him anywhere near Jackson.

If she had known, Joel reckons she would have even come to the cabin on her own just to confront him, gun in hand ready to shoot his face off.

As much as he dislikes Maria, Joel cannot fault her for her zealous protectiveness for her community and it's members. Joel had always recognised why she was so vigilant and defensive, but it is only now that he feels he properly respects her for it. She's a fierce and strong woman, someone Ellie would probably aspire to be one day. Maybe he's always been too jealous of Maria to really appreciate her, too resentful of her importance in Tommy's life to give her the esteem she deserves.

Despite all this, the long standing bitterness comes through in the biting, almost sarcastic tone of his voice. "Maria's gonna let me in?"

Tommy seems to ignore it, not rising to the bait. "Yeah. But you gotta hand in your guns and any other weapons at the gate, still follow the rules like everyone else."

Joel rolls his eyes. "I know. I ain't stupid, Tommy."

As much as he detests the thought of relinquishing his guns, he knows he has to toe the line. He cannot take Tommy's diligence personally. Besides, he would be more than willing to forfeit his weapons for a chance to see Ellie again, to finally be able to speak with her. Hell, he would do just about anything to stand before her and tell her how sorry he is. Even if she were to roll her eyes and flip him off and stomp away, he would still be grateful to spend even a minute sharing the same space as her.

His mind buzzes with the potential scenarios that could be awaiting him back in Jackson. Maybe Ellie would forgive him and welcome him back with a hug. Does she miss him? Perhaps she is open to hearing his side of the story and wants to understand why he did what he did. Or maybe she just wants an opportunity to unleash her anger and disappointment, like you did when he last saw you.

You.

Oh.

He's finally going to be back on mutual territory, going to be stepping foot back in the town where his life changed forever that moment he first cast his eyes on you. Fuck, what if he sees you?

While Joel cannot predict what your reaction to seeing him might be, he isn't even sure what his own reaction may be. Would he have the courage to try talk to you? Would he still feel intense shame or would his desire to touch you and breathe in your scent eclipse all his instincts of self preservation? Would he grovel at your feet and beg for forgiveness?

"And you can't go causin' trouble with that girl."

Tommy's stern tone catches Joel completely off guard, slicing through his internal musing like a knife. He hadn't mentioned you, had given no indication that he was even thinking of you, yet somehow Tommy could tell what was going through his mind. He isn't sure what pisses him off more - the fact that Tommy seems to know him so well or the authoritative tone he just used.

Joel exhales an irritated sigh and crosses his arms across his chest, not caring to hide his annoyance as he stares down Tommy. "Didn't say shit about her."

Tommy appears unperturbed by Joel's show of intimidation. He narrows his eyes at his older brother and shakes his head. "I ain't kiddin'. I don't wanna hear that you've gone to her house or where she works. You leave her alone and let her get on with her life."

Joel shifts his gaze to the ground and kicks at the dirt with the tip of his boot. Even though he hates the way Tommy is speaking to him right now, Joel knows he cannot argue with him. Joel knows he is being offered a precious opportunity, a second chance to live a stable life, and in order to accept it he must foresake old habits and feelings.

He also feels undeniably indebted to his little brother; it was Tommy who advocated for him to be a guard at the cabin, Tommy who hadn't given up on him, Tommy who saved you and ultimately gave both of you a second chance at life. He owes his younger brother an unmeasurable amount of grace and respect.

"I'm trustin' you, Joel," Tommy then whispers, his voice sounding much softer, almost pleading. "Please don't mess this up."

"I won't," Joel murmers, mustering the courage to look up and meet Tommy's eyes. "You have my word."

The following afternoon Joel saddles up Tex and makes the journey to Jackson. Tommy will meet him halfway at one of the checkpoints. The whole ride Joel's stomach is knotted with anxiety and his palms feel clammy. He feels sweat drip from the nape of his neck down his back, making his shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. He curses under his breath.

Thoughts of self doubt crawl inside his head, taunting and snide and full of hatred.

You don't deserve this. You're a failure. You're a piece of shit. No one needs you.

He almost decides to abandon the whole plan and turn back when he spots Tommy's figure in the distance, his arm raised in a wave.

Ellie asked to see you. You gotta do this. Joel's inner voice of reason speaks. He rides on to where Tommy waits and the two brothers continue on together.

••••••

It is a surreal and dizzying experience for Joel to ride through the gates of Jackson once more, back into the town that had become his home with Ellie for the last five years. It is like a dream, one loaded with a sense of foreboding that conjures an angst to swirl low within his guts. He does not know how his return will be received, if he will be met with disdain or ridicule or something worse; the unknown only compounds his shame and he feels incredibly self conscious. He holds tightly to the reins of his horse in an effort to ground himself, to summon the courage to continue on through the massive gateway that guards his home. That guards Ellie. And you.

Joel senses the eyes of the gate guards on him the whole time, gawking at him with tentative intrigue like he's a wild animal liable to snap and attack. It makes him intensely nervous and uncomfortable but he forges on, taking slight comfort in the fact that Tommy rides beside him.

They ride to the stables and leave the horses to pasture then they walk back to Tommy's house. Joel feels even more conspicuous walking through the main streets; he hates the obvious stares from the townsfolk that mill about the paths and houses, and although he can't hear what they whisper to each other he can guess what they are saying about him.

He's dangerous.

He's the reason Estrada got killed.

He's nothing but trouble. Once a raider, always a raider.

When they reach Tommy's house Joel is inwardly grateful to trudge through the threshold and escape the exposure of being in public. He feels like a monster.

Maybe that's what I am.

"Go on and take a seat." Tommy shuts the door behind them. "I'll get us somethin' to drink." He shucks off his jacket and hangs it on the coat hook while Joel wanders into the living room. "Ellie's gonna be by later after work."

A glass of whiskey sounds perfect right about now, Joel thinks. He collapses onto the couch with a heavy sigh, his joints screaming in relief as he sinks into the plush cushion beneath him. He tilts his head back and shuts his eyes.

That evening Ellie returns to Tommy's house after work duty at the barn. When Joel hears the front door open and close, the scuffed sound of boots being haphazardly toed off, his whole body becomes rigid where he sits on the couch. When he hears the long awaited sound of Ellie's voice singing out to Tommy, his breath hitches in his throat. His hands fidget nervously by his sides and his heart hammers in his chest. This is the moment he's waited for for six months.

There's shuffling and the hushed murmur of voices coming from the hallway and Joel has to remind himself to relax some, to let his lungs inhale and exhale. The seconds tick by agonisingly slow as he waits for Ellie and Tommy to walk into the living room. When they do, Joel immediately hauls himself up from the couch, springing to his feet like a soldier. He locks eyes with Ellie's large brown orbs and feels like he might be sick.

"Ellie," the whisper falls from his mouth, anguished and desperate. On instinct his hand goes to reach out to touch her but he quickly stops himself, dropping his hand back to his side.

"Joel." She gives a cool nod of acknowledgement and crosses her arms, back straight and proud, demeanour assertive but not hostile. She looks older, more mature. Her posture is confident and self assured. Joel's gaze flits all over her face, feeling uneasy as he absorbs the expression on her face - neutral, almost impassive. There's no fire, no anger. Not yet, at least.

How on earth did she change so much in just six months? Joel wonders. And despite their adopted roles of father and daughter, Joel does not feel like the much older adult right now. In fact he feels small and sheepish under her gaze.

"Well, I guess I'll leave you two to talk," Tommy chimes in, breaking through the awkward tension of the room. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on one of the arm chairs before turning back to the hallway. "Maria and the boys'll be home soon, so ya'll try not to kill each other," he calls out.

Now alone in the living room Ellie and Joel continue to stare at one another in silent suspense. The longer Ellie remains unspeaking the more Joel's discomfort grows. Out of habit he props his hands on his hips and clears his throat, but there are no words for him to say. His eyes eventually fall to the floor, ashamed and unable to bear the weight of his daughter's piercing gaze.

After what seems like several minutes, Ellie's voice cuts through the air around him like a knife.

"You lied."

Joel flinches, shutting his eyes against the impact of her harsh tone, as if it were a slap to his cheek. His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. His eyelashes flutter open and he looks up at her.

"I did," he agrees in a whisper. He sees her chest expanding underneath her forearms as she takes a deep inhale. He realises she's trying to keep it together, trying to stay composed.

"You fucked up, Joel."

"I did. Please let me explain," Joel blurts, unable to hold back the desperation that has been building up for so long in her absence from his life. "Sit down and hear me out, Ellie."

She doesn't move; she stays firmly planted on her feet, a flickery fire of obstinacy now dancing in her eyes. He sighs and motions to the couch with the sweep of his large palm.

"Please," he pleads, soft, beseeching. She keeps him waiting for another few seconds in limbo, eyeing him with mistrusting indecision. Joel is about to utter another plea when she acquiesces and flops down on the armchair opposite the couch.

Joel has to restrain the exhalation of relief that bubbles inside his chest. He takes a seat on the couch directly facing Ellie and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Thank you for askin' me to come--"

"You lied," she repeats bitterly, her large round eyes still piercing into him. "You fucking lied to my face, Joel."

"I know," he mumbles, wringing his hands together nervously. "But I had to. I did it to save you. I did it to keep you alive."

"It wasn't your decision to make," Ellie hisses, tears pooling in her brown eyes. "You did it because you're selfish."

"I did it because I love you," Joel counters with a hoarse croak, the overwhelming emotion inside his chest threatening to burst as his own eyes flooding with glistening tears. "In a way you can't understand. And I would do it all over again. I'd do anythin' to keep you safe. I just...I hope you can forgive me."

The hardness in Ellie's eyes soften slightly. "I don't know if I can forgive you," she utters tearfully. "But I'd like to try."

She urges Joel to explain his side of what happened, and so he does. She listens with minimal interruption as he recounts what transpired with Marlene and the Fireflies, trying his best to be as clear and concise as he can, and by the end of his speech he feels utterly exhausted. With tears streaming down his face he apologises for concealing the truth for so long. Ellie ultimately accepts his apology but says she still needs some space; she'd like for him to come back and live in Jackson but it'll take time for their relationship to mend. He immediately accepts the new conditions, nodding to indicate his understanding, unable to speak without tears continually leaking from his eyes and trickling down his cheeks.

I haven't lost her forever.

The two of them stand up at the same time, awkward and stiff, unsure of where to really look. But then, with a mutual understanding that doesn't need spoken words, they move closer to embrace one another - Ellie slips her arms around his middle and Joel instantly envelopes her small stature with his own, his body eager and needy for the physical contact, for the confirmation that this isn't just a figment of his fantasy.

He stifles the beginnings of another wave of weeping, repressing it so it clogs his throat, and presses a light kiss to the top of her head. It is a simple gesture, a token of paternal affection that seems unremarkable, yet for Joel it signifies so much; it declares not only his obvious love for Ellie but his gratitude for her grace and acceptance. He feels so peaceful, so content that he could luxuriate in this moment forever, and it is all because of Ellie that he's been allowed such a feeling.

And when she detaches herself and pulls away from the hug it feels like a piece of Joel's soul is being ripped away from him. He hides the crestfallen reaction from his face as best as he can, trying to kill the slight wave of panic that rears inside his core. He has to remind himself that she is still a teen after all, still made uncomfortable by charged displays of emotion, but most importantly she's still here, alive and in the flesh and wanting to forgive.

A few seconds later Tommy wanders back into the living room to check in on them, an apron tied around his waist and a carving knife in hand. He looks pleasantly relaxed, his face serene in a way Joel hasn't seen for a long time.

"Jesus!" Ellie exclaims, startled by his appearance. "Were you listening from the hallway the whole fuckin' time or something?"

Tommy barks out a laugh. "No, I wasn't. As a matter of fact I was preparin' dinner for you two knuckleheads."

Joel glances between the two of them, trying to gauge Ellie's reaction. He worries that it'll be too much for her to stick around for dinner, that she has already exhausted her capacity to be around him. He anticipates that she will feel too awkward to stay and will instead make a quick escape to her friend Dina or wherever she goes these days. He wouldn't blame her, either.

But Ellie surprises him.

"Good," she quips to Tommy, a grin spreading across her face, her mood relaxing into something more jovial and cheeky. "Cos I'm starving and I missed that thing you do with the cabbage and potatoes."

"Well get your ass in the kitchen and I'll show ya how to make it," Tommy chuckles in response. "Ain't that hard."

Ellie groans and rolls her eyes dramatically. "Do I always have to do everything?"

"You don't do half as much as you should," Tommy corrects, grinning. "Now getcha ass in the kitchen." She slinks toward the hallway, every bit the contrary teenager, and points to the knife in his hand.

"Hey, you may rule the kitchen, but don't forget who kicks your ass at axe throwing," Ellie teases playfully. Tommy lets out a rumble of laughter as she passes out of the living room, oblivious to how Joel silently watches their interaction with profoundly sad envy in his heart. Tommy shoots him a small smile.

"Come on, brother, come help peel some potatoes," Tommy tips his head to gesture toward the kitchen. Joel discreetly wipes an errant tear leaking from the corner of his eye with a knuckle and follows his brother.

Later that night he walks back to his house alone, his limbs heavy and his belly full, but with significantly less weight burdening his shoulders. When he first enters through the front door the deathly quiet and still darkness within the place is unnerving - it triggers the deep seated paranoia that something could be lurking around the corner. Something poised and ready to pounce on him and tear his throat out. Or someone waiting to debilitate him just enough to steal all his belongings.

Checking over a place before bunking down was a habit of self preservation Joel developed early on in the outbreak. Despite Jackson being the safest place imaginable in this world, the habit had never quite died out. He slowly reaches a hand out to flick on the light switch in the living room, the yellowish light illuminating the room instantly. He squints, eyes swiftly surveying the area; there is no sign of life and everything is within its place, untouched and abandoned.

He sees one of your books laying ontop of a strewn blanket on the couch, a remnant of the life you once lived with him. The casual domesticity of it sends a pang of longing through his guts.

After checking through each room on the ground floor Joel drags himself up the stairs, his knees creaking with each step. Once he's satisfied that there is no sign of danger in the house he shuffles to the main bedroom, shedding his jacket and tossing it on the solitary chair in the corner. He sees the bed, still unmade as it was the night he left it, sheets in a tangle at the bottom of the mattress. There's an empty mug on the night stand, as well as your hair brush.

He collapses onto the bed and presses his face into one of the pillows. He catches the smell of your shampoo on it, the faint scent of *you*, and he inhales deeply in an attempt to chase it. Fuck, how he wishes you were here right now, your body curled against his and your face nestled into his neck. The space feels so empty with your absence that it feels unnatural to lay there without you.

Joel sighs heavily and wraps his arm around the pillow to clutch it tightly to his chest. He needs to have a shower and change his clothes, but he's so worn out. The bed is so comfortable, too - so much so that he can't really muster the will to get up straight away. He closes his eyes, intending to rest just for a few minutes, but he ends up drifting off to sleep for the rest of the night.

Now that he has officially returned to live in Jackson, Joel stands by his word and does not seek you out. He does not show up on your door step to coax his way inside your home with either apologies or force. He does not accost you like he has done in the past, pouncing on your unaware form to catch you off guard. He leaves you alone to carry on with whatever daily routine you've established without him.

It an exercise in torture for Joel. But as fate would have it, it only takes a few days of him being back in Jackson before he runs into you.

It is late in the afternoon and he's on his way to the stables to check in on Tex and talk to the stable hand about getting new shoes for the horse. He crosses the street and turns onto the main road, planning to stop in at the leather store on his way to get a new belt for himself. He's too preoccupied with his thoughts to realise that he's ventured nearby the library.

He glances around at the trickles of people wandering around the street as he walks, secretly hoping he might run into Ellie. He hasn't seen much of her around - once at a family dinner at Tommy's and a couple of times at the mess hall - and he's desperate to spend some time with her, even just to be in the same room as her.

Joel doesn't find Ellie's face amongst the residents on the street, but there is a figure that appears familiar to him, just 20 yards to his left. He throws a casual glance in the person's direction, then his head swivels comically in a double take when he realises it is you.

Joel feels like he's been struck by a thunderbolt. He freezes and his eyes go wide in shock. You are turned away from him but he can recognise it is you; he knows your body and your movements so intimately that he is adamant he could recognise you anywhere, from any angle.

There's a pastel green ribbon tied in the loose pony tail gathering your hair together. You're wearing a simple blue cotton dress that falls just past your knees. A light sweater covers your shoulders and arms. Your clothes are new, for he has never seen them before.

When you whirl around to face him Joel's breath gets caught in his throat. Your body is turned toward him but you don't look up, too focused on tucking the stack of books into the crook of your arm while juggling a set of keys. It's a small mercy for Joel, for he thinks if he made eye contact with you he would surely die on the spot.

You look just as beautiful as you did when he first laid eyes on you more than five years ago. There's a healthy glow to your skin and your cheeks are no longer hollow. Your hair looks thicker. You've put on weight. You look radiant.

Once you've tucked the keys in the pocket of your dress you start to walk away from the library. Joel panics and quickly darts back around the corner of the grocery store. He feels pathetic cowering against the wall of the store, hiding like a cowardly fool, but he's utterly shaken by the coincidence. He just isn't ready to face you again, not when he's so ill prepared, not so unexpectedly.

And anyway, you hate him. Who knows what your reaction would be if you saw him? You could scream and run away. You might slap him right there in the middle of the street and tell him to get fucked. He wants to keep a low profile for as long as possible now he is back, and having a public confrontation is the last thing he needs.

But like a moth to a flame, Joel needs to see your face.

He peers out from around the corner to watch you cross out into the main street and walk down to the cafeteria. As you advance closer toward the grocery store your features become more distinct. With your eyes glued to the mess hall in the distance, you are oblivious to his hidden presence. He tracks you like a hunter, as still as a lion stalking an unsuspecting gazelle.

It is only when you pass by the store, when your side profile comes into view, that Joel recognises the most noticeable difference in your appearance. He sees the prominence of your rounded stomach pushing against your dress and the realisation hits him with a nauseating force that threatens to bring him to his knees.

You're pregnant.

You're fucking pregnant.

Joel's heart suddenly constricts in his chest and his head instantly feels dizzy. The world around him becomes slanted and he has to grip the edge of the building to stay upright. His lungs feel tight, as though all the air in his body is being squeezed out. He screws his eyes shut and blindly unbuttons the top of his flannel to loosen the material from around his neck.

Shit, fuck, just breathe. Breathe. You're okay.

You're pregnant.

How the fuck are you pregnant?

You've moved on - you must have. You've found someone else and now you're having another man's baby. You've forgotten all about Joel, about everything you shared together.

Joel feels as though a thousand knives have been plunged into his belly. He wrestles against the hysteria as bile rises in his throat and he has to fight to swallow it down.

Breathe, goddamnit, breathe.

He endeavours to focus on inhaling long, measured breaths through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. He stays like this for several minutes, disconnecting from his surroundings until the distress begins to ebb and he has regulated his breathing.

Once his blurry vision has cleared and he is able to take a breath without choking, Joel makes his escape. His feet feel so heavy, like his boots are made of lead, but he tries to move as stealthily as possible through the spaces between the stores. He ambles through the bushes to make his way to the residential areas, his brain buzzing like a live wire.

How could you have moved on so fast?

Who is your new man?

Are you happy?

He isn't sure how far along you are but he guesses atleast 6 months. Are you in good health?

Joel takes the back streets until he reaches Tommy's house. His hands fidget nervously by his sides as he waits for someone to answer his thundering knock on the door. He knows Maria is out organising things with the committee, but Tommy should be home; he has been on night patrol lately so he's probably still in bed, or atleast still in the house.

Joel waits as patiently as his panic stricken heart allows before urgently knocking again, even louder and harder this time. "Come on Tommy," he calls gruffly through the door.

He hears a series of thuds coming from inside the house before the front door swings open. Tommy blinks sleepily from behind the door, his curls tousled. Joel doesn't bother to exchange any pleasantries, instead trampling through the threshold and shouldering his way past Tommy.

"Well good afternoon to you, too," Tommy quips as he shuts the door closed. Joel strides into the living room and Tommy shuffles after him, scrubbing at the corner of his eye with a balled fist. "Ya want coffee, or somethin'?"

Joel drops down onto the couch with a heavy plonk and covers his mouth with his hands. He's momentarily robbed of speech from the shock of his discovery, unable to utter a sentence with the lump of emotion that has formed inside his throat. Tommy doesn't realise anything is wrong until he comes to stand across from where Joel sits and sees the older brother's broken expression.

"Joel?" Tommy utters, frowning with worry. "You alright?"

He can't answer, too stupefied by what he had just witnessed, and only manages to shake his head. He closes his eyes for a few seconds and takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the imminent confrontation. He drags his hands away from his face and lets them drop between his legs, gripping them together as if he is trying desperately to restrain himself from moving.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Joel's voice eventually croaks out, strained and broken. He opens his eyes and stares up at Tommy, tears swimming in his eyes, unable to disguise the hurt and betrayl he feels so deeply within his core. "You knew all this time and you didn't tell me?"

Tommy knows exactly what Joel is alluding to - ofcourse there could be only one reason for Joel being so emotional. Tommy had purposely kept this aspect of your life a secret from Joel out of respect for you, but he knew Joel would find out sooner or later. He sighs wearily and rubs the back of his neck, his face scrunching into a wince.

"Why?" Joel challenges, louder, more demanding.

"She's gettin' her life back together," Tommy states resolutely. "Ain't anyone else's business what she's got goin' on right now. I only found out a little while ago, anyway."

"Who...whose the father?" Joel asks, his voice thick with emotion. Twin rivulets of tears have broken free and begin to trickle down his cheeks but he makes no move to brush them away.

"I don't know," Tommy lies, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I want you to leave her alone, Joel. You gotta let her get on with her life without you. After what you put her through, she deserves whatever peace she makes for herself."

Joel bows his head down between his shoulders and sniffs. It's true - he's put you through so much undeserved suffering and he certainly has no right to disrupt your chance at a happy life, one free from the repercussions of his destructive obsession.

But fuck, what if it is his baby?

It could be, couldn't it?

Maybe the 20 something year old plan b didn't work. Maybe there was a time when he wasn't quick enough to pull out before he came. Maybe he had been too careless.

Joel knows he cannot disturb your life, but if it *is* his baby, he also knows that there is no way he would let you raise the child alone. He still loves you with a fierce possessiveness that he will never truly be rid of. No matter how much introspection he does or how much he changes his behaviour, a flame of greedy desire to own you will always exist within him.

And now just the thought of your baby potentially being his has rekindled that possessiveness he had managed to keep smothered these last few months.

"And what if it is mine?" Joel challenges heatedly, angling his face to look up at Tommy. "Just how am I supposed to let her alone if that's my baby she's carryin'?"

"Because if that's the case then it'll be up to her whether or not you are gonna be involved, Joel," Tommy retorts evenly. "She will reach out if she wants to. And until then - if that even happens - you're to stay the hell away from her, you hear me?"

"Yeah, Tommy, I fuckin' heard you," Joel scoffs and slumps back onto the couch, his body sagging dejectedly into the cushioning. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, wishing for a reprieve from the exhausting buzzing inside his mind, but all he can picture is you in that blue cotton dress cradling your swollen belly.

When Maria had told you that Ellie asked to see Joel and that he would be visiting her in Jackson for an indefinite period of time, you were surprised but not displeased. As a matter of fact you were gllad that Ellie initiated contact with Joel. You could only imagine the misery the two of them have suffered through for the last six months without any closure or discussion about the Fireflies. They are father and daughter, for all intents and purposes, and it would be a tragedy if there were no attempt to repair their fractured relationship.

"Okay," you replied, feeling a bit odd and stiff. "I mean, that's good. They need to talk."

Maria eyed you dubiously. "You sure you're okay with it? Because if you're not, you just say the word and we can arrange the meeting another way. Maybe Ellie and Tommy can go to the cabin--"

"No," you stopped Maria, "it's okay. Really. He can meet her in Jackson."

Maria's lips pulled in a tight line as she scrutinised your face, searching for something that could indicate that you were hiding your true feelings. You gave her hand a reassuring pat.

"It's okay - I promise, Maria. It's a good idea for them to meet."

"He's been told to stay away from you, just so you know," she declared. "If he approaches you or does anything to threaten you, you need to come to me or Tommy."

"I will," you had vowed.

That was two weeks ago.

Joel has supposedly been back in Jackson for two weeks and you have not seen him once. He has not made an appearance at the mess hall when you have been there for dinner almost every night. You have not seen his head of chocolate curls within the sea of people at the communal movie night in the town hall. You haven't spied his imposing figure stalking around town on an errand, or with Tommy.

You wonder if he's laying low and holed up inside his house, or if he actually listened about staying away, purposely avoiding you at all costs. Did Tommy threaten him? Or maybe Joel did not care about you anymore? Maybe he is over whatever your relationship was, finally broken from the spell of obsession. It seems unfeasible that Joel, a man so fanatical about maintaing control of a situation, would follow another person's orders to refrain from doing something he wants to do. So perhaps he no longer feels any emotion toward you.

Perhaps he doesn't want to see you at all.

You don't know why but you find the thought physically painful; it sends an unexpected pang of disappointment and rejection shooting through your heart down to your guts, a twisted pull of your insides that cannot be attributed to a contraction.

Do you no longer matter to Joel?

It would be easy to get lost in the endless ocean of questions and contentions about the past, about the codependency and complexity of emotions that so defined your relationship with Joel - but somehow you find the willpower to correct the trajectory of your thoughts.

You shouldn't care at all about how he feels, you caution yourself. All you need to worry about now is you and your baby.

You repeat this mantra inside your head. You try your best to honour yourself and your worth by not dwelling on memories of Joel. You go about your day to day tasks and try not to think of Joel, but the possibility of running into him on the streets is in the back of your mind every time you step out of your cottage. You are not afraid - you know you're safe here in your community and cannot be hurt. You don't think you would run from him, just as you don't think he would try hurt you.

You don't want to admit to yourself that you actually do miss Joel at times. You're so horny from the hormonal changes these days that you regularly fuck yourself on your fingers to memories of him pounding into you or devouring your pussy. You cum hard each time, your skin sticky with sweat and your limbs twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You luxuriate in the short lived bliss, loving how your mind goes hazy and your body feels like it is floating.

It doesn't last long enough, though, before the shame starts to creep in like a dark cloud over your head. Are you that fucked up? You must be - because fantasising about the man who abducted you just a few months after first raping you is sick, perverted. Depraved.

Your face flushes with guilt and disgust. How can you crave the touch of such a horrible man? How much you possibly miss him in any way, after everything he has subjected you to? The spiral of shame plagues you after each time, yet somehow it does not end up deterring you from masturbating the following times. The urge for gratification is too strong, overriding your righteousness to the point that you cannot resist the high that comes from your carnal satiation.

Tonight you lay in bed amongst a nest of pillows, wallowing in the familiar feelings of guilt when you feel an abrupt kick to the underside of your ribs, pulling your attention from your thoughts, stealing the breath from your lungs for a split second. I'm here too, the kick seems to convey. Don't forget me.

A smile curls at your mouth and you rub your hands over the expanse of your middle.

What Joel did doesn't matter anymore, not when you are holding your future in the palms of your hands. Having children and a family of your own had always been a dream of yours, an aspiration you were never entirely sure you would ever experience in this life. Yet here you were with your belly round, hair thick and lush, your face slightly puffy, breasts swollen. You were going to be a mother. And it was Joel who gifted that to you; he was always going to be a part of you, a part of your life, and such a truth no longer pains you to admit.

You have no idea, but Joel has been watching you every day. He doesn't stalk you (no, not really, he tells himself) but he finds himself drawn to the centre of town more and more, particularly on the days you work at the library. It didn't take long for him to decipher your new work duty routine; you work at the library Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays, then the school Thursdays and Fridays.

It surprises him that you are so active within the community these days; your Saturdays and Sundays are busy with a range of different ventures, from volunteering in the mess hall kitchen to helping facilitate activities for the children in the town hall or at the school.

You were never so...involved before. He watches the way you interact with those around you, how your face radiates such a serene, joy filled energy, how free and easy going you look when you toss your head back and laugh. He cannot recall ever seeing you like this. Witnessing you so happy, glowing and round, makes his stomach flip.

You are so beautiful that it almost hurts Joel to see. This had always been you, who you were as a person - kind and caring and wanting to do good. But your light had been so dull while you were with him, eclipsed by his overbearing disapproval of you partaking in anything he deemed unnecessary or a waste of time.

Joel feels a tendril of shame crawl up the back of his neck at the realisation. He had deprived you of the right to be your own individual, crushing your autonomy in the palm of his hand, and in turn had deprived himself of knowing this beautiful version of you.

Fucking idiot. Any man would be proud to have you as their woman, would happily walk down the street holding your hand and supporting you in doing whatever your heart desires. It should've been him. He should be the one by your side encouraging you. He should be your partner.

And through his furtive surveillance Joel quickly comes to the conclusion that you don't actually have a new partner in your life. There is no man showing up at your doorstep to spend the night at your cottage. He doesn't see you visit any strange houses that he doesn't recognise as one of your friend's. You're alone or with your gaggle of girlfriends, occasionally Maria.

There seems to be no room in your life for another man - perhaps there is no room in your heart, either, after all that it has endured.

Joel hadn't actually considered this until one day when he followed you to the town cemetery. He had been confused at first, wondering why you would be stepping foot in the depressing plot of fenced land used as a burial ground for the town.

And then it belatedly struck him that you were there to visit Oscar's grave.

Truthfully, he had not given the dead man much thought in the last six months. He had witnessed so many people die infront of his very eyes that he had become desensitised to death, particularly of those he had no connection to. And Oscar had been one of the people he had no reason to mourn. He was a decent man, sure, but he was no more special than any one else.

Joel watched you awkwardly descend to your knees and place a small bunch of flowers against the humble headstone, a d he felt the first niggling pang of guilt hit behind his ribs. And when you began to weep into your hands, your shoulders quaking as you mourned, Joel felt so uncomfortable that he decided to abandon his shadowing for the day. It felt wrong to spy on you during such a private moment of grief, yet in Joel's heart of hearts he knew the real reason was because he couldn't bear to see you so sorrowful. He couldn't stand to see you mourn a loss that he was instrumental in creating.

For the rest of the day Joel's mind was plagued by the sight of you crying beside the gravesite. The guilt remained inside his ribcage, an unrelenting and dull stabbing sensation chipping away at his sternum. Ofcourse you were still in mourning for Oscar - for the friend you had lost, for the man who had loved you so much that he sacrificed his life to rescue you. He felt like an asshole for not realising it earlier. Ofcourse you haven't found another man to be with - how could you possibly give yourself to another man when your heart is still broken?

It also means your baby cannot be anybody else's but his.

That you're carrying his child.

The conscious recognition of this is like a lightbulb being switched on; it stirs that familiar swirl of hot possessiveness in Joel's belly and his heart swells with pride at the thought that you are swollen with his seed, forever marked by him. It makes his cock twitch and weep with precum at the thought.

But along with the burning need to possess also comes the need to safeguard you. How could he possibly stay away from you now? It is simply impossible for him to just leave you alone when you're carrying his baby. What kind of man would he be if he were to neglect his duty as your baby's father?

Fuck Tommy, he thinks.

Nothing can keep Joel from minding what belongs to him.

Every day he observes you from afar, always from the safety of the shadows, trailing a good distance behind you as you walk to work in the mornings. He weaves between houses and bushes to remain discreet in his spying, not once risking complacency incase you sense his presence. He takes advantage of the crowds of people that mill about the streets, using the anonymity the throngs offer to watch you leave in the late afternoons.

Clandestinely escorting you to and from work becomes a daily routine for Joel. With the restrictions Tommy has placed on him, it is the only way for him to make sure you are safe and healthy - seeing you with his own eyes, trying to judge from your appearance and gait if you're tired or struggling to move with the added weight of your belly. God almighty, what he would give to be able to hold your hand and guide you himself, to keep you protected by his side, to stand proudly beside you.

Joel returns to his patrol shifts but insists on the night duty so he can continue keeping his eye on you. He pushes through the patches of broken sleep to maintain his routine, for his brain seems to crawl with thoughts of you every minute of the day, even while he sleeps. You haunt him like a ghost, the image of your face and body burnt into his very soul, the memory of the sound of your voice whisperings inside the shell of his ear. His palms itch and his legs are restless. He has no respite from the the internal pull toward you, the invisible string that tugs deep within his belly, urging him to go to you. You wants to ravage you, to cradle your face within his large calloused hands, to kiss your soft lips and claim you for himself again.

He feels like a starved man - starved of you. He hasn't heard your beautiful voice for six months. Six months without your delicate fingertips grazing over his skin, making him prickle with goosebumps. Six months without your voice purring his name, sensual and needy, intoxicating him with its sweet lilt. Six months without your body pressed against his, without the weight of your soft breasts and the hug of your thighs on his rough, scarred skin.

There are so many things Joel needs to know, so many questions only you hold the answers to. Will you let him provide for you? Will you let him be there for you and your child? Do you miss him? Is it possible you could ever feel love for him again, even in the most miniscule capacity?

How much longer can he go on like this, skulking in the shadows like a phantom, tormented with the knowledge that you're the mother of his unborn child and he is forbidden from even speaking to you?

Joel's heart is restless. It cannot be still, cannot be at peace, under the weighty reality of his circumstances, and he fears he cannot possibly endure such torture for much longer.

You're locking up the library one late afternoon when your body is suddenly struck by an excruciating contraction. You gasp in pain, dropping the set of keys at your feet, totally overcome by the intense wave of cramps that sieze your insides. You've never felt such a thing before and it leaves you breathless.

Another hits you almost immediately after the first and causes you to cry out. Your knees buckle and you collapse again the door, unable to support yourself as you slide down to the ground. Your arm curls around your middle and you screw your eyes shut against the pain. You try to breathe through stuttering hitches of gasps but your mind panics.

Oh my god what is happening? Am I going into labour?

You've got to get to the doctor. This can't be it, can it? You're around seven and a half months - that's what Dr. Amber said at your examination just a few weeks ago. Where's Maria? You've got to get some help, crawl out onto the main street or something, yell out---

Your thoughts are interrupted by the gentle yet firm weight of someone's hands on your shoulders. Your sagging body is lifted slightly upright, then you feel the warmth of a palm press against your cheek. You feel boneless, unable to move.

"Baby, are you okay?"

The voice that speaks is one you know well but have not heard for many months. You know the masculine timbre and rich accent intimately, and despite having not heard it for so long you are still sure that you could recognise it anywhere.

"Joel?" You whisper, slowly fluttering your eyes open to gaze at him. Joel is crouched down on one knee infront of you, his deep brown eyes searching over your face with worry. He keeps your face cradled in one large palm, the other cupping your shoulder.

The sight of the man before you doesn't scare you or make you want to scream. You aren't scared at all. But being so close to him and feeling his warm touch in such a vulnerable moment is still startling, still makes you recoil slightly inward.

"It's me," Joel murmurs, "I ain't goin' to hurt ya. I just saw you fall and came runnin'. What happened, baby?"

You don't have time to analyse the probabilities of just how Joel could have been so close by at the exact time of your current emergency before another contraction squeezes your insides. You cry out and your face contorts into a grimace.

"It's okay," Joel cooes quietly, "it's okay, you don't have to talk. I think you're havin' a contraction. Is this your first time feelin' 'em?"

You nod your head and whimper, eyes still shut. "Please get Maria, I need her, I need the doctor."

"We don't have time to go lookin' for Maria," Joel murmers. He strokes your cheek with his thumb and hums soothingly. Although you can't do anything but allow him to, your instincts don't scream for you to escape. It feels strange, yes, but not entirely unpleasant. You gradually lean into his touch, in desperate need of some kind of comfort, his skin like a cool balm against scorching heat.

"You're gonna be alright, baby. Listen to me - I'm gonna get you to the doctor, gonna take you to the clinic and get you checked out, hear me?"

"I don't, I don't...think I can stand," you choke out, tears beginning to leak out from the corners of your eyes. The residual throbbing from the contractions continue to invade your insides. Getting on your feet and walking even a few steps seems impossible.

"Don't cry, honey," Joel utters, soft and calm. "We're gonna do it together. Just hold onto me, get your arm around my neck."

Unless you choose to crawl on your hands and knees to the clinic you have little choice but to go along with the plan. This could be an emergency. You could be in labour, and giving birth on the stoop of the Jackson library isn't how you were planning on delivering your baby.

"O-okay..." you whisper shakily. Joel carefully manoeuvres one of your arms to slip around the back of his neck, then slides his arm around your back. His hold is not tight but supportive, strong.

"On the count of three I'm gonna lift you up, okay? Open your eyes for me, baby, look at me." Joel all but pleads, tone supplicating and needy. You bring a shaky hand up to your nose and swipe at the moisture that has collected there, then you slowly open your eyes and look up at him.

Joel watches you intently, with so much tenderness and sadness in his eyes that you wonder if he himself will start crying too. He nods, encouraging you to listen.

"On the count of three - one, two..."

He guides you to stand up from the ground when he utters three, his movements cautious yet confident as he practically lifts all your body weight up himself. Your head swims with dizziness and you sag against his chest on instinct, swaying slightly on your feet, your arm still curled around his neck. He holds the back of your head in his hand and presses you delicately against his front.

"Good job, baby," he whispers, tilting his head down to press a feather light kiss on the top of your head. He can't help but breathe in your sweet scent, a mix of your usual smell along with something faintly floral and milky. "Now we gotta get you to the clinic."

"Can't walk," you mumble into his shirt, the familiar sandalwood and pine scent filling your nostrils. Another contraction swoops over you, constricting your uterine muscles in a squeezing hold that robs your lungs of breath. "F-f-fuuuuck!"

"Shit," Joel whispers to himself, starting to feel the crawling tingle of anxiety begin to sizzle throughout his brain. He cannot bear the sight of you suffering like this. His head swivels around as he tries to piece together the quickest route to the clinic. With the pain you're in even the short cut past the barbershop will be too far for you to walk.

He's going to have to carry you there himself.

He stoops down slightly to whisper into your ear. "I'm gonna pick you up," he strokes your head. "So you just hold tight to me--"

"Joel, no," you protest, shaking your head weakly. "No, I'm too heavy."

"You ain't," he counters firmly. "Trust me." He takes a breath, then whispers softly, amending his tone. Please, trust me."

You hesitate, whimpering in pain, your hand coming up to fist at his collar. You have no other choice if you want to actually get to the clinic.

"Okay," you respond in a defeated whisper.

It's all the confirmation Joel needs to hear before he bends his knees and suddenly scoops you up into his arms like a bride. He grunts with effort to stand back upright and jiggles you slightly to adjust you in his arms. You keep your eyes shut tightly and nestle your head against his chest, so overwhelmed by the dizziness and pain that you fear you may faint.

"I got you," Joel mumbles as he takes the first couple steps with you in his arms. "Don't gotta worry 'bout a thing."

He carries you through the main street and around the corner towards where the clinic is located, a small building sandwiched between the pharmacy and the infirmary. He whispers words of reassurance to help calm your nerves, to let you know you aren't alone, that he is here to help. He hopes that his presence can help alleviate even the tiniest bit of pain you have to endure. You don't speak in return, only bleating weak cries every so often, and it makes his heart crack.

Joel's lower back throbs and his joints ache with each step but he pushes on. He is so conscious of the weight of your round belly across his torso, so mindful that he doesn't rock you too hard. My baby is there, he thinks. That's my baby.

He ignores the stares from the townsfolk around him and keeps his head held high, resolutely focused on his duty to get you to the doctor as quickly as he can, as safely as possible. He doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks; you are in crisis and you need him, it's his job to taken care of you. Both of you.

He bursts through the door of the clinic with his chest heaving. The doctor and nurse on duty rush over to you and hurriedly lead Joel to lay you on one of the examination beds. Your eyes snap open as you're lowered onto the flat surface, the warmth of Joel's body stolen away from you all too soon.

"Joel," you whimper, eyebrows saddled together and sweat beading along your forehead. You look so scared, so distressed by this unprecedented and unknown turn of events. Seeing you so fragile like this tugs at his heart strings, makes him want to cradle you in his arms like a small child and keep you cuddled into his chest for as long as he lives.

Joel crouches down so he is level with you and clutches your hand reverently in both of his. "I'm here, baby." He answers, one of his thumbs brushing over the back of your hand. "Ain't got nothin' to worry about."

He is so ready to finally to be able to prove himself to you, to show you that he is capable of change, that he can be the man you always wanted him to be. He is going to be right by your side to give you everything you need, to do whatever he can to make you comfortable and content and happy. God, how desperately he wants to be the reason for your happiness.

The nurse in attendance hovers at the back of Joel, her features pulled into a stern frown. "Excuse me," she cuts in, "the doctor will need to do an examination. You will need to leave now."

Joel is about to shoot her a glare over his shoulder when your voice pipes up, small and dainty from where you lay on the bed. "Please go get Maria. As soon as you can," you implore him. "I need her here."

It makes him a few seconds to process your request; he stares at you dumbly, blinking, mouth parting slightly in shocked confusion. Maria? Then it hits him, the delayed understanding like a stinging slap across his cheek.

You want Maria - not him. You're telling him to leave, to go away and send Maria in his place. Why don't you want him here with you? He just helped bring you here, carried you in his arms, to get you help. It is his baby inside you. Why would you prefer Maria here next to you and not him?

The raw ache of rejection pierces Joel's heart and travels down to the pit of his stomach. He has been so excited about your pregnancy that he didn't even remember the glaring fact that he remains undeserving of simply being in your presence.

Why had he been so stupid to think you would've welcomed him back into your life?

Joel tries to school his features to hide just how devastated he feels, trying with great effort to keep his expression neutral and nonchalant, to swallow the thick lump of disappointment lodged within his throat. Okay, he thinks, if that's really what you want, he will give it to you.

The doctor asks you something, the beginning of a series of questions about your pain, stethoscope already poised above your belly. You turn your head away from Joel to answer her question, simultaneously retracting your hand from his hold. It feels too sudden, too wrong, the way you slip from his grasp so easily. He wants to protest, to reach out and take your hand back and assert his presence, but everything happens in a blur.

The nurse quickly ushers him from the room, briskly escorting him to the door and gesturing outside like she is banishing a pathetic stray dog begging for scraps. Joel slinks out of the clinic in a daze, head hanging heavily with shame and dejection.

That's it? That is all? After six months of pining for you, of dreaming of you, dying to finally touch you and hear your voice - you push him to the side like you don't give a shit about him, like he's a stranger.

A fucking stranger. Like you had never bared your body and soul to him, like he had never tasted the salt on your skin or woken up with your limbs intertwined with his. Like you and he had never shared a sacred kind of intimacy that left his soul shattered and destroyed once you walked away.

••••••

Maria has been inside the clinic for the last hour. Joel has been waiting outside the whole time, pacing restlessly along the stretch of pavement outside the door like a caged tiger stalking from one end of its enclosure to the other. She had barred him from marching in with her, a firm shake of her head as she warned not now, Joel before disappearing inside the doors.

Now all he can do is wait. His body courses with nervous energy, all the muscles in his body tense and primed to face whatever potential catastrophe could be lurking around the corner. His traps are raised and rigid, fingers twitching by his sides.

If anything has happened to you, if that doctor and those nurses haven't done their goddamn job properly and you are still in pain, he'll tear the whole place apart. He will whisk you away from their incompetence and take you home and take care of you all by himself. He will make sure you're comfortable and well looked after.

Joel is so lost in the echo chamber of his thoughts that he almost does not hear the sweep of the door when Maria exits.

"Maria-" he begins but she quickly cuts him off.

"Joel, she's okay," Maria says firmly, leveling him with a direct stare that tells him she means business. "False labour. She will be kept in under observation for a few more hours before they release her to go back home."

Joel expels a heavy, ragged breath of relief and drags a hand down his face and over his mouth. The news alleviates the invisible weight of stress from his shoulders that has threatened to make his knees buckle for the last hour.

You are healthy, you are safe, you are okay.

"You were the one who brought her in." Maria states flatly, her dark eyes piercing into Joel. "Pretty interesting coincidence that you just happened to be in the right place at the right time, huh?"

Joel glares back at her, the tired features of his face suddenly hardening with icy irritation. He should've expected some kind of interrogation for helping you, like he's committed a goddamn crime or something.

Undeterred by his gruffness Maria maintains her assertive composure, crossing her arms under her bust and giving a slight shake of her head. "You were told to leave her alone, Joel. What will it take for you to let go?"

His jaw clenches. He hates the tone of her voice, the knowing condescension of her rhetoric question, everything about this whole damn situation. But he has to abide by these new rules and expectations, including giving due respect to someone in a senior position of authority like Maria. He huffs a scoff and turns his head away, unable to bear the weight of her stare any more.

"Go home, Joel." She utters before turning on her heel and stalking away from the clinic. He remains glued to the spot, his jaw ticking, both thumb nails digging into the bones of his forefingers. He stays in place for a few minutes internally deliberating with himself over whether to stay or go. He eventually accepts defeat and settles on going to see Tex at the stables.

••••••

That night Joel tries not to think about you. He tries to occupy himself with chores around the house, little tasks that he's neglected to keep up with since he's been trailing you, but it is impossible. His mind constantly wanders back to you laying on the clinic bed, wisps of hair matted to your sweaty forehead, your face strained by the pain and scary uncertainty of what you now know was false labour. His heart aches to imagine you in such a state without him. It makes him angry to think it, in fact.

Joel cannot suppress the deeply rooted instinctual need to be close to you, to ensure you are safe. No matter how much whiskey he drinks, no matter how much aimless cleaning he does or mindless pacing of his kitchen, he cannot quieten the beast rattling within him. When he glances over to see your blanket and books on the couch, still untouched during all this time, like he couldn't bear to pack them away, he knows what he must do.

Joel shoves his feet into his boots and hurries out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him. He can't stop himself now. He has to open the cage and release what's been imprisoned inside him all this time - all the love and guilt and regret, the yearning and dreaming, the infinite sadness and infatuation he still feels.

He keeps his head held high throughout the walk to your place. He stalks through the middle of the streets, not bothering to hide in the shadows now, no longer caring to keep himself hidden. His long legs carry him with purpose and determination, and before he knows it he is already setting foot into the front yard of your cottage.

Despite how bold and self assured he was on the walk over, Joel feels the courage slowly begin to deflate from his body as he ambles up the stone pathway to your porch. His boots have tread this track more times than he can count, through rain and snow and sunshine, yet the familitary of the surroundings offer no comfort to soothe the nerves that now begin to bubble in his guts.

Shit. He's really doing this - going in gung ho to confess his love and devotion without even knowing just exactly how you feel. For all he knows, you could tell him to get lost and slam the door in his face.

But he has to try. He has to atleast see you. There's too much at stake not to.

Joel feels like he has not crossed the path up to your porch for many years, and now with the uncertainty of how this spontaneous visit will go, there's a split second of hesitation before he raps on the door with the back of his knuckles.

The porch light flickers on almost instantly, illuminating him in warm dull yellow light, then he hears the click of the lock turning. Then the door creaks open.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion and the sound of his heart pounding floods through his ears. When you pull the door open wide and Joel lays his weary eyes on your sweet face, he feels the insides of his belly turn a somersault.

You stand at the door blinking rapidly for a moment, clearly preturbed at finding him to be the one disturbing you at this time of the evening. Despite the bags under your eyes, your face appears youthful and fresh. Your hair, loose and flowing, looks soft and shiny, the way it always does when it has been freshly washed and dried. You've obviously had a shower and washed the stress off the day away.

You're wearing an oversized grey sweater with the word HARVARD written on the front in red block letters, along with a faded pair of pink sleep shorts. Joel can't help how his eyes drift over your bare legs, marvelling at how clear and supple your skin looks. His gaze then roams all over your body, drinking in the sight of your belly and swollen breasts bulging against the grey fabric of the sweater.

He's always found you attractive regardless of what you're dressed in, but there's something about the simplicity of the casual clothes you wear at home that has always turned him on. He remembers how sexy you looked whenever you'd slip into one of his flannels, how sultry he found you in a pair of baggy shorts and a ratty old shirt you'd borrowed from his closet.

Joel wishes he was close enough to smell you again, to properly savour your scent, to properly gauge just how much it has changed with the pregnancy. He wonders if you taste differently, too - an image flashes in his mind of him kneeling before you, face buried between your thighs, lapping and sucking at your core. He bets you taste even juicier and sweeter than before.

That familiar tug of lust filled ownership pulls at his belly and makes his cock twitch in his jeans. He suddenly realises he has been gawking at your body while you stand before him at the threshold of your door, your eyebrows raised expectantly. His cheeks heat with embarrassment and he clears his throat, planting his hands on his hips in his signature serious stance.

"So, uh...," he begins dumbly. "Uhm, you're home..."

"What are you doing here?" you whisper, sounding tired, already too drained to deal with whatever reason he has for appearing on your doorstep at this time of night.

"I, uh...I wanted to check in on ya, see that you're okay," he responds quietly, his gaze roving over your face. "After everything that happened today."

"I'm okay," you answer with a mumble, self consciously pulling your sleeve cuffs over your hands. "The doctor said it was something called Braxton Hicks. They feel like real contractions but they aren't."

"Okay," he nods and looks down at his boots, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Fuck, what was he planning to say? What should he say? Joel know he has never been great at conversation - or really communication in general. He knows it was a big reason why you could never connect with him as well as you could with Oscar. He has spent the last six months dreaming about you incessantly, about the things he would say and all he would do to express to you his true feelings; but now the chance has come to fruition, Joel feels stupefied, as if he could not vocalise a single sound or thought.

After a prolonged silence, your gentle lilt breaks through the stillness of the dark night.

"I'm tired," you half sigh, half yawn. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

His head snaps up in panic and he reaches a hand out to you. "No, wait!"

You instinctively flinch away from his touch like he's going to strike you, and the sight of you huddling back against the door causes that familiar pang of shame and regret punch into his guts. He quickly drops his hand back to his side but doesn't look away from you. The chance to articulate and redeem himself is quickly slipping out of his grasp - he needs to speak before it is lost entirely.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out urgently, sincerity softening his puppy dog eyes. "'M sorry if I scared you today, comin' outta nowhere like that. I know I was s'posed to be keepin' away from you." The dam breaks and now the words seem to tumble from his lips easily; he has to takes a breath to steady himself. "I just couldn't...I couldn't stand by when you were in so much pain."

You look down at your rounded belly and nod. "Thank you," you murmer. "For helping me and taking me to the clinic."

Joel sighs softly and runs one of his hands through his greying curls. "Don't thank me," he asserts gently. "You never have to thank me for anythin'. I'll do whatever you need me to."

He watches as you silently absorb what he's said, how your eyebrows crinkle into a slight frown and your lips press into a tight line. Emboldened by your lack of words, he continues to spout out the thoughts that now seem to flow freely from his brain to his mouth.

"I'll do whatever," he repeats, desperation creeping into his voice. "You need anythin' and I'll do it, I'll help you. I mean it - anything."

"Why?" You challenge bluntly, now lifting your face to meet his gaze. There's a hardness in your expression now, and something like anger swimming within your orbs. The terse change momentarily startles and confuses him.

"What do you mean?" Joel questions, almost sheepishly.

"I mean why?" You ask again sharply. "Why are you acting like this? So kind...like you really care? Is it just so you can control me again?"

His posture loses some of its rigidity, his shoulders sagging. He's suddenly aware of how dry his throat is. "No...I just...I want to be there for you...," he mumbles lamely. "With the baby and all..."

You sigh heavily, frustration evident in your voice. "I've managed this far along without you."

"I know," Joel swallows thickly, adams apple bobbing in his throat.

"So I don't need your help," you snap with irritation. "Even though I'm tired and my back hurts and my feet are sore, I don't need your help."

"But--"

"No," you interrupt Joel sharply, now scowling at him reproachfully. "After everything you did, after all you put me through - you think you can come back now and try to take over my life again?"

He shakes his head, eyebrows saddled together sadly. "Baby I swear that ain't it."

"Just go," you grit out. He hears the slightest warble cracking in your voice, the vague sheen of unshed tears misting your eyes - a glimpse of vulnerability that makes Joel want to pull you into his arms and cradle you tenderly.

He should go. You've told him to. He should drag himself back to that big lonely house that you no longer call home and leave you alone. He should wallow in your cold rejection and lick his wounds in the solitude of his loneliness. He wants to defy your command and fight for you, but he's so scared pushing you away any further.

All Joel can do is nod his head and whisper okay. He'll have to let you go for now - atleast for tonight. You're probably overwhelmed from the events of today and the unpredicted arrival of him at your doorstep. You need to rest, to perhaps think about what he's said a bit more.

Joel resigns to letting you go. You're starting to retreat back inside your cottage, back to the cosy safety of your space, but he is abruptly struck by a pressing need to ask you the question that's been rattling around his brain since his return to town.

"Wait, please," he croons. He steps closer to the threshold and presses his hand against the door frame - it is a gesture to get your attention rather than to intimidate you, but it still alarms you. You let out a little gasp and curl back against the door, a hand quickly shooting out to settle protectively on your belly.

As if he would ever fucking hurt you with his child growing inside you, Joel thinks indignantly.

"I'll go, I'll leave you alone, I swear. But just please... tell me," he pleads, staring into your eyes with such delicate intensity that it looks like he may weep. "I need to hear it."

"What?" You whisper, timidly peeking out at him. Joel swallows thickly, his pulse thrumming in his neck.

"Is that baby mine?"

He watches you intently, how your lips press into a tight line and the way your eyes close shut as soon as the question leaves his mouth. You take a shaky breath through your nose before opening your eyes again to stare back at him. He watches helplessly as a lone tear begins to trickle down from the corner of one of your eyes.

"It is," you whisper back, voice cracking.

A sound escapes from Joel, something between a gasp and a choke. His hand clamps over his mouth as if his breath has been snatched directly from his lips. All you can see is the woeful knit of his eyebrows and a film of tears reflected in his chocolate brown eyes. You stare at one another for what seems like an eternity, neither of you speaking a word.

So much has happened between the two of you, so much tragic history intertwined with passion, and none of it can ever be forgotten or revised. The culmination of it all now resides in your womb.

"'M sorry," Joel's baritone voice eventually croaks out. He slowly removes his shaking hand from his face. "'M so sorry for everythin' I ever did to hurt you. For all the bullshit I put you through, how I treated you. You didn't deserve any of it."

You're crying now, tracks of tears streaming down your cheeks, your nose tinged pink and your bottom lip quivering. Joel shakes his head gently and sniffs.

"Don't cry, darlin'," he whispers, his own voice thick with choked emotion. "Don't ever wanna see you cry again."

You drag your sweater sleeve over your eyes and sniffle. You look so small, so fragile. Joel can't control himself - he comes closer to you, boots scuffing over the door saddle so that he is on the precipice of entering your cottage, and reaches out to cup your cheek in one of his rough palms. To his surprise you do not resist him. You stare up at him with large eyes and wet eyelashes, and Joel swears he can feel a charged current of energy pass the air between you both.

"Please," Joel whispers hoarsely. "Give me a chance to redeem m'self. To be a part of my baby's life, to give you everythin' you deserve."

His thumb strokes the apple of your cheek tenderly as he gazes down at you, unbridled adoration and passion twinkling in his orbs. God, how he wishes he could kiss your sweet lips, all salty and damp, so that he can finally taste you once again. He imagines slipping his tongue into your mouth while his hands explore the expanse of your soft, ripe flesh, touching what is his.

"I....," you whisper back breathlessly, staring at him with languorous intensity that almost seems as if you're becoming bewitched by his presence. "I don't...I'm not sure if I can..."

"Let me try," Joel insists in a hushed murmer. "It'll be different - I'll be different. Let me take care of you both."

You're so close to saying yes, he's sure of it. He can sense your resolve waning with the way your cheek nestles heavier into the palm of his hand, in the way your body leans just the slightest bit closer to him. Just say yes, he wants to urge you.

But then you're blinking away your tears and taking a shuffling step back from him. He watches you, confused, as you straighten your spine to stand more self confidently. The dreamy fragility disappears from your eyes with the fluttering of your lashes, the spell broken.

"I can't trust you, Joel," you say to him simply. The emotionless and robotic quality to your voice makes his stomach clench. "I can't trust you not to lose control again and hurt me."

You retreat to slip backward behind the door, disappearing from him like a ghost. When the door closes shut in your wake Joel does not raise his voice to argue in protest; he does not pound on your door demanding to be let it, or break it down with his fists like he may have done in the past. He is not disheartened or angry.

Instead, he leaves your cottage without uttering a single word and begins the lonesome walk back home with a renewed sense of hope cocooning his splintered heart.

One week later

You just can't seem to get comfortable. The cramps inside your ribcage and the aching of your lower back are incessant, offering no reprieve no matter how many times you readjust your position in bed.

It's the same every night. You are constantly swapping sides, or switching from laying on your back to propping yourself upright against the headboard, trying to find the best arrangement to soothe your reflux as well as the pressure on your bones.

You usually end up finding a position that works, atleast for a little while, but lately the pursuit of sleep has been an arduous task. You read each night, long enough to try distract yourself from your discomfort and to lull your mind to sleep, but it's just not working very well. You're up to relieve your bladder so often that even if you do get comfortable you have to forfeit your new found peace just so you don't wet the bed.

Tonight is no different. You heave yourself onto the right side of your body, grunting with effort, but the pressure on your sciatic nerve only makes your discomfort worse. You whimper and try to knead your hip with the palm of your hand in an attempt to lessen the pain.

Shit. You'd kill for a massage right now, or atleast a couple extra pillows to cushion your hips. Your current pillows seem to have lost their bulk and feel far too flat, no matter how much you fluff them. You're in dire need of a pillow with more volume to support your bones, and it looks like you'll have to trade some goods to acquire a decent one. You really should've done that sooner, you lament to yourself.

You remember what Maria had said one time when you visited her and Tommy - how she would have him rub her back every night when she was pregnant with their boys, how he would hunt high and low around Jackson to source whatever she was craving at that point in her pregnancy. He had encountered her hormonal wrath several times, Maria told you while laughing, but Tommy took it all in his stride like the dutiful husband he always was. He had been her biggest support all throughout those months, Maria confessed. And he remained so as the boys got older.

You were happy for your friend, but as you listened to her recount the fond memories of her pregnancy you couldn't temper the wistful sadness bleed into your smile. It must be so comforting to always have someone by your side, to be there in the late night hours to talk to you when you can't sleep, to be there in the morning when you wake up ravenous and needing food in bed. To have a partner to weather the good and the bad.

Would Joel have done the same for you as Tommy did for Maria? you wonder. Would he have traded whatever he could for the endless loaves of bread loaded with jam that you so craved? Would he have gently pressed the span of his large calloused hands all over your back and legs and hips to try grant you some ease?

You really don't know, but you can't forget how gentle his touch was when he swooped you into his arms and carried you to the doctors clinic. You can't forget the care he took in every one of his steps, the low pitched praise he uttered into your ear.

It's been a week since that afternoon, a week since he turned up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, apologising and asking for a second chance, and you haven't been able to forget how he looked.

Sorrowful hooded brown eyes full of hope and desire and shame. The downturned curl of his lip as tears rolled down his cheeks and onto the scruff of his facial hair. The greying locks of his hair looking tousled, as if he'd been running his hands through them in distress.

His face was still as handsome as you remembered. He looked older though, despite less than a year having lapsed. Bags hung heavily under his eyes and the crinkles around them seemed more prominent. His hair was longer, curling down the nape of his neck, silver threaded through it; he hasn't had it cut for a quite time, probably since before he left Jackson.

You still remember the smell of him, too. That alluring mix of pine and sandalwood and Joel's distinct scent, masculine and heady, both calming and intoxicating. It seemed even more potent to your enhanced sense of smell. It had engulfed you as you laid in his arms on the way to the clinic, and then again when he had stood on your cottage porch. A single sniff had conjured memories of his naked body ontop of yours, his thick arms bracketing you as he fucked you with slow, steady rolls of his hips. It made your clit throb and your pussy clench.

You growl with frustration and roll over to the left side, facing toward your bed side table and lamp. You've been so horny, too, but bringing yourself to orgasm never truly satiates your appetite. Why did you still feel that niggling tingle of lust when you saw Joel, when you smelled him? Why did your body still respond to him in such a primal way?

It must be the pregnancy hormones, you guess. That's got to to be the reason.

But how could you explain the tugging of your heart strings when he had begged for a second chance to take care of you and your baby? Why had you felt so tempted to fall into his arms right there and give in to his pleas, to let him hold you and stroke your hair once more and whisper sweet things to you?

Another wave of acid reflux suddenly bubbles up your throat, causing you to dry wretch. You grimace at the burn and quickly reach over to the bedside drawer and slide the top shelf open. Kate had kindly procured candied ginger from someone in town just for your reflux and thankfully it proved to be an effective remedy. You blindly grope around for the small round tin strewn amongst the random items inside the drawer.

"Come on," you mumble to yourself.

You shuffle over to the edge of the bed to peer inside the drawer. You really need to organise it sometime - there's pencils scattered amidst loose sheets of paper, bits of string, a lone winter mitten and streams of different coloured ribbon. You sift through it all but when your eyes land on two particular items, your hand suddenly pauses.

You had purposely hidden them away out of sight months and months ago. You had even managed to forget about them.

But now they spring out at you, still partially hidden by the other random things in your drawer, like buried treasure peeking out from amongst ruins.

The tiny glint of the pendant stone catching on the light of your bedside lamp - the necklace Joel had gifted you. Beside it sit Oscar's small round spectacles, the reflective sheen from the glass lenses twinkling.

Your fingers carefully take hold of the spectacles and set them down on the top of the drawer. You do the same with the necklace, curling the chain in a coil before setting the stone ontop of it beside the glasses. You reach back into the drawer and retrieve the candied ginger, greedily popping a piece in your mouth as soon as you open the little tin. As you chew you stare pensively at the objects beside you.

Tommy was kind enough to give you the glasses before they buried Oscar, as well as one of his sweaters. He figured you would appreciate it, that owning something belonging to Oscar would bring you a small sense of comfort.

He was right.

You still think of Oscar. Not a day passes by where you don't. There is always sadness in your heart when you do, but the passage of time has allowed the sorrowful regret to ease slightly. You're able to recall happy moments with Oscar more clearly now, able to recognise pockets of joy with more appreciation.

You find the memory of him in the simplest of things - in the twittering song of the morning birds outside your window, in the first moist bite of a freshly baked muffin, in the cosy touch of your fuzzy blanket on a cold night. You think of him when something funny happens at work and you know he'd laugh along with you. You think of him when they serve his favourite soup at the cafteria, when you catch the scent of something cinnamon in the kitchen.

You lay your head down on your pillow and hike the blanket up over your shoulder. The ginger seems to have quelled the severity of your reflux and your chest feels less constricted. You sigh softly and your eyes close, starkly aware of just how depleted of energy your body feels.

You drift off to sleep with the sound of Oscar's voice in your mind, gentle and silken.

"I love you. Always have. Always will."

Joel comes for you again, the following Sunday afternoon.

You're returning home from the community kitchen at the mess hall. There's a town dance on tonight and you volunteered to help bake the cakes and scones on offer. Your weary feet drag you along the street, soles throbbing inside your shoes. You can't wait to get home and settle into bed with a cup of tea.

You round the corner and make your way down your lane, unrushed and waddling. You admire the clusters of buttercups dotted along the sidewalk - they remind you of the pretty pastel yellow baby blanket Rhi knitted you just the other day, and it makes you smile.

Then something catches your eye when you approach your home.

Your pace falters a few steps and your heart skips a beat when you spot a tall figure standing on your porch, their back facing you.

Who could that be?

You ask yourself the question, but deep down you know.

You know it's Joel.

Even before you see his face, you know it's him. There's no mistaking it's him, from the outline of his broad shoulders under his flannel shirt, from the length of his long legs and the silhouetted curly crown of his head.

You urge yourself to ignore the rapid beating of your heart and to continue walking to your cottage. He remains with his back to you until your shoes scuff over the pebbled ground leading to your home -  and then, like he's sensed your arrival, he turns around. He's momentarily startled by the sight of you, as if he's been caught off guard while doing something secretive, but he quickly recovers. As you come up the porch he shuffles to the side to give you a respectable amount of space.

"Hello," you greet him, flashing a tight smile. Joel gives you a reserved nod in return, his hands fidgeting by his sides, his eyes darting from you to the ground nervously.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, eyeing him with an air of wariness. He opens his mouth but before he can answer your question your gaze drops to something half hidden by his body. "What is that?"

He moves another step to the side, unceremoniously revealing what he was concealing - a rocking chair made of dark brown wood, elegant yet simple, not large yet not small.

You let out a gasp of surprise, your eyes widening.

It is clear from the second you see it that the piece of furniture is stunning. It is sturdy, made from a fine quality wood, though you have no idea what kind. The backing is comprised of four thick vertical slats that attach to a solid curved square seat. The chair legs are similarly thick, while the arm rests and rockers are long and tapered. It looks newly hand crafted, the surfaces expertly sanded and varnished.

It's a work of art.

"It's, uh, it's a rockin' chair," Joel needlessly explains, sounding both bashful and nervous as he sweeps some imaginary dust from one of the arm rests. He avoids your gaze, his eyes roving over the chair instead.

"Oh my," you murmer in awe. "This is...Joel, this is beautiful."

Joel nods, sitting his hands on his hips. "Thought it might come in handy for when you need to settle the baby, or rest, or whatever."

You can't help the flutter of butterflies that materialise inside your belly at his words, or the heated blush that involuntarily creeps over your cheeks. With a hand resting on your stomach you take a step closer to get a better look at the chair. "Where did you find it?"

"I made it," he answers simply, his jaw ticking contemplatively. "It's maple wood. 'S the best I could get."

You don't know anything about the distinctions of different wood or what constitutes a good quality wood, but you have no doubt the kind Joel used is superb. It looks sophisticated with its rich, dark tone and it looks strong, able to bear the weight of someone much bigger than you.

You trail your fingertips over one of the arm rests and admire the lacquer finish on the wood, how smooth and polished it feels on your skin. "You really made this for me?"

"Mmhm."

Joel made this chair for you. With his own hands, he made it for you. You knew he had made a guitar for Ellie once, and she had mentioned he used to whittle, but actually seeing one of his creations in person was breath taking. Words couldn't adequately describe how impressively beautiful Joel's work was. You're stunned, for no one has ever done something so extravagant for you in your whole life.

"Thank you," you say quietly, words weighted with sincereity. You feel brave enough to peer up at him now, this formidable man with such complex emotions held behind his brooding facade. "That's... really so thoughtful, Joel."

He glances down at you to finally meet your gaze. His expression is tender, and you notice a pink tinge spread over the apples of his cheeks. "Don't gotta thank me," he murmers. "Do you like it? I do okay?"

"Like it?" You smile warmly up at him before looking back at the chair. "I love it."

Joel huffs out a little noise, something sounding like relief. He swipes his hand over his mouth, trying to hide the elated grin cracking over his face. "Good. Go ahead. Sit, try it out."

He rests his ass against the porch railing and folds his arms, watching as you shuffle to sidestep to sit down in the chair. You lower yourself into the seat and lean back into the backrest, a quiet groan of satisfaction spilling from your lips.

"Oh my god," you purr, stretching your arms over the arm rests and curling your hands around the edges. "It's so comfortable."

"That was my aim. You know, for it to be comfortable for you." Joel watches you intently, the corner of his mouth turned up into the slightest smile. "Wasn't sure if it would have been better to upholster that seat or leave it be, but then it would've taken longer, and well, traditionally a rockin' chair doesn't really have one, anyway--"

"Joel," you interrupt him calmly, "it's perfect how it is."

His dark eyes flicker over your face, seemingly searching for something, then he gives you the smallest of nods and a hushed okay.

You press your foot into the porch wood and push your weight backwards, giving the chair an experimental rock. You hum appreciatively as it rolls smoothly back and forth, enjoying the soft creak of its weight shifting with each rock.

"I probably won't even sleep in my bed anymore," you joke, grinning at Joel.

"Whatever makes you comfortable," Joel concedes casually. "As long as you and the baby are safe."

You hum in response and continue to move to and fro lazily, shamelessly relishing the gift he's given you. Joel remains in place watching you, his eyes lingering over your face and your round belly.

"Where do you want it?" He asks you, voice soft. "You can keep it out here for when you want fresh air. Or maybe you want it in your bedroom?"

"Bedroom, I think." You let out a loud yawn and cover your mouth with the back of your hand. "Speaking of which, I'm going to take a nap."

You stop rocking and move to get up out of the chair, but before you do Joel quickly moves to your side to help you; he places one hand gently on your lower back and holds his other out for you to take. You're a little startled at first, but when your hand slips into his bearish palm you swear you can feel all the tension in your body vanish.

"Easy now," he murmers as you heave yourself up to your feet with his support.

"Feel like I have a bowling ball for a stomach," you quip, feeling a little self conscious with how heavy your body feels.

"Ain't much longer to go now. Just gotta rest and take it easy." Joel's thumb rubs gently over the back of your hand, the light touch of his calloused digit causing a pleasant shiver to run up your spine. "Mind if I move that rockin' chair inside for you?"

It's a good idea - there's no way you could shift it yourself. You unlock the front door and let Joel into your cottage, allowing him passage into your private world that he hasn't seen for so long. He nimbly manoeuvres the chair inside and carries it to your room without saying a word. You follow behind him, unable to stop yourself from admiring the view of his strong shoulders and back, and the way his jeans hug his ass.

Joel sets the chair in the corner of your bedroom and steps back to assess how it looks. You stand in the door way and lean against the frame, one hand stroking along your belly as you watch him.

"That okay?" He asks, casting his eyes to you. "Figured you'd get some light closer to this side of the window."

"Yeah," you agree, trying to stifle another yawn with the back of your hand. "Thank you. I better sleep now, before I have to go back to the hall."

Joel frowns, puzzled. "Why do you have to go back to the hall?"

"I'm going to the dance tonight," you answer wearily.

Joel's mouth falls open like he's going to speak, but all he does is stare at you dumbly, like he's struggling to comprehend what you've just said. His heart beat has swiftly kicked up and his mouth suddenly feels dry.

You're going to that dance, the one he heard Tommy mention the other day. You're going to that town dance, probably with your friends. You always loved dancing - and fuck, you always looked so damn good doing it, with a carefree grin on your face and a delighted sparkle to your eyes. And here you are now, standing before him looking so tired with wisps of hair mattered to your forehead and splotches of flour printed on your dress, your middle protuding and your feet swollen, and he thinks you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

Joel loves you, unconditionally and ardently. He wants to see you bouyant and light hearted and doing what makes you happy. He wants you to dance and laugh with your friends.

And he wants to be a part of it, too.

"Will you go to the dance with me?" Joel blurts out suddenly, brows knitted together above his hopeful puppy dog eyes. His adams apple bobs nervously in his throat as he stares at you.

Your face pinches into a frown, clearly wondering if you had misheard the question. Did Joel Miller really just ask you to go to a town dance? "What?"

"I asked you to come to the dance. With me. Please."

You tilt your head slightly and eye him with dubious uncertainty. "Joel, you hate dances..."

"I want to go," he asserts adamantly, his gaze still locked on you. "I want to take you. You can dance with your friends, with whoever you want, I won't stop you. You can be there all night, if you want. But I just wanna be there with you."

Joel is trying his hardest not to sound too insistent or forceful. He wants you to understand that he knows you still have the automony to refuse him, even if he's begging on his knees. He wants you to know that he isn't trying to control you.

But now you are chewing your bottom lip, looking increasingly anxious the more he talks, and he can't help but panic that he's scaring you off.

"Joel," you begin slowly, cautiously, "last time..."

"Won't ever happen again," Joel promises solemnly. "I won't ever hurt you like that again, I swear to you. I just...I want to be close to you, that's all."

He takes a tentative step toward you, his fingers restlessly flexing as he tries to tamper the instinctual urge to reach for your hand. To his relief you don't move back from him or flinch away - you stand your ground and hold his gaze, and he swears there's a slight softening of your expression now.

"I love you," he confesses, sadness staining through his hushed, sober tone. "And I know you probably feel like you can't ever trust me...but please..."

"Joel," you sigh, "I already told you..."

"I know, I know," he interrupts, holding his hands out like you're a skittish animal. "I know you can't trust me not to lose control - I understand that. But I want you and our baby in my life. So I'm askin' you to...to start over, as friends, or somethin'...maybe just go to this dance and see how you feel..."

Fuck, he scolds himself internally, I sound like a fucking dumbass.

You remain standing at the doorway unmoving, watching him with an expression he can't quite read. He feels ridiculously self conscious now, vulnerable and idiotic in his inability to articulate the complex jumble of thoughts and desires inside his heart. For a fleeting moment he considers abandoning this whole thing and high tailing it out of your home with his tail between his legs.

Then you speak.

"Okay." You say simply.

Joel gawps at you, dumbfounded. His stomach flips a somersault. "What?" His voice comes out in a decompressed breath from deep within his lungs, barely audible.

"I said okay," you repeat yourself plainly, giving a little shrug. "But if I feel unsafe at any time, or I don't want to be around you--"

"Yes, I'll leave, right away," Joel nods vigorously. "I'll do whatever you want."

"What if I ask you to carry me all the way home when I'm too tired to dance any more?" You joke, shooting him a silly little grin. Joel laughs at that, unable to hold back the smile that spreads over his face.

"Darlin', for you I'd break my damn back carryin' you around."

He means it, and from the way you're looking at him, he thinks you may believe it, too.

"I'll be ready at 7."

Joel closes the gap between you with a few short strides of his boots. He stands before you, tall and rugged, the features of his handsome face soft with adoration as he gazes down at you.

"I'll be here to pick you up at 7 sharp."

There's a magnetic energy surrounding the two of you in this intimate moment, a pulling force that neither of you can resist. It is an emotive kind of synergy borne of soulful connection and physical attraction, something neither of you quite understand but of which you cannot deny.

So when Joel leans in and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, you don't move away or protest. And when you unexpectedly grab hold of his hand and place it carefully over the middle of your pregnant stomach, he doesn't dare say anything to ruin the fragile moment.

It's the beginning of something new, something bright and full of hope for you both. And this time it feels safe.

It feels like home.

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[bamtor1sss]

❝ SOMEONE OLDER, GUYS MY AGE JUST AREN’T THE SAME 2 ❞

— pairing: 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇 𝗑 𝖿.ᐟ𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 ⸝⸝ 𝗀𝗋𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗒 𝗑 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖾

warning :age gap, petnames, slightly suggestive, small make-out, fluff, not proofread!

continuation from Colder .ᐟ

wc 1.3k

a/n: i really love this fic concept and i just wanted to do something short and sweet! i’m in the fluff mood. what can i say~

Soobin was a happy man once he started seeing you. your little doe eyes lighting up did way more to him than you’d ever know, he’d stop by the café just to give you a hug and a quick kiss and bid you a good morning before heading off to work. 

he’d even buy you little gifts—your favorite snack or drink, too big gifts—a brand new-off the shoulder sweater that you’d been wanting for weeks that was insanely priced out of your budget. 

he told himself he’d never forget the day you tried the sweater on, tears nearly pouring from your eyes from how happy you were. you hugged yourself and spun around chanting “it’s so warm!!” “so cozy!!” “it’s like i’m getting an infinity hug from you binnie!”you said jumping as you hugged him, despite refusing the gifts, he’d still go out his way to give you things. he happily wanted to spoil you with expensive items, even though you adamantly declined him and lectured him. telling him how you didn’t get with him just to let him spoil you. he’d nod, leaving his hands on your waist. totally not listening to what you were saying.

you were younger than him by so many years, he thought it was so adorable when you tried to lecture him, he’d completely look at you with heart eyes—cut you off with a kiss mumbling about how he couldn’t help himself.

you really loved him—for him. and not for the luxury gifts. 

he couldn’t really help himself, not when you were so young and energetic. having you call him past midnight full of energy while he was barely able to keep his eyes open was so cute to him.

he’d pick up the phone even if he was sleeping, just to hear you. like now for instance. soobin was finally able to sleep after a painfully long day—he worked overtime, drove through traffic, and just his luck. the elevator to his apartment was in repair which meant he had to walk up a few flights of stairs. and once he got into bed he fell asleep instantly until—his phone buzzed. you were calling him, he groaned to himself. taking a deep breath before replying,

“mm yes princess?”  he said breathlessly, the vibrations felt through your side of the phone. his voice rough and full of sleep. 

“oh! binnie did i wake you up?” he sighed, he would be annoyed if he hadn’t imagined the cute pout on your face you probably had right now. “no you didn’t. how are you?” he yawned, turning in bed. “ahhh~ i’m okay! i’m a little restless honestly and i caaan’t sleep” you said with a sigh. “i wish you were hereee~ you’re like a big plushie!” you giggled. soobin couldn’t help but smile “mm—im a big plushie?” “mhm! you’re like a human heater that can move too” you said softly “i miss youu” he smiled to himself at your words “you know i miss you more” he yawned again, groaning softly into the mic “princess, i love you but you know i have to work in the morning mkay? i love you” he said those last three words in a sing song voice. you giggled “i love you moreee!” he huffed “im sure you do—mm good night my love. i’ll be sure to text you in the morning” 

he ended the call smiling to himself. he probably ended up having a sweet dream about you later that night. 

if there was something else soobin loved it was your voice—he could listen to it for hours and. in fact, he would invite you over just so you could sit all prettily over his lap, leaning onto his chest, idly playing with his hair. he’d sit there all focused totally not listening to what you’re saying, adding in the occasional ‘hmms’ and ‘i agree’. 

soobin often worked twelve hour shifts and the consistent overtime absolutely tired soobin out. just having you around—leisurely talking about your day and twirling your fingers in his hair was enough to lull him to sleep so easily. which to you seemed like the most romantic date ever. you wanted nothing more to be wrapped up in him—bringing some sort of comfort. 

“today was really busy, i had so many orders and i had to make a lot more pastries today-“ soobin leaned his head onto yours and sighed. feeling completely relaxed, “i’m- m’listening, don’t stop speaking” he mumbled softly, hugging tighter like you were some emotional support plushie. you smiled to yourself seeing him slowly drift asleep, speaking quieter and leaning down into him.  

soobin after a while woke up to you buried deep into his chest, fast asleep. he smiled to himself, hugging you tighter. thank god he has the day off tomorrow so he could see you all sleepy in the morning.

and when you did wake up? he was stoking your hair, your head slowly shifting up to meet his eyes. “mm good morning” you yawned stretching a little. “did my little princess sleep well?” you nodded smiling instantly “of course  i did! got to sleep with my little human heater!” you giggled, shifting your legs so you could be on top of him more. 

soobin moved his arms around you, “mm little heater? there’s nothing little about me” you paused, soobin noticed and he smirked. you on the other hand? you laughed burying your head in his neck “soobbbiin!—that sounds so suspicious” 

you laughed. 

he grinned, lifting your face up.

“come on. seriously? what’s little about me? do you not know? do i have to tell you?” he brought your face closer to his lips, not giving you a chance to reply. your lips almost touching—your breath hitched and you nodded.

he kissed you slow, both hands cupping your face. “mm-! wait bin- we—“ he pushed his tongue into your mouth, you didn’t fight it. you sighed softly. one of his hands moved from your face to your back, his large hand covering so much space. rubbing up and down the expanse of your back. when you finally gained a distance from his lips, the loss of contact making him whine.

“bin—we-didn’t brush our teeth” you panted, lips glossy. “do we have too—my little bunny taste sooo sweet?” he whined, hugging you closer. “mhm! germs are real, mkay? kisses afterwards” he pouted.

his lips found your neck again kissing down it “okay-just-one-more-kiss” he said between kisses. you giggled- “binnie! mm—don’t tempt meeee!“ 

which in fact he did, but you willingly let him. he’s just too sweet and cute to say no too!

-

ˋ°•*⁀➷ @lwriina

a/n : please please please reblog or comment if you liked~ also if you have any fic requests please send them my way!! ^^🤎

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Jump the Shark | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: MDNI!!!!!! FLEE!!! sexual innuendo, canon violence, canon gore, daddy issues, general angst

Word Count: 4892

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

It was clear all of you were exhausted, but Dean wanted to keep putting as many miles between the three of you and Lilith’s last location as possible. At some point, you forced him to pull over. Given it was the middle of nowhere, you, Sam, and Dean had to sleep in the car. Sam slept across the back seat, and you slept atop Dean with your arms and legs wrapped around him like a koala in the front seat. 

The next morning, you gently lifted your head to see Sam was leaning against the hood of the car brushing his teeth. Dean groaned, alerting you to the fact that he was awake, too, and you sat up in his lap. 

“Dean—” you sighed, feeling something beneath you. 

“What?!” he exasperated. “It’s the morning! Not my fault.”

You giggled and slid off him to open the passenger side door. Next, you found your toothbrush in your duffel bag and went to stand beside Sam.

“Hey, how’d you sleep?” Sam asked you.

Dean climbed out of the car and answered for you with a grumble. “How do you think? I'm starving. Let's get breakfast.”

Sam scoffed. “Where? We're like two hours from anything.”

“But I'm hungry now,” Dean groaned. 

“There's probably still a sandwich in the back seat,” the younger brother gestured with his hand before spitting out his toothpaste. 

You watched Dean while you brushed your teeth, and you giggled when he sniffed a sandwich bag and immediately recoiled.

“It's tuna,” Dean grimaced.

You handed Dean his toothbrush, and you stooped back to the duffel bag to find a comb or hair brush. Just then, you heard a phone ringing somewhere in the car. You felt your pockets, but it wasn’t yours. In fact, the ringing seemed to be coming from inside the glove box. You rummaged through the many phones within it before you found the ringing one at the bottom. 

Dean tossed you a quizzical look when you stood up as you stared at the phone in confusion. 

“Isn't that Dad's phone?” Sam questioned.

Dean nodded, and you opened it. “Hello?” you asked, putting it on speaker.

“Oh, sorry—” the voice immediately said, “I thought this was John.”

“He… can’t come to the phone right now,” you replied. “Whatcha need?”

“No, no, no—” the voice rushed out. “I really— I need to talk to John. This is Adam Milligan. He knows me.”

“I doubt it,” you said. “He died over two years ago.”

A small gasp came from the other end of the line, and silence followed. 

“Who is this, by the way?” you questioned, crossing your arms. 

“I'm his son.”

****

Adam instructed you and the brothers to meet him at a café in Minnesota. Ever the skeptic, Dean was plotting to bring as many monster-testing items as possible into the diner with him. 

However, Sam wasn’t so sure this kid was illegitimate. “Dean, look, best I can tell, Adam Milligan is real,” he explained as Dean sped into the parking lot. You handed him a folder of papers you’d found at a library you and the boys stopped at on the outskirts of town. You weren’t sure what to think as of yet, but your guard was certainly up. 

Sam read through the paper. “Um, born September twenty-ninth, 1990 to Kate Milligan. No father listed on the birth certificate. He's an Eagle Scout.”

Dean shoved various weapons into his pockets and jacket, and he even handed you Ruby’s knife. 

“Graduated from high school with honors and currently goes to the University of Wisconsin: biology major, pre-med… Dean? You listening?”

All Sam got was a grumbled response. “This is a trap.”

****

However, all signs pointed to it not being a trap. Adam passed every one of Dean’s tests; he wasn’t a shifter or werewolf, and as far as you could tell, he wasn’t a demon, either. There was even a section of pages in John’s journal from around the time of Adam’s birth that had been ripped out. Given it was a three-ring journal, John clearly left the remnants of the pages on purpose. 

As strange as it all was, you were beginning to believe it yourself. 

Adam explained his mom had gone missing, and he didn’t know who else to call. However, what interested you more was what Adam said about his relationship with John. 

“You know, called when he could. But still…” he trailed off before taking another bite of food. “He taught me poker and pool and even bought me my first beer when I was fifteen. And, uh, he showed me how to drive. Dad, he had this beautiful 'sixty-seven Impala—”

Dean cut him off. “Oh, this is crap. Y’know what? You're lying.” 

Adam recoiled in surprise. “No, I’m not.”

“Uh, yeah, you are.”

“I'm sorry, but who the hell are you to call me a liar?”

“We're John Winchester’s sons, that's who.” He gestured to himself and Sam. “We are his sons.”

Adam stared between the two boys. “I've got brothers?”

“No, you don't have brothers. Look, man, I don't know if you're a hunter or what kind of game you're playing here—”

“I have never been hunting in my life—”

Dean huffed. “Whatever. I'm out of here. C’mon, guys.” Your partner began to storm away, and you moved to follow him. 

Adam called after him, “I can prove it.”

****

Your heart was bleeding for Sam and Dean. The latter was currently holding a picture of a much younger Adam and John, and you swore he was on the verge of breaking the frame in his impossibly tight grip. “He took you to a baseball game?” Dean grunted, staring down at the picture.

Adam nodded. “Yeah, when I turned fourteen. Dad was around for a few of my birthdays.”

Sam gestured for you to come over. He showed you a page from the journal that was dated September twenty-ninth, two-thousand four. All he wrote beneath it was “Minnesota.”

“He took you to a fuckin’ baseball game?” Dean scoffed, his voice gruff. 

“Yeah. Why?” Adam looked at Dean quizzically. “What'd Dad do with you on your birthday?” He took the picture back from Dean, noticing Dean’s white knuckles.

Dean simply fumed, and Sam took the time to jump back in. “Adam, you said you called Dad because your mom was missing. How long has she been gone?”

“Three days,” he replied.

“Who was the last person to see her?” Dean questioned, returning his attention to the case.

“Mr. Abbinanti, our neighbor,” Adam explained. “He saw her come home Tuesday night, but she never showed up to work on Wednesday.”

You noticed a picture of John hugging a woman that looked almost identical to Dean’s mom. When you turned around, you saw Dean square his jaw and shoulders as he looked at the picture, too. 

Adam was explaining to Sam that the police hadn’t found anything, but you figured they wouldn’t. Your gut told you something was very wrong here. In Adam’s mother’s room, you and Dean began moving furniture while Adam questioned you about what you were doing. 

Dean’s replies to the young man were short, but you understood his frustration. 

“Dean, what else can you tell me about Dad?” Adam asked hesitantly.

“You knew him.”

Adam argued, “Not as well as you.”

Without looking at him, Dean said, “Trust me, kid, you don't want to know.”

Sam appeared at the door with a handful of papers.

“Give us a minute,” you said to Adam, brushing past him toward Sam. 

“You talk to the cops?” Dean asked in a hushed voice.

“Yeah. Like Adam said, no leads on his mom.”

“Shocker there,” you added.

“But I did find this.” Sam flipped through his papers until he found a newspaper dated from 1990. “In nineteen ninety, there were seventeen grave robberies in Windom,” he explained. He pointed to a photo accompanying the article where you and Dean found John in the background of the image.

“Alright, so, he was hunting something. What?” Dean said.

“No idea. Those were the pages he threw out of the journal. But last month, the corpse snatching started up again. Three bodies from the local cemetery.”

“So whatever he was after, he didn't kill it. It's back.”

“And, what, it's stepped up its game to fresh meat?” Dean challenged. “I mean, Kate's missing, and, uh—” he found a photo in the paper of a man in large black glasses and turned it toward you and his brother, “so is a local bartender; a guy named Joe Barton.”

Your brows furrowed, and you headed back to Kate’s— Adam’s mother’s— room. “Hey, your mom know Joe Barton?” you asked the young man. 

He gave you a quizzical look. “Uh, I don't think so. Why?”

With your lashes fluttering, you looked down toward Adam’s feet. Something under his left shoe caught your eye, and you looked back at Dean. He’d apparently noticed the same thing. 

“Watch out,” Dean told Adam, and you immediately set to work moving the mattress off the bed frame with your partner’s help. Below the bed was a vent just large enough for someone to squeeze through.

Dean and Sam looked at each other briefly before motioning to begin rock paper scissors. 

“You guys are such babies,” you snickered, stepping into the metal bed frame. 

Sam helped you take the vent cover off, and you then began wriggling down the vent with a flashlight in hand. On your hands and knees, you moved down the next horizontal portion of the duct. 

As you moved your right hand to crawl forward, you nearly put your hand on a dry streak of blood. As much as you felt a moral obligation to grimace, you weren’t exactly fazed by such a sight anymore. However, it did set you on edge, and you quickly took out your handgun. 

You crawled forward just slightly more and looked around the corner of the duct where you were greeted by the sight of bits of flesh and blood surrounded by copious splatters of blood. Unable to move any further forward, you crawled back toward Kate’s room.

****

Dean sat at the desk in the room while you claimed the floor. The two of you cleaned various guns in the trunk arsenal, and you quite enjoyed the silence blanketing the two of you save for a few clicks of the guns’ inner workings. It made you happy to have a partner you could simply exist with. 

Sam was reading a book  on his bed, and every once in a while, he’d wince and shift uncomfortably; no doubt related to having slept in the car the night before. Then, when a hammering knock came from the other side of the door, Sam went to open it. 

Adam barged into the room, and you threw your shotgun under the bed while Dean shoved his under his jacket he’d discarded on the floor.

“Who the hell are you?” the youngest man questioned. 

“Adam, hey.” Sam closed the door behind him. “Take it easy.”

“No, don't tell me to take it easy, okay?” He began to pace, and all you could focus on was the leather jacket he continuously nearly tripped over that barely concealed Dean’s weapon. “My house is a crime scene, my mom's probably dead, and you three— well, you tell me to call the cops, but you got to bail before they show? So, who are you really?” 

None of you answered. You kept staring at the jacket.

“Cops didn't know where to look for my mom, Dean, but you did,” Adam continued. And I heard you talking earlier; something about grave robberies. You're not mechanics. I just want to know what's going on. Please.”

“We're hunters,” Sam finally replied.

“Sammy!” you and Dean scolded simultaneously.

“He deserves to know, guys.”

“What do you mean, 'hunters'?”

You dropped your head and sighed. 

Sam explained everything to him. It looked like everything he was saying to Adam wasn’t quite computing in his head. “Okay, so...basically, you're saying that every movie monster, every nightmare that I’ve ever had, that's all real?”

“Godzilla's just a movie,” Dean smirked.

You cracked a small smile. 

“We hunt them,” Sam said. “So did Dad.”

Adam nodded, not looking at any of you. “Okay,” he said.

Dean scoffed. “ ‘Okay’? That’s it?”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“That we're liars, that we're crazy. Nobody just says ‘okay,’ " replied Dean.

“Well, you're my brothers.” He looked innocently between the two boys. 

“You are way too trusting, kiddo,” you said. 

Adam gave you a strange look.  “ They're telling me the truth, right?” You nodded. “Unfortunately.”

“Then, I believe you. Now, what took my mom?”

Sam shrugged and took in a deep breath. “We're not sure. Something's in town stealing bodies, living and dead, but we don't know what.” 

“There's a long list of freaks that fit the bill,” Dean added.

“You think maybe she might still be alive?”

Dean looked down at the floor, then slightly toward you.

“I think you know the answer to that, otherwise, you wouldn’t ‘ve asked,” you said. 

“Oh.” Adam’s shoulders fell. “How can I help?”

“You can’t,” you and Dean scoffed.

“This thing killed my mom. If you're hunting it, I want in.”

“Absolutely not,” you answered.

“No,” Dean grumbled simultaneously.

Sam huffed. “Guys, look, maybe—”

Dean cut Sam off. “ ‘Maybe’ what?”

“He lost his mother. Maybe we can understand what that feels like.”

“Why do you think Dad never told us about this kid, Sam? Huh?” Dean grunted with no regard for the fact that Adam was standing right there. “Why do you think he ripped out the pages?” Before Sam could answer, the older brother continued, “Because he was protecting him!”

“Dad's dead, Dean,” Sam replied in a much quieter tone than his brother’s.

“That doesn't matter! He didn't want Adam to have our lives, okay? And we are gonna respect his wishes.”

Adam piped up sheepishly. “Do I get a say in this?”

“No!” All three of you shouted.

Dean tapped your thigh and stood up, heading for the door. “Babysit the kid,” he told Sam.

“Where are you going?” Sam scoffed.

“I'm going out! C’mon, (Y/N).”

You looked back at Sam one last time before closing the door behind you and Dean. 

Once you were in the Impala, you asked, “So where are we really going?”

Dean gave you a look. You could tell he wasn’t mad at you, but he was also too worked up to entertain banter of any kind. And you knew better than to talk about Adam or Sam. 

“I think I wanna work,” Dean spoke up after a moment of tense silence.

“Okay,” you replied, “I’m good with that.”

****

You and Dean went to a cemetery to meet with its director. The stolen bodies were from his grounds, and the only thing of note there was embalming fluid beside the opened tombs. It seemed as though the creature had ripped the corpses open when it took them. 

Your next stop was a bar. Working hadn’t quelled Dean’s anxiety and frustration much, so you’d suggested getting a drink. While Dean stared down at the papers he’d brought in, you waved down the bartender. 

She was an older woman with a sad look behind her eyes. Still, it seemed she did her best to look and feel put together. “First beer's on the house for cops. Feds too,” she said, pouring you and Dean a glass.

“Are we that obvious?” Dean chuckled.

“I know all the local badges.” She set your glasses down in front of you. “You've got that… Law & Order vibe. So, what's the FBI doing in Windom?”

“Looking into the disappearance of Joe Barton,” Dean replied, sliding a picture of the man across the bar. 

Suddenly, that sadness in her eyes covered her face when she looked at the picture.

“I assume you knew him?” you asked softly. She’d managed to evoke more empathy from you than anyone else had in a long time.

“A little. I'm his wife, Lisa.” Though she tried to joke, she couldn’t hide her grief. Her eyes stayed glued to the picture of her husband.

“Well, Lisa, what can you tell me about his disappearance?” Dean questioned.

“Same thing I told the sheriff. He stayed late Friday before last to do inventory. Never came home.”

“And the police?” he continued to press.

“Nothing. Truth is, I was scared they stopped looking. But now, you're here.”

You noticed a picture of the missing man behind the bar. “He was a cop?” You nodded to one of him in a sharp uniform. 

“Deputy. For a little while. That was a long time ago,” she answered.

Your partner asked, “He didn't happen to work the, uh, the grave robbery case, back in 'ninety?”

Lisa gave the two of you a strange look. “He did, yeah. Joe was the one who found those bodies. He got an award for that.”

“That was an interesting case,” Dean nodded. “He ever tell you how he did it?”

You scanned the newspaper image next to the photo of Joe in his deputy uniform, and it seemed Dean did, too.

“Most of the time, he said good, solid police work,” Lisa explained. “But after a few beers, he'd admit he had a little help.”

“From who?”

“A 'specialist'. That's all he'd say.”

“Cops ever find the guy that stole the bodies?” Dean took a large swig of his drink.

‘Aha. John.’ You’d found him in the picture.

“No,” replied Lisa. “But when I asked Joe about it, he'd say not to worry; that ‘we took care of what done it.’ “

****

“ ‘S kinda weird—” Dean said after many minutes of silence on the drive back to the motel. 

You turned to face him.

“—seein’ my dad in that picture,” he finished. “Don’t know how to explain it any more than that, but, uh, just wanted you to know.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “I get it. Thank you for telling me.”

Just as Dean pulled into the parking lot, you saw Adam standing next to a large truck while pulling at someone or something beneath it. Before the Impala had even rolled to a stop, you were out of the car and running over. 

“(Y/N)!” Adam called worriedly. “It’s Sam! Help!” He was pulling one of Sam’s arms with both hands, and he was visibly straining. You grabbed Sam’s other hand and pulled with all your might. Together, you and Adam managed to get Sam’s torso free from under the car, and Dean ran over with a shotgun. He tried to aim at whatever was under the truck holding Sam’s ankles, but he couldn’t get a clean shot.

It seemed the youngest Winchester gave a hard kick to whatever was holding him, and the creature let go. You and Adam fell back on the concrete, and Sam flopped forward. 

“Where the fuck did it go?” you asked, scrambling to your feet. 

“Adam, move your truck,” Dean ordered. 

He obeyed, and you discovered a sewer grate under the spot where he’d parked. You were leaning against the Impala next to Dean. “Did you see anything?” your partner asked Sam.

He shook his head. “I didn't get a good look.”

“What the hell is this thing?”

Adam hopped out of his truck looking flustered. “Why— Who— Should we go after it?”

“No, no. In that maze?” Dean scoffed, nodding at the grate. “That thing's long gone.”

“Alright, so,” Sam began, “we don't know what it is, but we do know who it's going after. Joe Barton, Adam's mom—”

Dean cut his brother off. “And Adam. It was under his truck, just waiting for him.”

“It set a trap, and I walked right into it.” It was clear Sam was beating himself off.

“Doesn't matter. You're right; there's a pattern. Joe Barton was a cop. I'm pretty sure he helped out Dad. So we've got him, Dad's girl, and his son.”

“All the people Dad knew in town.”

“At least we know why it's back.”

“It wants revenge,” Adam finished.

****

“I hate this idea,” you said, standing beside Dean with your arms folded.

“Yeah, I don’t feel any better,” he replied.

The two of you watched Sam teaching Adam how to hold and fire a handgun. Sam had been insistent that Adam have his opportunity to get revenge despite the fact that you and Dean were not on board at all. 

Sam had spray painted a target on the back of a “no trespassing” sign in the middle of the rural field you’d found, and there were three small holes in the center of the rings from where Sam had just fired.

You watched Adam take the gun and confidently fire, hitting inside the bullseye. While Dean just seemed frustrated, you were put on guard. Sam was an amazing teacher, undoubtedly, but he wasn’t that good. Adam fired as if he’d known how to shoot a gun all his life despite having said he’d never even seen a gun in person on the car ride over. While you didn’t feel it was disturbing enough to share, you certainly used it as an excuse to overanalyze Adam’s every move after the fact.

During a conversation Sam was having with Adam in the kitchen of his mother’s house, you sat back and watched Adam quietly and meticulously. Sam was busy telling Adam about the wendigo the three of you hunted years ago, and the conversation then shifted to what the life of a hunter entails. 

“That's the price we pay. You cut 'em out, and you don't look back,” Sam was saying. “There's only one thing you can count on. Family.”

Sitting beside you was Dean, and he seemed like he was on the verge of boiling over. “Sam,” he grunted. “Can I talk to you?”

You followed the two brothers over to the stairs. 

“What the hell was that?” Dean whispered harshly.

Sam scoffed. “What?”

“ 'Hunting is life. You can't have connections.' Dad gave you that exact same speech, remember? It was just before you ditched us for Stanford. You hated Dad for saying that stuff, and now you're quoting him?”

“Yeah, well, turns out Dad was right,” the younger brother shrugged.

“Since when?”

“Since always. Dean, when I look at Adam, you know what I see?”

“A normal kid.”

“No. Meat. Because the demons and monsters out there, that's all he is. I hated Dad for a long time. I did. But now I think I understand. So we didn't have a dog and a white picket fence. So what? Dad did right by us. He taught us how to protect ourselves. Adam deserves the same.”

Dean shook his head. “Listen to yourself, man.”

“You think I’m wrong?” Sam raised his eyebrows, waiting expectantly for a reply.

“I think it's too late for us. This is our life. This is who we are, okay? And it's fine. I accept that. But with Adam, he's still got a chance, man. He can go to school. He could be a doctor.”

“What makes Adam so special?”

“What, are you jealous of the kid?”

“Are you?” Sam shot back. “Dean… all this… it's not real. The dad Adam knew? He wasn't real. The things out there in the shadows; they are real. The world is coming to an end. That's real. Everything else is just part of the crap people tell themselves to get through the day.”

“Dad didn't have a choice with us, okay? But with Adam, he did. Adam doesn't have to be cursed,” the older brother argued.

“He's a Winchester. He's already cursed.”

“I still a little skeptical that he’s actually related to you,” you cut in for the first time.

“Whatever,” Dean huffed. “Whatever's hunting Adam, I’m gonna find it.”

“You already looked everywhere, Dean.”

“Well, then I’ll look again.” He stormed off to go to the car parked in front of the house. 

You stayed with Sam for another moment, trying to find the words.

“(Y/N), you coming?” Dean asked from the door, turning back only slightly. 

With one last look at Sam, you followed his older brother out.

****

The ride to the cemetery was silent. Both you and Dean were too deep in thought and operating on autopilot as you went down into the tomb the cemetery director showed you to the previous day.

Dean had found a tunnel behind a large stone on the far wall, and the two of you went down with your flashlights and guns in hand. In the corner of your flashlight’s beam, you saw limp fingers attached to a bloody arm that was partially decomposing, and a pair of black glasses were broken next to it.

“Sloppy Joe,” Dean commented, wincing. 

“God, the deputy,” you realized.

Then, you heard a sound behind you. You and Dean both wheeled around and fired several times, and the tunnel collapsed.

“Oh, son of a bitch!” He then tried to call Sam, but he had no signal.

“Son of a bitch,” you echoed, albeit more quietly. 

The both of you looked at the fallen entrance and immediately started trying to kick and shove the rubble out of the way. However, it was useless.

“Let’s just keep moving, then,” you said. 

Deeper in the tunnel, you found a sealed coffin with relatively fresh blood on the outside. Dean helped you shove the heavy lid off, and you both immediately recoiled at the smell it released. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” you breathed out, looking down at the dead eyes of Kate Milligan. Pieces of her arms and legs were missing, and her intestines spilled out of her abdomen.

Dean had noticed another coffin, and you went over to help him with its lid. Inside was the corpse of Adam Milligan. 

You and Dean immediately rushed to your feet knowing that Sam was alone with the creature. The two of you ran up the tunnel to shove at the collapsed rocks once more and much more forcefully this time. 

“Fuck!” Dean shouted. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a stain glass window depicting an angel near the place you’d found the corpses of the Milligans. 

“Dee, gimme a boost,” you said.

He ran over to the outer wall of the tomb with you and helped you pull yourself up to the small window. 

“Cover your eyes!” you told Dean as you took your jacket-covered elbow and smashed the glass with it. Once you’d made it through, the ground was just about level with the bottom of the window’s ledge. You laid on your stomach and leaned through the window, ignoring the glass shards poking your torso while you helped Dean out of the tomb. 

“You okay?” Dean asked you.

You smiled a little. It was sweet how he checked on you even when you weren’t in imminent danger. When you nodded, the two of you immediately sprinted to the Impala to get back to the Milligan’s house. 

****

It was chaos when you found the creatures and a bloody, tied-up Sam in the basement of the Milligan home. You rushed to Sam’s side, being careful to avoid getting caught in the crossfire of the melee between Dean and the ghouls. Headshots were the only way to kill them, which Dean executed expertly. 

“You okay, Sammy?” you asked as you gave him a once-over. He’d been cut pretty deeply in his arm, and he groaned when you put pressure on it with a ripped-off piece of your shirt. 

“Dean, help me get ‘im up,” you instructed.

“Alright, here we go,” Dean told his brother as the two of you slung Sam’s arms around your shoulders. “Hang on, buddy.”

“Thank you,” Sam told you and his brother.

“Hey, that’s what we’re here for,” you replied. 

****

With Sam’s wounds dressed and your bags packed, you and the Winchesters set off into the night. In the clearing where Sam had taught “Adam” shooting, you set the body of the true Adam Milligan on a pyre wrapped in burial cloths.

“You sure we should do this?” Sam asked.

Dean poured a bottle of lighter fluid over Adam’s body. “Ghouls didn't fake those pictures. They didn't fake Dad's journal. Adam was our brother. He died like a hunter. He deserves to go out like one.”

You wrapped your arm around Dean’s to reassure him. 

“Maybe we can bring him back. Get a hold of Cas; call in a favor,” Sam suggested.

Dean shook his head. “No, Adam's in a better place.” He lit a match and threw it on the body. You backed away, arm still wrapped around his. 

“Y’know, I finally get why you and Dad butted heads so much,” Dean said. “You two were practically the same person.”

Sam looked over, but Dean kept his eyes on the burning pyre. The smell of rotting, burnt flesh began permeating through the air. 

“I mean, I worshipped the guy, y’know?” your partner chuckled awkwardly. “I dressed like him, I acted like him, I listen to the same music. But you were more like him than I will ever be. And I see that now.”

Sam gave a small smile. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

After a moment of silence, Dean said, “You take it any way you want.” 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-nesmith @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[scary-noodlesblog]

Soulbound Ch 14

Sympathy For The Devil

Soulbound Masterlist

(A/N): wooo we are on season 5! Check out my Tumblr page for polls on future plot points for this story because sometimes I'm indecisive. 

3rd Person POV:

"Come on!" Dean says, pulling his brother and sister to the doors of the sanctuary slam shut in their faces. They rattle the door, struggling to open it and escape the rising of the literal devil behind them. A high-pitched sound makes the three hunters turn around, grimacing at the light before the sound gets louder, bringing them to their knees as they cover their ears. As white engulfs them, Dean, Sam and (Y/N) all shut their eyes. 

"What the devil is your name?" (Y/N) hears before she opens her eyes. She glances around her, seeing Sam on her right, Dean on the other side of him. Something has teleported them onto a plane. She looks on the little screen on the seat in front of Dean, seeing the in-flight movie of "Devil's Feud Cake", a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

No one around the three seemed to have noticed their sudden appearance, someone even walking on (Y/N)'s left down the aisle towards the restrooms. "What the hell?" (Y/N) asks, looking over at her brothers, who look just as equally confused.

"I don't know." Sam shakes his head, glancing out the window.

The pilot speaks through the intercom above their heads, "Folks, quick word from the flight deck. We're just passing over Ilchester, then Ellicott City, on our initial descent into Baltimore—" 

"Ilchester? Weren't we just there?" Dean asks. 

The pilot continues, "So if you'd like to stretch your legs, now would be a good time to—Holy crap!"

A sudden shock wave knocks the plane off kilter, people getting thrown around the plane like ragdolls as they scream. (Y/N)'s knuckles turn white as she grips the armrests. Oxygen masks drop down, the three hunters immediately putting them on. Several different alarms and beeping are going off. Sam's left arm is holding onto (Y/N)'s left armrest, his arm extended over her lap like a mother who just had to brake really hard in a car. (Y/N)'s right hand holds her mask while the left holds a fistful of Sam's jacket sleeve. The high-pitched sound returns as Dean looks out the window, terrified.

~~~~~~~

1st Person POV: 

After getting off the plane of death, the three of us got into a rental car. Dean is driving like always and Sam in the passenger seat, leaving me in the back as per usual. Sam clicks on the radio, an announcer's voice playing over the speakers, "—and Governor O'Malley urged calm, saying it's very unlikely an abandoned convent would be a target for terrorists, either foreign or homegrown."

"Change the station." Dean mumbles.

Sam pokes at the radio, another announcer's voice cutting through. "—Hurricane Kinley, unexpectedly slamming into the Galveston area—"

Click. "—announced a successful test of the North Korean nuclear—"

Click. "—a series of tremors—"

Click. "—swine flu—"

Sam turns the radio off and sighs. "Dean, look—"

"Don't say anything." Dean interrupts him, pausing for a moment. "It's okay. We just got to keep our heads down and hash this out, all right?"

"Yeah, okay." Sam says softly, nodding his head. 

"All right, well, first things first—How did we end up on Soul Plane?" Dean asks.

I shrug, crossing my legs, "Angels, maybe? I mean, you know, beaming us out of harm's way?"

"Well, whatever. It's the least of our worries. We need to find Cas."

~~~~~~~

The three of us wander around quietly throughout Chuck's house. There's blood and household items everywhere. The boys and I enter the kitchen, seeing blood on the toaster and microwave turn plate. A creak from behind us puts us on higher alert, I wander back into the living room behind Sam, Dean behind me. 

I let out a gasp as someone jumps out, swinging something at Sam's head. Sam stumbles back, almost into me as he holds his head. "Geez! Ow!"

Chuck looks at us in disbelief, holding a...toilet plunger? Ew. "Sam."

"Yeah!" Sam scowls, making me chuckle.

"Hey, Chuck." Dean greets from behind me.

Chuck pants softly, stepping forward a little. "So...you're okay?"

Sam rubs his head again, "Well, my head hurts."

"No, I mean—I mean, my—My last vision." Chuck stammers. "You went, like, full-on Vader. Your body temperature was one-fifty. Your heart rate was two hundred. Your eyes were black."

Dean's eyebrows raise as I look at Sam, crossing my arms. "Your eyes went black?"

Sam turns to glance at Dean and I, "I didn't know."

I shake my head, putting myself back on the right train of thought, "Where's Cas?"

The look on Chuck's face immediately fills me with dread. He looks at me like he's about to give me his deepest sympathies. His next words rip the air from my lungs. "He's dead. Or gone. The archangel smote the crap out of him. I'm sorry."

It feels like my throat is closing as I hear Dean, "You're sure? I mean, maybe he just vanished into the light or something."

"Oh, no. He, like, exploded." Chuck takes a couple steps forward. "Like a water balloon of chunky soup."

Dean puts his hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. A silent, 'are you okay?'

I swallow thickly and nod, blinking away the water pooling in my eyes and maintaining my composure. I let out a sniffle and shift my weight to my right leg. Sam looks back at us again before turning back to Chuck with a sigh. "You got a—" Sam gestures to the left side of his head. My eyebrows crinkle as Dean pulls out the pocket door to the kitchen. 

"Uh...right here?" Chuck touches the right side of his head.

Sam shakes his head, "Uh, the..."

Chuck feels around the other side of his hair, "Oh. Oh, god." He pulls something out of his hair, something small and white-ish. "Is that a molar?" He holds out the tooth, making me cringe. "Do I have a molar in my hair? This has been a really stressful day." I hear Dean slide the door back in its place and walk back up behind me.

Dean scoffs, "Cas, you stupid bastard."

My eyebrows furrow as I smack Dean's chest. "Stupid? He was trying to help us."

Dean just nods, "Yeah, exactly."

"So, what now?" Sam shrugs.

"I don't know." Dean huffs. 

I look at Chuck, who looks like he's disassociating. "Oh, crap." he mumbles.

"What?" I ask.

"I can feel them."

A new voice cuts through from the kitchen, "Thought we'd find you here." We turn to see Zachariah, accompanied by two other angels. The former nudges his foot through the debris on the floor, metal clattering. "Playtime's over, Dean. Time to come with us."

Dean shoves a finger in the angel's direction. "You just keep your distance, Asshat."

Zachariah looks at Dean with a calm expression. "You're upset."

"No shit, Sherlock." I roll my eyes, glaring at the winged fucks in front of me.

"Yeah. A little. You sons of bitches jump-started judgment day!' Dean yells.

The angel just shrugs, "Maybe we let it happen. We didn't start anything. Right, Sammy?" Zachariah winks, making Sam shift uncomfortably. "You had a chance to stop your brother, and you couldn't. So let's not quibble over who started what. Let's just say it was all our faults and move on. 'Cause like it or not it's Apocalypse Now. And we're back on the same team again."

Dean just nods like he's amused. "Is that so?"

"You want to kill the devil. We want you to kill the devil. It's...synergy." Zachariah explains.

Dean scoffs, "And I'm just supposed to trust you? Cram it with walnuts, ugly."

Zachariah chuckles. "This isn't a game, son. Lucifer is powerful in ways that defy description. We need to strike now, hard and fast—before he finds his vessel." 

"His vessel? Lucifer needs a meat suit?" Sam laughs softly.

"He is an angel. Them's the rules." The angel smirks. "And when he touches down, we're talking Four Horsemen, red oceans, fiery skies, the greatest hits. You can stop him, Dean, but you need our help." 

"You listen to me, you two-faced douche." Dean challenges. "After what you did, I don't want jack squat from you!"

"You listen to me, boy! You think you can rebel against us? As Lucifer did?" Zachariah asks before looking down at Dean's hand. "You're bleeding."

My eyebrows furrow as I see blood drip from Dean's hand. Dean smirks, "Oh, yeah—a little insurance policy in case you dicks showed up." Dean reaches behind him, pulling out the pocket door and slapping his bloody hand to it. 

Sam, Chuck and I flinch as a bright white light engulfs the angels, banishing them.

"Learned that from my friend Cas, you son of a bitch." Dean grumbles before looking back to us.

Chuck sighs, "This sucks ass."

~~~~~~~

I sit on one of the motel beds of the Regent Motel, a dingy little place under a train overpass. I huff as I clean my gun, the different pieces laid out in front of me on the covers. Dean, only a few feet away, is reloading some of the guns that were in the Impala's trunk at the table.

"Hey." Dean greets Sam as the younger Winchester walks in, making me lift me head from my current task.

"Hey." Sam closes the door and pulls out two little bags, tossing one to Dean, then to me. "Here. Hex bags. No way the angels will find us with those. Demons, either, for that matter."

"Where'd you get it?" I raise an eyebrow as I examine the small, brown cloth bag.

"I made it." Sam says, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

"How?" Dean puts the hex bag on the table.

Dean looks up at Sam as he hesitates for a moment, "I...I learned it from Ruby." Of course he did.

The older Winchester sets down his gun and approaches Sam. "Speaking of. How you doing? Are you jonesing for another hit of bitch blood or what?"

Sam shakes his head. "I-it's weird. Uh, tell you the truth, I'm fine. No shakes, no fever. It's like whoever...put me on that plane cleaned me right up."

"Supernatural methadone." Dean chuckles. 

"Yeah, I guess." Sam smiles slightly before hesitating again. "(Y/N), Dean—"

I lift my head from cleaning the gun again as Dean interrupts him, "Sam." He turns back to the table. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything."

Sam chuckles lightly, "Well, that's good. Because what can I even say? 'I'm sorry'? 'I screwed up'? Doesn't really do it justice, you know? Look, there's nothing I can do or say that will ever make this right—"

Dean interrupts him again, yelling, "So why do you keep bringing it up?!" 

"Dean." I chastise, my voice sharp as I narrow my eyes at Dean. "He's just trying to make it up to us. He's allowed to feel guilty. He was manipulated. Sam really thought he was doing the right thing."

Sam sighs and nods. Dean turns back to him, bringing his voice down again. "Look, all I'm saying is, why do we have to put this under a microscope? We made a mess. We clean it up. That's it." Sam nods again and Dean continues. "All right, so, say this is just any other hunt. You know? What do we do first?"

"We'd, uh, figure out where the thing is." Sam mumbles.

I half-shrug, standing up from the bed. "All right. So we just got to find...the devil."

~~~~~~~

Sam sits at the table while Dean sits on the bed, his back to the headboard. I lay next to him, on my stomach, my head by his feet, the two of us watching tv while Sam reads from John's journal.

A lady on the Tv is talking to an environmentalist. "How would you then explain an earthquake, a hurricane, and multiple tornadoes, all at the same time, all around the globe?"

"Two words. Carbon emissions." The man responds.

Dean just scoffs, "Yeah, right, wavy gravy."

 I look back at Dean with a small laugh before there's a knock at the door. Dean nudges my calf and then grabs his gun, standing up from the bed. I sit up, grabbing my own gun as well but stay by the side of the bed.

Sam answers the door, revealing a woman who seems to be having trouble breathing. "You okay, lady?" Sam asks, his voice sounding confused.

The woman pants, her voice breaking, "Sam...is it really you?" Sam turns back to look at Dean and I, I cross my arms over my chest, trying not to laugh. The woman steps forward a little, putting her hand on Sam's chest. "And you're so firm."

"Uh, do I know you?" Sam asks warily, eyebrows crinkled.

The woman puts her hand down and takes a breath. "No. But I know you. You're Sam Winchester. And you're—" She looks passed Sam to Dean, "—not what I pictured." She then looks at me. "You're more...tomboyish than I pictured."

"Yeah, well, not much room for heels and cocktail dresses here." I roll my eyes.

"I'm Becky." She looks back up at Sam, ignoring what I said, before pushing past Sam into the room. "I read all about you guys. And I've even written a few—" Becky glances down, giggling nervously. "Anyway, Mr. Edlund told me where you were."

"Chuck?" Dean asks, standing up from the bed.

Sam closes the door and Becky turns to the three of us, "He's got a message, but he's being watched. Angels. Nice change-up to the mythology, by the way. The demon stuff was getting kind of old."

"Right. Just, um," Sam clears his throat. "...what's the message?"

Becky closes her eyes like she's reciting a prayer. "He had a vision. 'The Michael sword is on earth. The angels lost it.'" 

"The Michael sword?" Dean asks.

Sam glances at Dean before looking down at the woman, "Becky, does he know where it is?"

Becky nods, "In a castle, on a hill made of forty-two dogs."

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Forty-two...dogs?"

"Are...you sure you got that right?" Sam questions.

"It doesn't make sense, but that's what he said." She steps closer to Sam. "I memorized every word." Her hand reaches up to rest on Sam's chest again. "For you."

Sam looks at Dean and I again, then back down at Becky. "Um, Becky, c—uh, can you...quit touching me?"

I snicker as Becky's hand rubs his chest, her eyes closed. She shakes her head with more labored breathing. "No."

~~~~~~~

Later, there's another knock on the motel door. I open it this time, revealing my adoptive father. "Hey, Bobby."

Bobby wraps his arms around my shoulders, my arms circling his ribs. He smelled like home, old books, whiskey and black coffee. "Good to see you kids all in one piece." Bobby then goes to hug Sam, who's smiling. 

Then he hugs Dean, patting his back, "You weren't followed, were you?"

Bobby glances between the three of us, "You mean by angels, demons, or Sam's new superfan?"

I chuckle while Sam scoffs out a laugh. "You heard."

"I heard, Romeo. So...sword of Michael, huh?" Bobby sighs.

Dean's eyebrows crinkle, "You think we're talking about the actual sword from the actual archangel?"

"You better friggin' hope so." Bobby says, opening a book to a painting of Michael surrounded by other angels on the table. In the painting, Michael looks like a woman with wings while the other angels look like naked babies with wings, almost like the stereotype depiction of cherubim. Bobby points to the painting, "That's Michael. Toughest son of a bitch they got."

Sam flips the page, showing another painting where Michael looks quite feminine. Dean leans over Sam's shoulder to look at the page, "You kidding me? Tough? That guy looks like Cate Blanchett."

Bobby half-shrugs, "Well, I wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley, believe me. He commands the heavenly host. During the last big dust-up upstairs, he's the one who booted Lucifer's ass to the basement. Did it with that sword." He points to the sword in Michael's hand. "So if we can find it..."

"We can kick the devil's ass all over again. All right. So, where do we start?" I ask.

"Divvy up and start reading—try and make sense of Chuck's nonsense."

Sam stands up from the table, walking over to a pile of books Bobby brought. He stares at is, not actually picking one up. "Sam?" I call.

Bobby looks up from the book, "Kid? You all right?"

Sam turns to face Bobby. "No, actually. Bobby, this is all my fault. I'm sorry."

"Sam..." Dean warns.

"Dean. Shut up." I narrow my eyes at Dean.

Guilt covers Sam's features, "Lilith did not break the final seal. Lilith was the final seal."

"Sam, stop it." Dean raises his voice.

"Dean." I interrupt again, my volume raising to meet his. "Shut. Up!"

Sam's voice is soft and breaking. "I killed her, and I set Lucifer free."

"You what?" Bobby stands up.

"You guys warned me about Ruby, the demon blood, but I didn't listen. I brought this on." Sam mumbles, sounding like he's about to cry.

Dean doesn't say anything more, but Bobby walks up to Sam. "You're damn right you didn't listen. You were reckless and selfish and arrogant."

"I'm sorry." Sam apologizes, tearing up. I stand up, striding over to Bobby and Sam.

"Oh, yeah? You're sorry you started Armageddon? This kind of thing don't get forgiven, boy. If, by some miracle, we pull this off...I want you to lose my number. You understand me?"

"Bobby!" I yell, offended on Sam's behalf. 

Sam nods numbly. His voice comes out soft, "There's an old church nearby. Maybe I'll go read some of the lore books there."

Bobby glares at Sam. "Yeah. You do that."

I look between the two men I have come to know as a father and a brother. I don't even recognize them anymore, if looks could kill, I'd be standing over their bodies. But I don't follow Sam, figuring he needs the space.

~~~~~~~

3rd Person POV:

Bobby and Dean sit at the table, doing research while (Y/N) sits on the bed. Her back rests against the headboard as she keeps her eyes on the book, not even wanting to give the two men in the room the time of day.

"I never would have guessed that your daddy was right." Bobby says to Dean after a while of silence.

Dean doesn't even look up from his book, "About what?"

(Y/N) doesn't look up either but she tunes into their conversation as Bobby continues. "About your brother." Dean finally looks at Bobby, "What John said—you save Sam or kill him. Maybe..."

"Maybe what?" Dean asks.

"Maybe we shouldn't have tried so hard to save him." Bobby sighs.

"Bobby." Dean huffs, his voice chastising.

"He ended the world, Dean. And you and I weren't strong enough to stop him proper. That's on us. I'm just saying, your dad was right."

"Dad." Dean mumbles in realization. 

Dean walks over to the bed where (Y/N) is sitting. He rummages through his duffel bag at the foot of the bed, his sister finally looking up at him as he mumbles, "It's got to be in here somewhere." Dean pulls out a Ziploc baggy full of cards.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bobby asks from the table, looking just as confused as his adoptive daughter.

"Here." Dean pulls out the card, reading it. Bobby stands up as Dean starts to walk over to him.

Dean smiles, "I don't believe it."

"What the hell is it?" Bobby asks.

"It's a card for my dad's lockup in upstate New York. Read it." Dean replies, handing Bobby the card.

Bobby takes the card and reads it aloud. "'Castle Storage. 42 Rover Hill'."

(Y/N)'s eyes widen as it hits her. "Castle on a hill of forty-two dogs."

Dean takes the card back as Bobby's eyebrows furrow. "So you think your dad had the Michael sword all this time?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure what else Chuck could have meant." Dean chuckles softly.

Bobby sighs, "Yeah. Okay. It's good enough for me."

Suddenly, Bobby punches Dean, sending him through the divider between the motel room's kitchenette and the beds. (Y/N) gasps, getting up from the bed as Dean hits the floor. Bobby walks over, hauling Dean up. (Y/N) stomps over and tries to pull Bobby off of her brother, only for him to backhand her to the floor. Bobby then drop kicks Dean through the bathroom door and his eyes turn black. 

Bobby grabs (Y/N) by the throat, hauling her to her feet while two more demons enter the room, one male, one female. The male demon goes over to Dean, also pulling him to his feet. (Y/N) struggles against demon-Bobby, gritting her teeth.

"I always knew you were a big, dumb, slow, dim pain in the ass, Dean." The female demon says.  "But I never dreamed you were so V.I.P." She sees Ruby's knife on the table, picking it up. "I mean, you're gonna ice the devil? You? If I'd have known that, I'd have ripped your pretty, pretty face off ages ago." The female demon's attention then lands on (Y/N). "And you, we've always wanted you. I mean, an angel's bond just ripe for the taking."

"Ruby." Dean tries to identify weakly.

The female demon grins, "Try again. Go back further."

"Meg." (Y/N) identifies correctly.

Meg chuckles. "Hi. These are the days of miracle and wonder, you two. Our father's among us. You know we're all dreaming again for the first time since we were human? It's Heaven on Earth. Or Hell. We really owe your brother a fruit basket."

"My god, you like the sound of your own voice." Dean strains.

"But you, on the other hand, you're the only bump in the road. So every demon—every single one—is just dying for a piece of you. Both of you." Meg smirks.

Dean just chuckles. "Get in line."

Meg stands in front of Dean. "Oh, I'm in the front of the line, baby." her voice lowers to a whisper. "Let's ride." Then she plants her lips on Dean's. He grunts as her tongue swirls in his mouth before she pulls away.

Dean coughs, "What is that, peanut butter?"

Meg only strides over to (Y/N), licking her lips as her eyes wander the female hunter's form. (Y/N) glares at her, Meg cupping the back of her neck and kissing her as well, the demon's tongue claiming her mouth. (Y/N) cringes and understands why Dean asked about the peanut butter. 

Meg breaks away, taking a moment to wipe the saliva from (Y/N)'s lips, "You know, your surrogate daddy's still awake screaming in there. And I want him to know how it feels slicing the life out of you."

Meg hands demon-Bobby the knife, who brings it to (Y/N)'s throat. Demon-Bobby backs her up, pinning her to the wall. "Bobby!" She yells as she struggles. Dean also struggles against the male demon, eyes wide.

"Now!" Meg shouts at demon-Bobby as he looks back at her.

Demon-Bobby raises the knife again, ready to plunge the blade into his daughter as she yells, "Dad! No!"

The black fades from Bobby's eyes as the man comes to, seeing his hand on (Y/N)'s throat and a knife in his other hand. Bobby regains control, bringing the knife down. (Y/N) throws a hand up to protect herself, eyes squeezing shut and Dean yelling her name. But the pain never comes, she opens her eyes again to see Bobby has embedded the demon knife in his stomach.

Bobby flashes gold as the demon inside him dies. "No." (Y/N) whispers with tear filled eyes.

Dean takes the opportunity, breaking out of the male demons hold and fighting him and Meg. The male demon slams Dean into a wall before tossing him to the floor. The door opens again, Sam on the other side, seeing Bobby on the floor bleeding, (Y/N) pressing her hands to the wound, and Dean getting beaten.

"No!" Sam yells. Meg swings the motel room's landline phone into Sam's face, his back hitting the wall as she approaches him.

"Heya, Sammy. You miss me? 'Cause I sure missed you." She says.

"Meg?" Sam takes a heavy breath.

Meg smiles widely with a chuckle. Sam swings at her and misses, taking a punch to the gut, then a knee to his crotch before hitting the ground. Dean takes a kick to the stomach as Meg taunts the younger Winchester. "It's not so easy without those super-special demon powers, huh, Sammy?"

The male demon kicks Dean again as Meg punches Sam. Suddenly, the male demon has his legs kicked out from underneath him, (Y/N) bringing the demon knife down into his chest before ripping it back out. The male demon flickers as Meg stands up and backs away. (Y/N) grips the knife tightly, her knuckles white as she advances on Meg, a murderous glare colliding with tear stains on her face. Meg screams as the demon smokes out of the vessel. The woman's body collapses and (Y/N) lets the knife drop, going back over to Bobby. 

~~~~~~~

Dean and Sam burst into the emergency room of the hospital, rushing in carrying Bobby with (Y/N) trailing behind them covered in Bobby's blood.

"Need some help here!" Dean yells as nurses rush over.

"What happened?" One nurse asked.

"He was stabbed!" Dean continues to yell, his voice strained from Bobby's weight.

"Can we get a gurney?" The nurse shouts as two other nurses rush over with a gurney.

Another nurse comes up to (Y/N), concerned about the blood. "I-It's not mine, p-please just save my dad." (Y/N) murmurs as Bobby is rushed off on the gurney. 

The nurse stops Sam and Dean from following. "Just wait here."

"We can't just leave him." Sam pleads.

"Just don't move. I've got questions." The nurse says firmly before walking away.

"Sammy, we got to go." Dean pants, looking at their little sister who seems to still be processing what happened.

Sam follows his gaze and shakes his head. "No. No way, Dean."

"The demons heard where the sword is. We got to get to it before they do, if we're not too late already. Come on!" Dean rushes over to (Y/N), cupping her face in his hands to bring her out of the little trance she seems to be in. "Come on, sweetheart, we gotta go get that sword."

(Y/N) looks up at him, eyes searching Dean's as she nods, ready to kill every demon in existence for what happened. Dean presses a kiss to the top of her head before him and Sam usher her out the door.

~~~~~~~

The three hunters enter John's storage, guns ready after the boys let (Y/N) change out of her bloody clothes. Two dead demons lay on the ground, making the siblings confused. They look around at all the random hunting stuff before a voice is heard.

"I see you told the demons where the sword is." Zachariah says, flanked by two other angels on either side of him.

"Oh, thank god. The angels are here." Dean replies sarcastically, smiling.

"And to think...they could have grabbed it any time they wanted." Zachariah waves a hand, shutting the door to the storage unit. "It was right in front of them."

"What do you mean?" Sam asks.

"We may have planted that particular piece of prophecy inside Chuck's skull, but it happened to be true. We did lose the Michael sword. We truly couldn't find it. Until now. You've just hand-delivered it to us." The angel explains.

Dean shrugs, eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "We don't have anything."

Zachariah sighs, taking a few steps forward. "It's you, chucklehead. You're the Michael sword." Dean stares at him for a moment before the angel continues, "What, you thought you could actually kill Lucifer? You simpering wad of insecurity and self-loathing? No. You're just a human, Dean. And not much of one."

"What do you mean, I'm the sword?" Dean almost growls.

The angel starts to pace as he explains, "You're Michael's weapon. Or, rather, his...receptacle."

Dean squints at him in disbelief. "I'm a vessel?"

"You're the vessel. Michael's vessel."

"How? Why—why me?" Dean stammers.

"Because you're chosen! It's a great honor, Dean." Zachariah takes a step forward. 

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, life as an angel condom. That's real fun." Dean grumbles sarcastically. "I think I'll pass, thanks."

Zachariah shakes his head, disappointed. "Joking. Always joking. Well...no more jokes." He makes a finger-gun, pointing it at Dean, then shifting it to (Y/N). "Bang."

(Y/N) lets out a sharp cry of pain as a sickening crunch fills the air, her legs snapping like twigs and she crumples to the floor. Sam rushes over to her with a shout of her name, Dean glaring at the angel in front of him. "You son of a bitch!"

"Keep mouthing off, I'll break more than her legs." Zachariah threatens. "I am completely and utterly through screwing around. The war has begun. We don't have our general. That's bad. Now, Michael is going to take his vessel and lead the final charge against the adversary. You understand me?"

(Y/N) pants through the pain as Dean takes a step towards the angel. "How many humans die in the crossfire, huh? A million? Five, ten?"

Zachariah shrugs. "Probably more. If Lucifer goes unchecked, you know how many die? All of them. He'll roast the planet alive."

A smirk grows on Dean's face. "There's a reason you're telling me this instead of just nabbing me. You need my consent. Michael needs my say-so to ride around in my skin."

"Unfortunately, yes."

Dean shakes his head. "Well, there's got to be another way."

"There is no other way. There must be a battle. Michael must defeat the serpent. It is written." The angel says.

Dean just nods with a smile. "Yeah, maybe. But, on the other hand... Eat me. The answer's no."

"Okay. How about this? Your friend Bobby—we know he's gravely injured. Say yes, and we'll heal him. Say no, he'll never walk again." Zachariah tries to bargain.

(Y/N) looks up at Dean as he hesitates, ultimately saying, "No."

"Then how about we heal you from..." He takes a second to think. "Stage-four stomach cancer?"

Dean doubles over, coughing up blood into his palm. "No."

Zachariah looks down at Dean. "Then let's get really creative. Uh, let's see how...Sam does without his lungs." Dean turns to his brother, who suddenly is unable to breath. Sam gasps for air as the angel continues. "Are we having fun yet? You're going to say yes, Dean."

(Y/N) gets up on her elbows, sitting up enough to try and help Sam, even though she knows she can't. "Just kill us." Dean grunts.

"Kill you? Oh, no. I'm just getting started." Zachariah taunts before a bright light flashes behind him. He turns to see one of the other angels collapsing, a stab wound to the throat. Castiel then moves onto the other angel, killing him easily as well. He lets the second body fall to the ground before walking up to Zachariah.

(Y/N), looking up from where Sam is laying, breathes a sigh of relief. She whispers, "Cas..." with a soft smile.

"How are you..." Zachariah trails off.

"Alive?" Cas finishes. "That's a good question. How did these three end up on that airplane? Another good question. 'Cause the angels didn't do it. I think we both know the answer, don't we?"

Zachariah looks down in disbelief. "No. That's not possible."

"It scares you. Well, it should. Now, put these boys back together and go. I won't ask twice." Castiel threatens. Zachariah narrows his eyes before he vanishes with a whoosh of wings. Sam sits up, looking around surprised. He stands up and helps (Y/N) up as well, Dean also getting to his feet. "You three need to be more careful."

(Y/N) walks around her brothers, throwing her arms around Castiel's neck, her nose buried in his shoulder. She feels him tense for a moment, hesitant to do anything. After a few moments his arms encircle her, his large hands on her back. "I'm so happy you're okay." She mumbles into his trenchcoat. 

"I'm glad you're alright as well." He replies softly, reluctantly letting her go, but keeping a hand on her upper back just below her shoulder blades. 

"Your frat brothers are bigger dicks than I thought." Dean grumbles. 

"Lucifer is circling his vessel. And once he takes it, those hex bags won't be enough to protect you." Castiel steps forward, putting a hand on Sam and Dean's chests, both of them doubling over slightly with groans. (Y/N)'s eyebrows furrow, confused as she steps forward, wondering what Cas is doing to them.

"What the hell was that?' Dean's voice strains.

"An Enochian sigil. It'll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer." Castiel explains, turning around to (Y/N), gently taking her right hand in his left one.

"What, did you just brand us with it?" Dean asks.

Cas looks at the older Winchester for a moment. "No. I carved it into your ribs." He then looks down at his bond, his eyes softening. "Your turn, Ol Allar." He says, calling her something in Enochian. She gives him a nod before he brings his right hand to her chest. (Y/N) grunts, gritting her teeth and then the pain dulls to an ache. 

There's a pause before Sam clears his throat awkwardly. "Hey, Cas, were you really dead?"

Cas hesitates for a moment, looking down at his hand that holds (Y/N)'s. "Yes."

"Then how are you back?" Dean asks.

Cas doesn't respond, just looking at (Y/N) before pressing his lips to her forehead and vanishing, leaving the three hunters with the dead.

~~~~~~~

"'Unlikely to walk again'?! Why, you snot-nosed son of a bitch! Wait till I get out of this bed!" Bobby yells from his hospital bed. (Y/N) sits next to him in a chair, Sam and Dean standing at the window. The doctor flees out of the room as Bobby continues to yell. "I'll use my game leg and kick your friggin' ass! Yeah, you better run!"

"Dad..." (Y/N) trails off, gently grabbing Bobby's hand.

Bobby's eyes settle on her, then flicking to the boys, then back again. "You believe that yahoo?"

(Y/N) smiles apologetically as Dean says, "Screw him. You'll be fine."

"So, let me ask the million-dollar question." Sam chuckles lightly. "What do we do now?"

"Well..." Bobby starts. "We save as many as we can for as long as we can, I guess. It's bad. Whoever wins, Heaven or Hell, we're boned."

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. "What if we win?" Bobby, Sam, and (Y/N) all look at Dean incredulously. "I'm serious. I mean, screw the angels and the demons and their crap apocalypse. Hell, they want to fight a war, they can find their own planet. This one's ours, and I say they get the hell off it. We take 'em all on. We kill the devil. Hell, we even kill Michael if we have to. But we do it our own damn selves."

"And how are we supposed to do all this, genius?" (Y/N) asks sarcastically.

"I got no idea. But what I do have is a GED and a give-'em-hell attitude, and I'll figure it out." Dean smirks.

Bobby looks between his surrogate children with a small smile. "You are nine kinds of crazy, boy."

Dean shrugs. "It's been said." He leans forward, patting Bobby on the shoulder. "Listen, you stay on the mend. (Y/N)'s gonna stay with you. We'll see you in a bit." Dean smiles softly, heading for the door, Sam following.

"Sam?" Bobby calls. The younger Winchester stops. "I was awake. I know what I said back there. I just want you to know that...that was the demon talking. I ain't cutting you out, boy. Not ever."

(Y/N) smiles and gently squeezes her father's hand. There's a pause before Sam sighs, "Thanks, Bobby."

"You're welcome." Bobby chuckles. "I deserve a damn medal for this, but...you're welcome." (Y/N) laughs softly as Sam and Dean leave the room.

~~~~~~~

An ambulance drives past as Sam and Dean walk out in the parking lot. The ground is wet, the moonlight shining in the puddles.

"You know, I was thinking, Dean—maybe we could go after the Colt." Sam says as he steps off the curb.

"Why? What difference would that make?" Dean asks, glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, we could use it on Lucifer. I mean, you just said back there—"

"I just said a bunch of crap for Bobby's benefit." Dean interrupts, stopping in the middle of the road, Sam stopping with him. "I mean, I'll fight. I'll fight till the last man, but let's at least be honest. I mean, we don't stand a snowball's chance, and you know that. I mean, hell, you of all people know that." He finishes before moving around Sam.

"Dean..." Sam starts, said hunter stopping again and turning back to his brother. Sam sighs. "Is there something you want to say to me?"

There's a long pause before Dean answers. "I tried, Sammy. I mean, I really tried. But I just can't keep pretending that everything's all right. Because it's not. And it's never going to be. You chose a demon over your own brother and look what happened."

Sam rolls his eyes, "I would give anything—anything—to take it all back."

"I know you would. And I know how sorry you are. I do. But, man...you were the one that I depended on the most besides (Y/N). And you let me down in ways that I can't even..." Dean pauses, struggling to find the right words. "I'm just—I'm having a hard time forgiving and forgetting here. You know?" 

Sam nods, his voice coming out soft. "What can I do?"

Dean chuckles sarcastically. "Honestly? Nothing." Sam just nods again, not surprised. "I just don't...I don't think that we can ever be what we were. You know?" Sam gives another nod, still not surprised. "I just don't think I can trust you."

Now Sam looks up, that surprised him. Dean just shakes his head and walks to the Impala, pausing at the trunk to look back at his brother before getting into the driver's seat.

(A/N): for the Enochian I just Googled 'Enochian Translator' so don't come at me lol

Soulbound Taglist:

@fairy-alix @ltotheucy @delusional-paradise @moon-trash1507 @cnme2003 @harryssatellitee @bakusquadobsessed @chxrrywine @danniwerner

[breakmeoff]

Winter Wonderland

featuring: han jisung x fem!reader warnings: swearing, smut: fingering, unprotected p in v, public sex. MDNI, 18+ only* word count: 2.0k (i swear one of these days i'll learn how to write an actual drabble lol) synopsis: han takes you on vacation to celebrate your one year anniversary to your dream destination. who knew that the snow and cold air would make him that frisky? note: this is part of the Larie's Libations 200 Followers Celebration. this was a request by my lovely sister wife @angel-writes-here, whose selection is listed below. sorry if you read this before it was fully edited - should be good to go now! thank you for reading! LARIE'S LIBATIONS - Rum Sunset Cocktail [Rum] — Han Jisung [Orange Juice] — Vacation [Cherry & Citrus Rind] — Quirk (Constantly Sticks Tongue Out) & Kink (Praise/Temperature Play) Masterlist

There wasn’t much that Han wouldn’t do for you. Including flying halfway around the world to celebrate your one year anniversary in the middle of nowhere. But the moment you mentioned that your dream vacation would be to see the Northern Lights, he was determined to make that happen for you.

Having finally arrived at your remote, luxury resort in northern Finland, Han stopped just short of your private igloo, clutching your bags between his two hands. You were a few steps ahead with the key, moving to unlock the door when you noticed that he had stopped following you.

Turning to look over your shoulder, a small smirk crossed your lips as you watched Han close his eyes and tip his head back up towards the heavens. There was nothing but silence surrounding you and the snowy landscape. Taking the quiet moment for himself as the snow started to lightly flutter around you both, he extended the tip of his tongue and laughed quietly when an errant snowflake or two landed, and melted, against him.

“You and that tongue,” you giggled, shaking your head at him teasingly. Blinking his eyes open, he lowered his head to look at you with a light blush on his cheeks. “What! You love my tongue…”

“I do… now c’mon inside with those before I make you put that tongue to good use.” Turning back around, you inserted the key into the front door of your igloo and opened it, allowing Han to follow you inside. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he muttered, looking up at you bashfully under his eyelashes.

About an hour later, you had both unpacked your travel items and had slipped on your swimwear to take a relaxing dip in the warm hot tub. Shuffling over to it side by side, wrapped tightly in your respective fluffy robes and snow boots, you paused long enough to bend down and grab a handful of snow, balling it up between your bare hands before you chucked it at the back of your boyfriend’s head.

“Aish!!” He yelped, his infamous stunned expression all over his face apparent as he turned around to see you with a faux innocent smile as you crept up to him. “You freaking trouble-maker…” he teased, sticking his tongue out at you.

With another giggle, you poked his side and stepped up to the side of the hot tub. “Told you to be careful with that lil tongue, Sir!” You warned, slipping off your boots and dropping your robe onto the half-wall nearby. Tugging your white beanie down over your ears again, you tip-toed to the side of the tub.

Rubbing your arms up and down your now exposed skin, you began bouncing on the tips of your toes as the cold air began to sink in and you climbed into the hot water with a hiss of shock, then relief. Finding the button on the edge of the tub, you pressed it and smiled once the noisy bubbles started to erupt from the jets below.

Han however was less ceremonious with his stripping, making extremely quick work of shrugging off the robe and stepping out of his snow boots before he nearly launched himself into the warm water. “Ahhh… I can’t believe this is your idea of a good time! It’s f-f-freezing out here!” He fake-complained, lowering himself down past his shoulders into the scalding water.

Scooting over closer to him, you guided him to the built-in seat behind him and then promptly sat down beside him, turning to drape your legs over his lap. “But it’s perfect for snuggling up…” you mumbled, nuzzling the tip of your red, icy cold nose against the warmth of the side of his neck.

He tilted his head down to rest against the top of yours, his arms wrapping around you as best he could. “I guess I do like snuggling…”

Han, always the playful one, allowed his hands to start roaming your now water-smooth body resting against his. While initially they were careful and innocent, they quickly became more adventurous, with his fingers sneaking under the hem of your bathing suit bottoms, his fingertips teasing the soft skin of your ass.

Lifting your eyes to meet his, you gently poked him in the ribs. “Cheeky…”

“Whaaat?” he asked, giving you his best doe eyes. “I can’t help it that you feel so soft and I have you all to myself…” he mumbled, turning to nuzzle into your neck, placing a few soft kisses along your skin.

“Hannie, someone might see…” you whispered as he moved his hand around the side of your thigh to tickle the fabric covering your core. “Let ‘em,” he murmured against your neck.

Seconds later, his fingertips moved past the front of your suit and two fingers began to caress your silken folds, eliciting a quiet moan from you. Han moved his free hand to the side of your face, guiding his lips to melt against your own in a heated kiss.

Now with your mouth busy and unable to protest, Han took the opportunity to drag the same two fingers to your entrance, and slowly began thrusting them inside your pussy. Sucking in an inhale, you subconsciously rocked your hips against his skilled hand, chasing that exquisite feeling.

Han used his free hand to guide you onto his lap, lips and tongue now tangling together through an open mouth kiss. With you firmly perched upon his thighs and his fingers working their magic within you, his lips began trailing a path down your cheek, the column of your throat, and now dotting kisses against your collarbone.

The further out of the water you were, the more your skin was exposed to the freezing temperatures outside, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your skin. The contrast of the heat from below your waist and the cold above, your body was delightfully confused with how to regulate.

Han’s free hand snaked up to the top of your swimsuit, and gently tugged the neck line under one of your breasts, your now bare nipple standing pertly erect outside in the cold. His hand moved to cover as much of your soft skin as he could, his palm rubbing against your sensitive flesh, which caused a soft moan from you.

“Fuck, I love those little noises that you make for me.” Placing a few more random kisses against your collarbone, he slowly trailed the tip of his tongue down over the curve of your breast before he removed his hand and flicked it over your nipple, causing you to arch further against him, and your inner walls to clench tighter around his fingers still inside you.

“Hannie,” you whimpered, rocking your hips faster against his hand which was now resting over the top of his growing arousal. He tipped his head back to look at your face, lips apart, eyebrows pinched together in pleasure, and he couldn’t help but stare at you in amazement. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled. “Perfect and beautiful.”

The snow started to come down a little harder, blanketing everything around you in another layer of crisp white, and only enhanced the image of the steam rising from the hot tub you were tangled in.

Han tipped his head back to look up towards the skies once more, and extended his tongue, catching a few snowflakes on it before he lowered his mouth back down to your nipple. The icy cold drops of snow against your pebbled flesh were enough to cause you to cry out softly in surprise and lust.

He could feel your inner walls tensing around his fingers as you continue to fuck yourself against his hand, encouraging him only to nibble gently on your pert nub, and lightly tug at the sensitive flesh between his teeth.

“Fuck baby,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders, “feel so good, but I want you. I want you so bad.”

Han groaned deeply at your words, and simultaneously encouraged you further up on your knees, so he could start to tug the top of his swim trunks down, and replied in incomplete sentences with phrases like “anything my perfect girl wants,” and “fuck yes, let me die in your pussy”, and “God, you’re so fucking sexy.”

Finally, with his erection exposed to the hot water and bubbles, he held your swim bottoms to the side and helped lower your soft entrance to the tip of his cock. The moment he moved both palms to your hips and began pushing you down on top of him you both inhaled a sharp breath, adjusting to the sensation.

“Oh fuck… God, I love this feeling… don’t ever move baby, let’s just stay like this forever,” he whimpered, mumbling his words against your neck.

Wrapping your arms tighter around him, you felt your inner walls pulse around his cock, savoring the exquisite feeling of being so full. Han felt you flutter around him, and his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, trying to gain some control or sense of being grounded in the moment.

“Shit, careful… careful baby, keep doing that and I won’t last…” he mumbled, fingers gripping you tighter to start slowly bouncing up and down on his cock. The drag of his veiny flesh in and out of you was almost too much to bear, still sensitive from his fingers previously working their magic inside of you.

“Feel so good,” you whimpered, rocking your hips back-and-forth as he continued to help move you up and down on top of him. “Please,” you breathed. “Faster… harder…”

Han needed no more encouragement from you before he started more forcefully fucking himself up into you and slamming your hips back down on top of him. “Whatever my baby wants,” he mumbled through gritted teeth, “anything, fucking anything for this perfect pussy.”

“Oh my god I’m gonna cum,” you whispered, tucking your head against his as he continued to drive the pace, bubbled water sloshing around you.

“Shit, yes baby, cum with me… let me make you feel so good, cum my beautiful girl.”

With only those simple few words, your inner walls tightened impossibly around him, your muscles tensed up, fingertips gripping into his shoulders as you felt your release wash through your entire body.

Han gasped for air as you fell apart on top of him, and seconds later held your hips down on top of his as he coated your insides white with his own release, breathing heavily against your shoulder.

While you felt your muscles relax, and you leaned limply in his arms, trying to control your breathing as he placed soft kisses against your temple, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down your back. “You ok baby?”

Leaning back to look at him with a sleepy smile, you nodded your head once and mumbled “never better,” before giving him a soft, sweet, chaste kiss.

———————————

Later that night, you were curled up together underneath the heavy down blankets and pelts of faux fur on the soft king sized bed beneath the curved windows, exposing your temporary lodgings to the massive dark sky.

Han was laying on his back, head propped up slightly by pillows and you had your head on his chest, gazing past the glass barrier with a look of pure wonder and amazement as the vibrant shades of blue, green and purple flashed erratically across the sky.

Reaching for your hand under the blankets, he clasped his fingers within yours and brought your knuckles to his lips, kissing each one with soft, gentle kisses. “I love you…” he whispered against your hand.

Tilting your head to shift your focus up at his face, you smiled up at him, lost in his deep, expressive brown eyes. “I love you too Hannie…”

With a heavy, contented sigh, he hugged you closer to him, both of you shifting your eyes to look back up at one of nature’s most incredible wonders. “Guess seeing you this happy is worth not being able to feel my toes anymore…”

“Big baby…” you giggled, using your sock-clad feet to begin rubbing at his toes in an attempt to warm them up.

“Your big baby. All yours.”

my tags: @angel-writes-here @idkimobsessed @queenofdumbfuckery @mfcherry @downingmorphine @pixie-felix @d3kstar @lveegsoi @ebnabi @nebugalaxy @babystay724 @mmarusa @imagine-all-the-imagines @erisuna @beabidoobee @hanniesbubuwife @bbykaixx @riri53 @jinniesgirl @alx-wyjsr @skzswife @hwangjoanna @stephanieeeyang @minnysproutgriffinteddy @jqtsblyth @magicshuhua @loveesiren @szonyix6277 @seungttttop @moontabi

[caitlynshousewife]

I NEED YOU

wc: 2.7k

smut!!

a/n: hey guys thank you so much for the support on my other fic!! feel free to request stuff in my asks as well, and once again not proofread so I apologize in advance for mistakes!!

A loud sigh emitted.

Caitlyn stares at her phone blankly, reading her wife’s texts. She shouldn’t be feeling like this.. like the love of her life was annoying. That wasn’t how marriage worked, but day by day she found herself yearning for more. Her wife just wasn’t making her as happy as she wanted to be. Her mind flooded with thoughts of you, and how you made her laugh more than anyone else had. How you were so pretty. How you-

She was jolted out of her daze when she heard her door click open and oh. You. Her lovely assistant. She quickly put her phone away and cleared her throat. Was her hair okay? Was her uniform disheveled? Goodness, she didn’t even have the chance to check. She’d rather be stabbed than look unprofessional in front of anyone. Especially you.

“Good evening.”

She spoke, offering you a tired smile. Nothing warm lied beneath it though and you were quick to notice. She had been down lately and you had avoided asking because although you were nosy, it was certainly none of your business.

Today would be different. It was a small change, but you could see the bags under her eyes and the exhaustion in her shoulders. Her upright stance seemed almost forced today. Those were all things she usually hid quite well.. so something must’ve gone on. Without thinking, you spoke.

“What’s the matter?”

You blurted out, yet to no avail. Caitlyn was very quiet about her personal life so you just got a flimsy excuse. You knew better. She wasn’t ‘tired’. Though you also knew better than continually asking, so you reluctantly let it go and began doing tasks.

Caitlyn’s eyes were on you like a hawk, watching your every move, your every breath from the moment you stepped into the office till the moment you were clocked out for the night. You were ravishing in her eyes. She had been admiring you silently, yet you didn’t seem to pick up the hints. Maybe it was better that way. She watched silently as you walked towards the door.. until something fell out of your purse.

“You dropped that.”

She spoke gently, nodding in gesture to your wallet that fell onto the ground. She watched as you bent over and picked it up, eyes roaming shamelessly. Paperwork. Focus on your paperwork. She gulped and exhaled shakily, pen darting down a whole lot of nothing as she pretended to work.

As she pretended like her cock didn’t throb at the sight of you bent over.

Once you left she adjusted her tie and exhaled once more, but much slower. The paperwork in front of her was long forgotten as she rested her head in her hands. Guilt began to rid her mind like a flood, thinking about the life she had built with her lover and how she was looking at another woman and getting a boner.

She was interrupted when her cock throbbed once more.

Shit, she couldn’t go on like this. She needed relief. She was quick to clock out and head home, being met with the sight of her wife. Not what she wanted.. but what else could she do? She was already trapped the moment her wife saw her boner. She forced a smile, watching her wife walk towards her seductively.

“All that for me?”

She spoke, her voice a velvet purr as her arms wrapped around Caitlyn’s neck.

“Yeah, I was thinking about you all day.”

Caitlyn spoke lowly. She didn’t get the chance to do much else before her and her wife were kissing. The kissing got more and more heated as the seconds went on, and eventually items were being knocked over and clothes were flying. Her wife’s back hit the bedsheets, hair sprawled around her like a halo.

Caitlyn loomed over her and took a moment to think. She still felt guilty.. but that was all pushed aside once she began fucking into her wife, her walls clenched around her cock. Caitlyn’s cock slid in and out of her wife's entrance, head lolled back and jaw hung open as she imagined it was you. She was loud too.

Groans and moans escaped her lips as she gripped the headboard, the guilt from before long forgotten.. or so she thought. It wasn’t the best idea to think of you while fucking someone else, because before she even realized.. your name escaped her lips.

She froze, staring down at her wife in horror.

“Uh.. wait, baby-”

Before she could even finish her sentence, her wife had pushed her away and bombarded her with questions while getting dressed. There was a lot of ‘who is she?’ and ‘are you cheating on me’. Rightfully so, yet Caitlyn’s heart dropped either way.

“Baby, wait, I can explain-”

She tried to retort as she clumsily got her boxers back on. She stumbled towards her wife with her hands out in a grasping motion.. only to be met with the door slammed in her face. She collapsed against the door, her whole body rested against it and her eyes squeezed shut in regret.

…

Today was even worse than yesterday. Caitlyn looked like she hadn’t got an ounce of sleep. Or maybe she got too much sleep. Her eyes were almost bloodshot with fatigue as her chin rested on her palm. You were worried now. Like.. really worried. This wasn't normal behavior for Caitlyn and you wanted to get to the bottom of it.

“Caitlyn, you know you talk to me, right? I know-”

You started, but instantly got cut off by her snapping at you.

“I told you yesterday that I was fine, didn’t I?. Go start your shift.”

Her voice was low and authoritative, her icy eyes staring daggers into yours. She didn’t mean to snap at you.. of course not. But she did. She fucked up once again. She was just so overwhelmed with emotions and they poured out of her at the wrong moment. And what had she done? She had hurt you in the process.

Right before you were about to walk out she nearly skedaddled. She was up in a heartbeat, hand wrapping around your wrist. She was panting as her eyes were locked with yours, the room growing with tension.

“I’m sorry. That was unprofessional of me, and you didn’t deserve that. I could’ve found any other way to say it but instead I decided to be an ass.. I’m sorry. I know you just want to make sure I'm okay.. It’s just a lot right now.”

She whispered, eyes softened and pleading as she looked down at you. It was heartbreaking how much emotion was held in them, and you decided to forgive her. She’d never felt more relief.

“It’s my wife.. I.. I messed up and she left without a word.”

She continued whispering as if it wasn’t only you two in the room.

“Well I'm here if you need anything, okay? Always. I’m not just your assistant. I’m way more than that and I want to be able to help you out when you are feeling blue.”

You reassured, leaning in and wrapping your arms around her. Caitlyn melted like butter into your arms. It was everything she needed right now, and she would be forever grateful for this. For you. Once the embrace had ended, she watched you walk off with a smile on her face. All of her problems were forgotten about when you were in her presence.

She hadn’t seen you the rest of the day after that, because being a CEO means that sometimes you have to go to other companies for discussions and future plans. She had just missed you clocking out when she did end up returning to the building. It left her disappointed, but nonetheless she packed up and headed home.

The house was empty.

She sighed and laid down, looking up at the ceiling as she tried to process everything that had happened in the past two days. How everything had gone wrong and how much of an idiot she was for liking another woman while married. As her thoughts slowly drifted to you, she began thinking more and more about the interactions between you two.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the hug. The way your body felt against hers, the way you smelled, the way you were always so gentle towards her.. she felt a familiar squeeze in her pants. Not to mention the way the room felt when her eyes were locked with yours, the certain tension. It wouldn’t escape her mind.

She grabbed her phone and stared at her contacts, specifically yours. No. She shouldn’t do this. It crossed the line of professionalism, which she held dear to her character. She stared, and stared, and stared. It was 5 whole minutes of contemplating whether she should risk her career, before..

ring.. ring.. ring..

It echoed throughout your room, and you were surprised to see Caitlyn was calling. She usually never did, so this had to be important. There must’ve been a new rule placed at the CEO meeting she had been at, and she was calling to let you know. You picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

Your voice rang, and there was silence on the other line. You could hear her breathing, so you tried again.

“Caitlyn, can you he-”

Your eyes widened.

“I need you. I can’t sit here and pretend like I don't want you. Not anymore. Please, can I come over? Please.”

Was the first thing you heard when she finally decided to break her silence and speak to you. She was babbling like an idiot, her voice quivering and choked up. Your initial reaction was shock, but hearing how desperate she was.. It turned into something dangerous.

Now realistically you both knew this wasn’t right. You should’ve hung up the phone right there and never spoken about it again. But did you? Of course you didn’t, because who would pass up a chance with Piltover’s finest?

Certainly not you.

“Yeah? You need me?”

You cooed, voice teasing. She sobbed into the phone at your teasing tone, words more desperate than before.

“Please. Please, please, I need you so fucking bad. Please.”

She pleaded, and when her voice cracked.. so did your restraint.

“Come over.”

You almost didn’t even get to finish your sentence before there was a sound of the caller on the other line hanging up. You knew she was coming. You inhaled shakily and made your way to your bathroom, getting pretty for her. You fluffed up your hair, left a few of the buttons on your shirt unbuttoned to purposely show off your cleavage, and switched into booty shorts.

It was around 10 minutes later when you heard the knock on your door. You took your time walking over since you knew she was waiting impatiently.

You invited her in, yet the moment the door clicked shut.. she didn’t waste a second.

She pounced onto you and shoved you against the wall, her lips finding yours sloppily. She was groping and grabbing you everywhere. The buttons on your shirt hung on for dear life from her pure hunger.. but they unfortunately didn’t last long. Besides the sound of you two making out, the clattering of buttons from your shirt hitting the floor rang loud throughout the room.

Her hands were quick to tear your shirt down your shoulders and unclasp your bra before she finally pulled back to catch her breath.

She took a good look at you, stars practically floating in her eyes.

“You’re beautiful. Just like I imagined.”

She whispered breathlessly, her face contorting in pleasure as her cock twitched in her pants.

“Cmon.”

You purred, leading her upstairs to your bedroom.

She took her clothes off and pushed you back against the bed. She climbed on top of you, her lips finding your neck and hands grabbing your boobs. After she had, once again, damn near ripped your clothing in half when taking it off of your body, her fingers rubbed between your folds and you were soaked.

She toyed with your clit, watching your face as you squirmed underneath her fingers. Your back arched, and the sight was beautiful to her. What was more beautiful to her was how your expression looked, though. Your eyebrows were furrowed, eyes squeezed shut, and jaw slack. Her breathing was shaky as she stroked herself a bit.

She was in a daze until she heard a gentle mewl, a sign that you wanted her to stop teasing and finally get on with it. She couldn’t blame you. Not at all. She aligned her tip and slowly pressed in, groaning lowly.

She started off slow, forehead resting against yours and eyes open as she watched your expression. As much as she wanted this, she didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. She held your hand and waited for the squeeze. Once she felt it, she picked up her pace. Her head fell onto your shoulder, pathetic whines and moans leaving her.

Her hands gripped at the pillowcase on the side of your head as she felt your nails clawing at her back, her hips angled to hit your g spot. It was perfect.. until she suddenly stopped. She manhandled you so that your face was down and your ass was up, her hand pressing flat down against the space between your shoulders to keep your face buried in the pillow.

“Sound so good for me”

She growled, hands moving to grip your hips as she pounded into you from behind. When she felt you clenching around her mixed with your mewls and cries, her eyes rolled back. It was comical how close she already was, considering the fact that it’d take her wife about 3x longer to get her to this point.

She leaned down and wrapped her hand around your throat, tugging you upwards so her breasts were pressed against your back. The new angle had you seeing heaven, Caitlyn’s grunts and growls right next to your ear.

“Fuck, fuck, i’m gonna cum, ohmygod-”

She spoke shakily, before a symphony of moans could be heard throughout the room as you both came. Her seed filled your insides as she panted heavily, before collapsing beside you. It was a few moments that you both took. You then forced yourself upwards, Caitlyn’s eyes widening in confusion.

What were you-

Oh.

She felt your hand wrap around her cock and exhaled shakily, her hands holding your hair back into a makeshift ponytail. When she felt your lips wrap around her tip she mewled, eyes squeezing shut. She had to physically hold herself back from bucking into your mouth and instead just let you take it inch by inch.

She felt your tongue swirl and keened, hands gripping the sheets and head falling back. As you bobbed your head and gagged once it hit the back of your throat, she moaned loudly and lost all restraint. Her hips began bucking, her cock hitting the back of your throat as she fucked into you.

With each thrust she felt like she got closer and closer to heaven, feeling your tongue and lips wrapped around her cock after all these months of yearning. She paused to give you a break, crying out as you stroked her cock. She felt a familiar coil within her, and she wasn’t sure how long she could hold it back.

“Tongue out.”

She ordered, but didn’t sound nearly as dominant as she wanted. Instead she sounded shaky and desperate. Once she saw your doe eyes looking up at her with your tongue out, the coil in her snapped. Her grunts turned into pathetic whines as ropes of her cum dribbled down your throat and onto your chin.

She used a nearby article of clothing to wipe your face off, before leaving to go put it in the washer. She caught herself smiling when she came back in your room to you wrapped up in your sheets. She laid down next to you and took a moment to catch her breath. Once she finally did so, she rolled towards you, her arms wrapping around you.

“Thank you for this.”

She whispered, mouth by your ear. Her hand found your hair, eyes shutting as her fingers raked gently through it.

------

a/n 2: apologies if i did terrible on the blowjob part guys 😭 i'm a gay woman and i've never had experience with a man SO IM SORRY IF ITS CHOPPY ASF GN. i tried to make it short and js get straight into throatfucking. ANYWAYS HOPE YOU ENJOYED! and again feel free to send in requests or asks!!

[rainxthunder25]

My “are you blushing prompt” for Isack Hadjar💕 not proofread

Warning: Suggesting content. MDI🔞

A/N: This is my first time writing anything for Isack, this also my first time writing something a little spicy. I hope you all enjoy ✨

Your relationship with Isaac was in a comfortable place. The first three months went by flying, you can’t believe how fast time went by. Being able to do your university courses online you would travel with him when you have the time. You would visit during race weekends but didn’t really see him much, between media meetings, outings with the team, and fan events, you decided to stay to yourself in the hotels, Isaac would come and sleep just to wake up early and do it all over again. You were happy to be there for him and watch from the sidelines while you did your university assignments.

During Monaco some of the racers did a charity soccer game you had the opportunity to watch live. After the Monaco Grand Prix the boys had sometime to themselves before Canada, a nice break after the triple header. You were in your hotel room waiting for Isaac to get back like always. Finished with some assignments you had time to catch up on TikTok and instagram. When suddenly you see a picture of Isaac shirtless in the locker room from the soccer game. Instantly blushing, you realize you have never seen him shirtless before, in person. You’ve seen pictures of him, but this picture is the most detailed you have seen. For the next couple of minutes you sit there blushing in your bed hiding your face under a sweater that was on the bed. That’s when you hear a card slide to open the hotel door. Isaac tired from all the socializing and the busy past couple of weeks, walks in drained. He sees you hiding and flops on the bed next to you. “Who are we hiding from darling?” He asks peaking in through the clothing item that’s covering your face. “It’s too bright” you lie. Uncovering your face you see him getting up to turn off the lights, his shirt lifting up over his stomach as he reaches over to the lamp. Blushing again you turn to your side. Isaac mirrors your movement placing his hand on your stomach as he spoons you. “God, I’ve missed this.” He says as his thick accent tickles the side of your neck. He observes you for the next couple of minutes and suddenly sits on the edge of the bed. “Alright darling, what’s going on?” He says looking towards you. “Nothing.” You say too quickly for his liking. “Non sense, you’ve been too quiet, even for you.” You sit next to him hiding in his neck. “Did something happen while I was gone? Are you avoiding me? Is that why you were covering your face? Is something bothering you?” He asks turning his head as his eyes meet yours. “I-it’s stupid.” You mumble out. He tilts your head up gently. “If it has this influence on you, it’s not stupid.” God why is he such a sweetheart.

“Before you got here, I was scrolling through social media. When I came across this.” You say as you hand him your phone. He smirks “This is a great picture” he says proudly. “Go on baby, I’m listening.” He says hoping you would continue. “I-it made me realize that- you know, I haven’t really seen you like that.” He reaches a hand to your hot face, caressing your cheek “Oh darling, are you shy because you want to see me shirtless” he asks observing the blush on your face and how your eyes avoid his. He motions for you to sit next to him on the edge of the bed. Once you’re sitting next to him he takes your hand and places it under his shirt over his abs. “Is this what you want to see baby?” You stare at him a blushing mess. You softly move your hand around feeling his toned stomach. He places a small kiss on the side of your lips, feeling how hot your face is getting. He moves down and kisses your neck. Your eyes flutter and your breaths are becoming heavier.

He removes his shirt. You stare in awe amazed by his beauty. He sits back down next to you. “You don’t have to say anything baby.” He says blushing. You place your hands on his chest feeling his toned pecs. “You look amazing love” you say as you plant a small kiss on his cheek. Resting on his shoulder. “God baby, seeing you this shy.” He pauses to plant another kiss on your neck. “It’s driving me crazy my love.” He says as he sucks on your neck roughly. You let out a sharp gasp as your body tenses at the good feeling. “Relax baby, I got you.” He whispers before laying you down on the bed.

[scarletskye64]

So a friend and I watched SOTM today

Spoilers below along with my first thoughts.

In hopes of summarizing what I know is going to get out of hand very quickly.

This game dies after Jackie’s section.

Both me and my friend agreed Jackie was essentially the best part of the game, and it is horrible how Steel Wool actively does this with their poster villains. Yes you can say that “Jackie was never the poster villain, the mimic was!”

Yes & No.

Jackie was the first costume/mascot/animatronic revealed for this game, she was all over the marketing, she was even built for Pax! Hell, she was even the main antagonist of the Pax Demo!

After an hour into the game, she NEVER appears again.

She suffers essentially what I like to call “The Dimitrescu Effect”, Lady Dimitrescu was basically the big ticket item for Resident Evil Village, the first villain revealed for it, she was the big focus of many trailers! Yet she came first and was rarely mentioned again. While yes that made sense for the game and was quite obvious she wasn't the main focus, it felt horrible to see her be over and done with basically a couple hours into a maybe 8-hour game.

So The Dimitrescu Effect is when a character gets marketed for the game to hell and back, but appears/is the focus for basically a short part of it.

I was extremely excited to see Jackie in the game but was thoroughly disappointed in how she was utilized, although a few horror characters suffer from this, what comes to mind right now is Catnap and Vanny. But if I talk about them that will dive down a deep AF rabbit hole

I was willing to excuse Jackie being a small part of the game initially as I could see it coming a mile away. But past the Big Top section, it all went downhill.

So my issues with the lore.

It sucks. To put it nicely. I could describe what I want to do to it but we’ll be here all night.

Early into the game I mentioned to my friend that Murray’s Costume Manor felt like what I imagined Afton Robotics to be like. And if MCM had been Afton Robotics, the game would’ve been…….. So much fucking better.

This game essentially ruins everything about the original series.

The springlocks? Edwin made those.

Monty & Roxy? Edwin made those!

Sun & Moon??? Edwin made those!!

FREDBEAR & SPRING BONNIE!? EDWIN MADE THOSE.

THE PUPPET!? okay well to my knowledge he didn't make that but he had the plans or idea for it.

THE ORIGINAL ANIMATRONICS!? MOTHER FUCKING EDWIN MURRAY MADE THOSE!!!!

my friend made an excellent point that Edwin Murray is the most Mary Sue character ever, everything was made by HIM!

I can't be alone in thinking, Afton has a big ego and probably liked taking credit for things. But this is a whole new and frankly horrendous level. In the game we find communications between MCM employees and Afton that reveal he stole basically everything from Murray and his employees. Essentially boiling Henry & William’s impacts to zilch.

The only good original thing left for William is he made the funtimes, and even then that's debatable now!

This game is just… bad.

I don't think FNAF is heading in a good direction unless Steel Wool take a very long look at what they’ve done to the lore and story.

Unless they start taking criticism and listening to fan feedback, FNAF… is in short… doomed. Truthfully it has been for a long time… part of me hopes there's no more games after this, but I know there will be. Just maybe, they’ll be good. But I doubt it.

Secret of The Mimic essentially killed all hope I have for this franchise moving forward.

I’ll like sing a somewhat different tune tomorrow as I'm probably riding the fumes of hatred for this game, but this is basically my first thoughts I guess…

[dreaming-of-black-clouds]

Part one of: We do this together. Billy Hargrove × reader - pregnancy, mentions of past abuse, threats

You were attempting to formulate a message to the guy you had been seeing on and off Billy Hargrove. There has been a strange set of symptoms you had been experiencing, and you were concerned you could be pregnant. Billy and you weren't official as much as you would love to be, but at least he wasn't official with anyone else either or so, you thought.

“Did you hear? Denise is going around telling everyone she and Hargrove are officially a thing.” Eddie said as he sat down next to you in the lunch room. Your head snapped up as you looked at your best friend in surprise.

“What? For how long?” You asked, making a face.

“I don't know, I think she said a month or something.” Eddie replied. That couldn't be possible as you know Billy had fooled around with at least you and another girl within the last two weeks. You had seen him as recently as last week at the local drive in getting busy with a girl who definitely was not Denise.

“She must not know about him at the drive in last week.” You muttered quietly. Eddie had been with you as you went to see a lineup of classic horror movies.

“Or you a couple nights before that with him at lover's lane, or did you make it back to your place this time?” Eddie asked, leaning in close to you and smirking. “Speaking of which, when are you going to mention your little possible issue?”

“Ugh, I have been trying to figure out what to text him all day. I don't know what to do!” You said as you folded your arms and placed your head onto them. It had been on your mind since you started feeling off, and Eddie had asked if there was a chance Hargrove could have gotten you pregnant. He knew all about how you had slept with Hargrove more than once. You haven't kept anything from each other in your entire lives.

“Why don't you just go talk to him? Doesn't he go sit outside during lunch?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, I don't have much of an appetite anyway.” You said gathering your things. “Wish me luck.” You said weakly as you turned and walked away. You headed for your locker to deposit items before going outside to see if you could find Billy. Secretly hoping he wasn't currently outside making out with one of the cheerleaders or another random girl. As you headed outside, you scanned the parking lot and saw Billy sitting alone in his car. You headed towards it quickly as it had started to lightly rain outside. Once you reached the car, you slipped into the passenger seat with ease, finding Billy smoking a cigarette and listening to music.

You wanted to joke with him regarding the whole Denise situation, but instead, you simply blurted out. “I might be pregnant, and I haven't slept with anyone else.” There wasn't a response as Billy turned to look at you. His arm still out the window dropped his cigarette as he reached up and took off his sunglasses.

“What did you just say?” He said coldly. Your heart felt like it stopped skipping for a minute. “Answer me.” Billy added when you didn't speak.

“I think I might be pregnant.” You whispered, finding you were wishing you hadn't opened your big mouth and just blurted it out. “I haven't taken a test, but I haven't gotten my period, and I have been experiencing symptoms of pregnancy.” You squeaked out as Billy reached over and grabbed your face to force you to look at him.

“Is this because of what that bitch Denise is saying about us being together? I told her again and again we aren't an item.” Billy got closer to your face as he spoke still holding your chin in a tight grip.

“No.” That was all you could squeak out.

“Fuck!” Billy yelled, letting go of your face and hitting his steering wheel. “We are going to find out after school today. Meet me here the minute after the last bell rings.” He said. When you didn't answer right away he reached back over and grabbed your chin again. “Did you hear me?” He asked growling close to your ear.

“Yes, Billy.” You said quietly. “I will meet you right after school. I already have the tests at my house. I just have to take them.” You didn't move as you felt his warm breath still on the side of your face.

Billy leaned in and kissed your cheek. “Good girl. You better hope they are negative.” He said, letting go and getting out of the car. You quickly followed Billy out of the car and back towards school. You decided you were going to ask Eddie and maybe someone else to come over after school as well to be safe. You knew Billy was acting this way because his father Neil would beat the shit out of him if he got a girl pregnant. You were hoping for Billy that the tests would come out as negative, but deep inside, you had a sinking feeling they were going to be positive.

The rest of the school day passed by in a flash, thankfully. Billy had stayed close by your side as you went through your afternoon classes. You shared the almost same schedule, so it wasn't hard for him to follow you. As you headed towards your locker after the last bell, you saw Denise standing next to Billy's locker next to yours.

“Billy, I was hoping we could see each other today.” She said, reaching out a hand towards him. Billy just pushed her hand away.

“I have plans already with my girl (y/n). We just made it official yesterday and want to celebrate this weekend.” Billy smirked at her as he opened his locker. Denise's face fell as she looked at Billy in shock at what he had said.

“But what about what you told me?” She said pouting her bottom lip and attempting to make puppy dog eyes at him.

“I told you I wasn't interested in dating you and stopped seeing you a couple of weeks ago. Since then, I have slept with a couple of girls, including (y/n).” He said, not bothering to look at her pathetic attempts with her face. “Then I decided I like being with (y/n), mostly because she isn't a clingy, bitchy, rich, spoiled, princess who needs to learn how to not get what she wants all the time.” Billy said, turning to face Denise. “Now leave us alone.” Billy shut his locked door and grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers.

“Ready to go celebate, sweetheart?” Billy said, turning to you with a smile. You just shut your locker and nodded, still stunned at what had just happened. You let Billy lead you away from Denise, who just stood next to his locker, beginning to cry. You felt bad for her, but at the same time, you agreed with what Billy had said. Denise, like most of the other cheerleaders, were selfish princesses who always got what they wanted, and it drove you insane. Your family had raised you that life isn't fair even if you have wealth.

Billy pulled you in closer to his side as you walked towards the doors heading to the parking lot. He put his arm around your waist and guided you towards his car. Billy was being extra sweet as he took your bag at the car and opened your door for you. Once in the car, Billy took off at his usual high speed towards your house. He placed one of his hands on your thigh and squeezed it. The two of you didn't say anything as you drove. You were both nervous about what the pregnancy tests were going to say.

As you pulled into your driveway, you said Eddie's van was waiting outside your house in its usual spot. You silently thanked your best friend for knowing you so well. You hadn't been able to ask Eddie to come over with Billy staying close to you all afternoon. Billy and you got out of the car and headed inside, finding the front door already unlocked. Eddie does have a key and the alarm codes. You found Eddie already changed into comfy clothes and making food in the kitchen.

“Why are you here, Munson?” Billy asked as he looked at Eddie.

“Well, Hargrove, I am here for her and not you. Also, I normally spend my weekends here hanging out with my bestie.” Eddie said, smiling at Billy. The two of them refused to use each other's first names or nicknames. Billy growled low in response.

“This doesn't involve you.” He said, taking a step closer to Eddie. You quickly got in between the two of them. Before Eddie could begin voicing his response and escalate the situation, you spoke up.

“The tests are in my bathroom. Why don't we go upstairs, Billy? Eddie, would you mind making food for us as well?” You asked as you pulled on Billy's arm to get him to follow you upstairs.

“I would love to.” Eddie said, still staring at Billy. “Any requests, Hargrove?”

“Yeah don't spit in it like I know you want to.” Billy said, snearing back at Eddie.

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Eddie said, turning his back on both of you. “Let me know if you need me (y/n).” Eddie shouted after you from the kitchen as you headed upstairs with Billy. Once in your bedroom, you turned to Billy, who had locked the door behind you both.

“I am going to go into the bathroom and use the tests. Once I have peed on them, they take about 15 minutes for the results to show.” You said moving towards the bathroom. As you went to shut the bathroom door, you noticed Billy standing in the doorway behind you. “Can I help you?” You said surprised.

“Just want to make sure you do it correctly.” Billy said, smiling at you as he leaned against the door frame.

“Okay. So you are seriously going to watch me urinate on the pregnancy tests?” You said as you went to get them. You had gotten at least two of each type of test you bought. You wanted to make sure there wasn't a false positive or negative. You planned on seeing your doctor regarding your symptoms either way, but it would be helpful to know if you were possibly pregnant or not first. You went ahead and took the tests with Billy watching. You knew the first urine of the morning was the best, but you didn't want to wait until the morning. You also figured you could always get more tests or have your doctor perform a blood test to be sure. Once you had set them all out on the bathroom counter, you washed your hands before sitting down in the bathroom.

Billy and you were both silent as you waited together in the bathroom for the results to pop up. You took a deep breath as you prepared to get up and look at the results. Billy grabbed your hand and prevented you from getting up. “Wait, (y/n) I just…. if it is positive, I'm sorry.” Billy said, looking at you with tears forming in his eyes.

“I'm not.” You said softly. “I like the idea of having a baby with you.” You smiled at Billy and leaned in to give him a kiss on the lips. “No matter what happens, we stick together.” The two of you sat with your foreheads touching for a minute before silently deciding to get up. You started to cry as you looked down at the positive pregnancy tests sitting on your counter. You heard Billy take a sharp intake of breath.

“"What do we do now?” Billy said, crying.

“We got to see my OBGYN and then tell my dad.” You said, turning to hug him. Billy wrapped his arms tightly around you as he continued to stare at the pregnancy tests. He didn't know how to feel regarding it all.

@keeryhours @munsonsmixtapes