#turning reblogs off until i fix the links

[followthebluebell]

Happy new year!!! I hope this year treats you well and that all the cats remain in good health with minimal trips to the vet!!!

For new years, I will refrain from asking about cat butts. Instead, i wanted to get some tips on cat play? I don't know if my cat's temperament is just lazy, but she used to dash around the house way more and any wand toy would have her skidding like the worst F1 racer. Now, she just flops and bats pathetically at it. That, or she watches us drag the toy around so it feels like I'm doing the workout, not her. She's not particularly food motivated either

Is there anything I can do to get her to move more? She's not obese or anything, but figured exercise is still good for her.

Thanks for always filling my feed with gatitos!! It always brightens my day!

Thank you! Roomba has been doing remarkably well lately, so my hope is that she continues to thrive! Which... is pretty good for a cat I swore was dying just a few weeks ago >>;; I guess I got a little panicky over a little bit of pancreatitis.

alright, so any cat who's suddenly lost interest in their usual activities should be seen by a vet, just to eliminate the possibility of some health problem, etc, etc. We all think of arthritis as an old age thing (and it can be), but it can affect cats of all ages, just like people.

Now that that's out of the way, take a look at the toys you've got on offer. Are they all pretty much the same design? It could be that she's just bored of the same thing and could use some variety. Even if all she likes are wand toys, there are a few variations. Like my cats absolutely lose their shit over worm-ona-string. Da Bird toy is pretty popular among my work cats. The only reason i don't have one at home is because Saia destroys them. Quickly.

The Cat Dancer is VERY traditional. I don't think the design has changed in like 40 years and that's because it doesn't need to. It's perfect.

At work, I'm more likely to use a toy like this one, tbh, because it's easier to direct in a smaller space.

For non-wand toys, plastic springs are beloved. Your cat also might appreciate a tunnel to play in, if you've got the room for one. And keeping a few catnip toys lying around can be a hit too; I recommend this toy banana or this toy carrot. They fall into that ideal 'small enough to carry, but also large enough to kick' range that keeps a lot of cats happy.

I know you didn't ask for toy reccs, but variety may be just the thing your cat needs for a little encouragement.

Good luck and happy new year!

[fuji-sen]

the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

hello little sprouts! Just recently remembered my love(?) or interest with the sagau concepts!

ɞ﹒₊˚ This is partially inspired by the manhwa "A Divorced Evil Lady Bakes Cakes!" ɞ﹒₊˚ Imposter AU's, there is a bit angst in the first three nations but you'll be fineeeee, hopefully. ɞ﹒₊˚ Female!Reader x Selective!Various

divider used is made by @saradika-graphics

[NAME'S] RECIPE AND INGREDIENTS BOOK!

nobody's allowed to touch >:0, especially you damn acolytes, stop trying to kill me! If found please return to [Name] [Lastname], definitely not the creator nor the imposter!

Prologue; The Foodie turned Imposter?!

When a foodie from the real world gets sucked into one of their comfort games, popular hoyoverse game's middle child Genshin Impact, it's not all fun and playtime as one would have expected. Finding out you share a face with the most divine God and Mother of the world, the creator, you are forced to fight for the right to live, so that you can eat and cook for another day!

Part 1: Sunsettia Part 2: Sweet Flowers Part 3: Mint Tea Part 4: hilichurl style stew > 4.5 special: adventures of a pyro slime Part 5: Burning Pinecones Part 6: Ginisang Ampalaya Part 7: Dawn Winery's Grapevine + Fruity Skewers Part 8: Buttery Mamon Part 9: Benny's Adventure Team + Wolfhooks POLL: Pyro Slime Name (Closed) LINK Part 10: TBA. . .

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—

Volume 1; TBA

Chapter 1: The start of [Name]'s Recipes!

more coming soon. . .

ɞ﹒₊˚ Taglist! If you want to be added to the taglist, you can comment here or in the LATEST chapter! This is so that its easier for me to compare which comment is old or new, or those who have or haven't been added yet. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Also, please don't ask to be add in the taglist through my personal messages if possible. If it looks like im ignoring you guys in the comments about being added, im really not (╥ᆺ╥；), it's just I hold off on adding you or replying on your comments until I'm nearly done with the new chapters. I started avoiding chatting or entertaining messages especially from those that don't follow me, because I don't wanna get hacked or smth like that..

taglist:

@fantasyhopperhea @rhoswen-drake @cchiiwinkle @aman3kkun @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @bunniotomia @esthelily

@earth-to-name @fandomfan-102 @kh1ffy @jiyeons-closet @dragontammerz / @mercy-not-merci @aryuunachigiri @randomnatics @alexx197197 @keirennyx @vianitry @game-savvy @laviniadraws @altumsomnum @ghostlysyntaxed @kangyeonie @resident-cryptid @floofeh-purpi @allmightycucumber @wolfiafuntime @ofalexis @jiaoqiuthefoxian @is-it-night-or-day @lilacoaks @brainemptynothoughts @blackstar-gazer @existing-apparently @ohnoivefallen @yae-yu127 @creativecupcake @crazydreamcat @mysstical-siren @ijustwannabeheldbro @inaaya1inaaya @eyeless-kun @theautisticduck @depressivecomforts

If you are not tagged successfully that means tumblr thinks you are a bot (because you don't have posts, or much interaction), you have been shadowbanned, or your visibility is set to prevent you from being tagged.

check here for more info.

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[mistiell]

We Keep this Love in a Photograph

summary: since Joel gifted you a polaroid camera for your birthday, you've developed a habit of sneaking pictures of him whenever possible. He doesn't think he's worth the film "wasted" (His words, not yours), but after catching you looking over your accumulated gallery, you manage to win him over.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, Joel's a little self conscious, Reader's gender isn't specified, and they have hair but the length isn't specified either. If I accidentally did use a gendered term, lmk and I shall fix it. <3 NOT PROOFREAD (will likely come back to fix any mistakes later)

a/n: HOLY SHIT I'M BACK!!! This fic was inspired by this TikTok. I saw it and the Joel obsession possessed me so viscerally I had to make a comeback lmao.

**NOTE: I've linked ways to help Palestine here. If you're in a position to donate anything at all, please do! If not, you can reblog the post that's linked so it gets out to more people.

---

It started on your birthday.

You’d shared with Joel one evening, wrapped warm and snug in his arms within your soft haven of sheets, during one of those late night conversations where vulnerability doesn’t seem like a thing so daunting, that you used to love photography. Loved immortalizing things you loved or things you found beautiful. He’d asked what kind of camera you’d had, what kind of things you usually took pictures of.

“Polaroid.” you’d told him softly, fighting you keep your eyes open with his tracing shapes into the curve of your waist. “And I already told you. Whatever I found beautiful.”

The morning of your birthday, you woke to the smell of coffee and a clumsily wrapped box sitting on your bedside table with a note taped to the top; Happy birthday, honey. Love, Joel. And in smaller print near the bottom left corner; P.S. Wait until I’m here to open it. Wanna see your face.

You’d smiled, bashful, brushed your teeth in record time, scooped up the box, and made your way downstairs towards the sound sizzling and the tapping of a spatula on a pan. He gave you a good morning kiss, pretended to make a fuss about waiting until after breakfast to open it and watched with a smile as you carefully tore it open, popped off the lid, and visibly softened at first sight of the contents.

It was a polaroid camera. Coincidentally, the very same one you’d had twenty years ago.

You’d cried, he’d panicked. You hugged him so fiercely, any worry that he’d fucked the whole thing vanished as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you close.

That was months ago, and in the time since, you’ve accumulated quite the gallery. You take pictures of just about anything and everything, but your main muse is Joel.

Which is what’s led you to have half a shoe box full of polaroid of mostly him. He’s no idea of your little stash, and you intend to keep it that way. You’ve come to learn he’s got a thing about being photographed. Always nitpicking his appearance no matter what you say. He asks sometimes when he catches you why you don’t choose something nicer to look at, and your answer is generally always the same. There is nothing nicer. He walks into a room, and all you want to look at is him. Yeah, he’s got some more lines, got some more meat on his bones, his hair is a little more grey than it is brown these days. But he doesn’t see it the way you do.

He’s got crows feet and smile lines etched almost as deep as the crease between his brows. He looks healthy now that he’s actually got food to eat, meals you’re both sure to share every morning in your kitchen and every evening in the dining hall. His greys are a tangible reminder that he’s alive, that he’s survived, and that he now gets to live, and you’re incomprehensibly grateful for every russet strand turned silver. He’s all the more beautiful for all of it. And here, tucked into your armchair, polaroid pinched between thumb and forefinger, you get to commit every little detail picked up by your camera to memory.

Your gaze follows the sloping curve of his lovely nose, profile softened by the sun shining white behind. It’s only one half of his face, but the beaming smile he’s sporting makes you feel whole. His hair was just starting to get longer, then, curling near his nape and flicking round his ears to kiss his jaw.

“What’s all this?” You startle, head leaning into the plush back of the chair to look at him upside down as you press the pictures into your diaphragm. He seems curious, if a little confused.

Caught, you swallow, “If I said nothing, would you believe me?”

“Not for a second.” He smiles teasingly, bending to give you a quick peck, bottom lip warm where it slots between yours. Your hold on the photos loosens, and when his gaze dips to them, the smile shifts into something closer to a frown, a little cagey, “S’ that me?”

“Yeah.” You answer simply, before joking tentatively, “Swear I’m not a creep. You’re just pretty.”

“See now, that’s exactly what a creep would say.” He teases, and you’re glad for it – that he’s not upset. Rounding the chair, he sits on the arm, elbow propped up on the soft back of it and knuckles warm on the nape of your neck.

“Pretty.” He echoes, blowing a short puff of air out his nose, “Never been called that before.”

“Well, you are.”

He smiles again, bashful and a little disbelieving. There’s a short moment where he just looks at you like that, backs of his fingers sliding down your spine a few notches then back up in a tender line before he juts his chin toward your collection. “Show me?”

Warmth blooms in your stomach and fizzes up behind your sternum. You grin, handing him the one you were holding before sifting through the shoe box for your best works. He accepts your compliments and sweet talking reluctantly, but hangs onto your every word as you describe where you were, what you were doing, what made you sneak the picture in the first place.

You start to worry his limited responses mean he’s gotten caught up in his head until his hand slides up the side of your neck and settles over the side of your head, the warmth of his calloused palm encompassing the entirety of your ear as he guides your temple to his lips.

“Love you.” He murmurs into your hair, and the warmth sizzles like its carbonated, bubbling and burbling within the cage of your ribs.

You turn your face, slip your fingers beneath the curtain of hair at his nape and lift your chin to kiss him soft and slow. He rubs an affectionate line into the soft skin behind your hear as he hums, vibrations thrumming against your lips.

You lean back just enough to murmur, “I love you to.”

He smiles, kisses you again. And again. And once more. He asks you to show him more of your pictures, and you oblige. It’s early evening when you’re finally through, at which point Ellie’s come home and Joel’s started on dinner. You let her sift through the polaroids while you move to join Joel at the counter.

You won’t realize until later that she’s snuck a photo of the two of you by the stove, Joel’s large palm on the small of your back where you’ve taken over stirring a pot, gazing at you like you’re the only thing he’d like to listen to for the rest of his days as you talk and talk and talk.

That one, he hangs on the fridge.

[moamidzyism]

welcome home kiss (k.th)

☆。.:*·ﾟwc 1348 smut ౨ৎ minors DNI ˚⁺。˚ // repost ୨୧ fiancé!taehyun x fem!reader, jealousy, car sex, oral (m receiving) [masterlist • reblogs + feedback appreciated]

taehyun glances back at you. you look so beautiful in your sleek black dress. but the scowl that marked your otherwise pretty face, as you sat legs crossed and arms folded while you watched him, not so much.

usually, you loved going to all his work events with him. you would stand attached to his arm as he paraded you around to his colleagues, like his trophy wife. however, today, it seemed like he was punishing you.

to him, in contrast, it seemed like you were the one punishing him. you left home earlier than usual because you just had to go to work. he woke up at his normal time to an empty bed. you didn’t even text or call him all day because you were stressing over a really big and really important project. so much so that you showed up at your shared apartment an hour later than you said you would be home. and you, again, did this without as much as a text message or a phone call. and then you committed what he would describe as the greatest crime against humanity – you didn’t give him a “i’m home” kiss. you just rushed to the bathroom to get ready.

up until now, you still hadn’t given him the kiss. so yes, maybe he was punishing you now as he left you alone at the table to say hello to someone. but that was ten minutes ago and he hadn’t returned to get you as he stood talking to one of his female colleagues, laughing at her unfunny jokes, letting her touch his arm.

you’re sitting at the round dinner table with his other colleagues, drowning out their conversations about corporate things that you couldn’t be bothered to care about. you tightly grip the stem of your champagne flute, promising yourself that the next time she even as much as twirled her hair, you would go over there.

it isn’t long before your moment comes. his co-worker throws her head back, laughing, resting her manicured hand on your fiancé’s chest. you excuse yourself from the table, almost a hundred percent sure that they didn’t even notice your exit. you move gracefully but purposefully across the banquet hall to them.

“what’s so funny?” you ask taehyun with a smile, linking your arm with his.

“nothing,” he quietly responds. his coworker’s hand immediately drops.” clearing his throat, he introduces you. “i don’t think you guys have met.”

you reach out to shake her hand, your grip strong and assertive. “hi, i’m his fiancée, y/n.” you give her your fakest smile.

“it’s really nice to meet you,” she smiles back at you. the tension lingering between the three of you is palpable as you not so subtly rest your left hand on your fiance’s chest, showing off your diamond-studded engagement ring.

she is desperate to diffuse the tension, or at least get a way out. “i just remembered i had to speak with someone.” she says, before turning to you. “it was nice to meet you, y/n. i’ll see you on monday, tae.”

and with that, she leaves, leaving the lingering tension hanging like a heavy cloud. “i’m tired, i wanna go home,” you tell taehyun before going back to the table to get your purse.

you both say your goodbyes to his colleagues. the unresolved tension between the two of you is still lingering and noticeable to his coworkers, even as you maintain your grip on his arm.

the car ride home unfolds like a slow moving storm, filled with a heavy silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the car engine. the silence that settled between the two of you was suffocating. you just needed to break it.

you glance over at him. “are you going to tell me what that was about?”

taehyun’s eyes remain fixed on the road, the distant glow of the streetlights playing across his features. his hands tightly grip the steering wheel as he takes his time to respond to you. “you embarrassed me.” he says, curtly.

“i embarrassed you?” your voice is a mix of disbelief and simmering frustration.

“yeah, you did.” he keeps his eyes on the road, and that just makes you a little bit angrier.

“you left me at that table by myself to go flirt with your stupid coworker.”

“she’s not stupid.” the coolness of his tone boils your blood. “she’s actually really nice. she works in the marketing department.”

a chill ran down your spine, and you shift in your seat, the sleek black dress clinging to you. “i don’t care about her.”

“and i wasn’t flirting with her.”

“can you please pull over?” he complies, steering the car into an empty parking lot. 

as the car comes to a stop, you turn to face him again. “i wasn’t flirting with her,” he repeats, his eyes now finding yours.

“so if that wasn’t flirting then what was it?”

“we were having a conversation.”

“one where she just needed to have her hands all over you?”

“you didn’t kiss me.” he states matter of factly.

“what?”

“when you got home from work.”

you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“you didn’t kiss me when you got home from work.” he repeats.

“oh my god,” realization dawns on you, and your lips form a pout.

“don’t do that,” he warns, rolling his eyes.

“don’t do what?” you tease, adopting a playful tone,  “my boy missed me so much. want me to make it up to you?”

he groans, resting his head against the headrest, closing his eyes. the head of his seat, closing his eyes. “if you’re going to keep teasing me, then i don’t want your kiss.”

“i don’t mean a kiss,”

his eyes shoot open, curiosity replacing the embarrassment. “what do you mean?”

“if i embarrassed you, i should make it up to you, right?” you suggest, leaning in closer, your hand resting on his slacks.

taehyun gazes at you with a wide-eyed intensity while you fiddle with the zipper of his pants. you slip your hand inside his pants and palm his clothed dick.

“i thought you said you weren’t going to tease me,” he says in between his pretty whines.

you pull out his now hard cock and wrap your hand around his warm length. he looks at you with pleading eyes. unbuckling your seat belt, you lean down to place a light kiss on his flushed tip.

you look up at him, your eyes twinkling in amusement. “i gave you your kiss now, are you happy?”

taehyun carefully cups your face, pulling you upwards to kiss your lips finally. you pull away and draw your attention back to his dick, that lays gently in your hand. still maintaining eye contact, you trace your tongue along the tip, causing him to fully throw his head backwards in pleasure. slowly you take him in your mouth, until his dick hits the back of your throat and you’re gagging around him.

taehyun’s hands aptly find the back of your head, his fingers intertwining with your hair as you bob your head up and down, swallowing around his cock. his pretty moans and whine fill the car and you can’t help but feel amazing at how he just falls apart around you.

almost in an instant, everything feels a little too much for him — the warm, wet feeling around his length, the vibrations from your moans, the way your fingers work to softly massage his balls. his climax quickly creeps up on him and he can’t stop himself from cumming in your mouth.

“thank you,” he breathes out as you swallow his cum in desperate triumph.

he tilts your chin up, gazing into your watery eyes. “i’m sorry,” he confesses before kissing you again, tasting himself in your mouth.

“i’m sorry too.”

the two of you quickly pull yourselves together, and prepare to make your way back home. taehyun puts the car into drive but before he releases his foot from the brake, he looks at you again.

“can i have another kiss?”

taglist: @naomiarai @boba-beom @dearlyjun @atinyniki @isabellah29 @wiisoob @amanda4004

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[anexperimentallife]

EDIT: CRISIS AVERTED, THANK YOU!

Interracial US family w/ disabled autistic dad and toddler needs to get to the US for medical treatment

(New post because the old one was getting LONG with the updates. Details are under the "read more" to save your dash, with updates in the notes.)

TL;DR: If I'm going to live long enough to watch our daughter grow up, we need to get back to the US and get set up in a disability-friendly place where I can use my medical benefits.

Although I was already disabled (autism, adhd, and spine, joint, and head injuries), my health was stable--until four bouts of COVID left me immunocompromised, and utterly destroyed my health (including damage to my heart, blood clots that damaged one eye, neurological and joint issues, etc.), and although we started off fine, we've been hammered with one crisis after another, both medical and financial, that no one could have predicted.

Until we have enough to get back to the US, a chunk of whatever comes in has to go towards medical care that can't be put off, so the sooner we can reach critical mass on that, the better.

If you can help, or reblog, or share the links on other platforms, we'd be grateful!

The "Donate to Little or None" Paypal donation link takes the lowest fees, I think. (Kept the same link from when we were fighting to get our daughter's birth certificate fixed so we could get her citizenship affirmed.)

Then there's Ko-Fi:

And my little sister started a GoFundMe for us!

EDIT: The donation links above still work, but I removed the GoFundMe link.

IF YOU WANT ALL THE DETAILS SEE THE "READ MORE."

(There's more in my "rob gets medical" tag if you want a blow by blow account of how we got to this point over the past few years, but this is the gist.)

HOW IT STARTED:

I moved to the Philippines six years ago, after the deaths of my adult sons, in part to make my disability payments stretch further. Shortly afterwards, I was joined by my now-wife @thesurestthing (also from the US) for what was supposed to be a visit, but which turned into a permanent arrangement.

After I got a contract to license an old story for a mobile game (which tripled our income*), we found out we were having a baby, which was fine, because despite my disabilities (autism, adhd, two spine injuries, traumatic brain injury, a herniated esophagus, joint issues, etc.), my health was stable, and thanks to the contract, we were fine financially as well.

HOW IT STARTED GOING DOWNHILL:

Zoey's pregnancy was complicated, requiring two hospitalizations, and our daughter's birth was complicated, too--requiring a C-Section--which tripled our hospital bill. A few weeks after our daughter was born, the aforementioned contract was canceled without warning. THEN, when we tried to register our daughter's birth with the US embassy, we discovered an error on her birth certificate that left her stateless, and which took nearly two years, all our savings, and a fundraiser (thank you, generous people!) to resolve. Combined with medical expenses, that left us in a lot of debt.

A brief summary of went else wrong (leaving a lot out for brevity's sake):

I got COVID three four times during all this, became immunocompromised, and developed a slew of other medical issues (heart damage, eye damage and temporary facial paralysis from blood clots, persistent infections, a worsening of my joint issues, neurological issues, etc.) as a result of Long Covid.

I've had to be hospitalized a couple of times, undergo surgery, and was on an oxygen machine twice--once for an entire month, while I was bedridden. As of 24 January, 2024, I'm still recovering from my fourth bout of covid, which started at the beginning of October 2023.

There's a lot more, but you get the idea. COVID has completely wrecked my health, including tearing up my immune system.

And yes, I'm as fully vaxxed against COVID as one can be in the Philippines, with all available boosters, but again--I'm immunocompromised, plus they don't have the vax for the newest variant here yet. Zoey is vaxxed, also, and as a result, her bout with covid was extremely mild. El isn't vaxxed yet because they won't give the covid vaccine to kids under five here, but she's been able to share Zoey's antibodies from breast-feeding--which is apparently a thing.

The only way we can see for me to stay alive long enough to watch Eleanor grow up is to get back to where I can use my Medicare and VA benefits**.

WHY SO MUCH MONEY?

First, while we're still here, we need to pay for whatever medical care can't be put off. Plus, since I'm now immunocompromised, we have to get LOTS of vaccinations before we have to spend 24 hours or so in crowded planes and airports.

Second, we're going to be arriving with only what we can carry with us on the plane, and we'll need to get into a place near a VA hospital that I can easily get around in while I'm recovering from surgeries and getting various treatments. We'll need to pick up some secondhand household goods, and some kind of used transportation (because, you know, it's the US, where you kind of need a vehicle to get around).

We'll also need enough on top of my and El's disability payments to get by for a couple of months while Zoey looks for work. And all this is while we're still paying off the debt from the stuff I mentioned above.

So we're figuring that unless we catch some very lucky breaks, it'll probably cost between 20K and 36K altogether.

(We can't simply stay with friends when we get back, because literally every single close friend we have in the US with extra room and who lives close to a VA hospital has cats--to which I have a severe anaphylactic reaction. As in my entire respiratory system shuts down, and I have to be rushed to the ER to keep from dying; this has happened more than once. The only way I can be around cats is if I'm on immunosuppressants, and my immune system is ALREADY compromised, so I CAN'T do that.)

So again, if you can kick in, or reblog, or post our crowdfunding links (or the link to this post) on whatever other platforms you use, we'd appreciate it.

(*When I told social security about it, they said I could keep getting disability, too, because licensing IP rights didn't count as work income, and since it was a Moldavian company, it also fell under a special tax clause for getting paid by a foreign company while living overseas, so no taxes on it, either. )

(**VA benefits--I was a cold warrior in 1980s Germany. It was less than forty years after WWII, there was a lot of sabre-rattling--some of it nuclear--and we were there as a deterrent to prevent in Germany the kind of thing that's happening in Ukraine right now. Disclaimer because I'm tired of people accusing me of "invading" folks in the early 1980s when I was a dumb, heavily propagandized pre-Internet kid fixing generators in Europe. I wouldn't join today even if I could.)

[fanfictilltheend]

❤️‍🔥Violent Heart Part 1: ♪All I've ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you ♫ (or the VERY DARK Stepdad!Mechanic!Covict!Joel x Afab!you one)❤️‍🔥

A/n: It's here!!!!!! 18+ Only. This took me 7 freaking months so you mofos better like, reblog, and comment. This is both my most and least personal fic I've ever written and it is dark and relies heavily on plot (no smut until part 2 but i swear it's worth the backstory!!!!) READ ALL OF THE TAGS DO NOT COME FOR ME UNLESS YOU DID THIS FR FR. This ones for my dark joel fangirlies(guys and NBies) and the daddy issues fam ily ❤️‍🔥 (also not me naming my fic in part after hallelujah by leonard cohen but there is a reason!!!!!!!!!!)

Summary: The story starts with Part 1 where afab!Y/N is a child and Joel is her new stepdad and this story explores their relationship. Themes of abusive family, domestic violence, child abuse, daddy issues, physical violence, murder, stepcest (kinda b/c he is divorced from her mom technically but she grew up with him as her stepdad), infidelity, age gap, and more are explored throughout the fic. PLEASE READ SPECIFIC TAGS (part 2 tags will be added with the release of part 2). Part 2 picks up with Y/N at age 20 and how her relationship with Joel has changed and gets steamier. NOTHING SEXUAL OCCURS BETWEEN Y/N and JOEL until Y/N is 20!!!!!!! Also check out this playlist of music that's in the fic!!!!

Tags (PLEASE READ): Afab!you, stepdad!joel, mechanic!joel, convict!joel, no apocalypse au, Mentions of sex (little detail), mentions of male masturbation, infidelity, domestic abuse/violence, sibling abuse/violence (no one ever talks about sibling abuse but it’s very real), physical child abuse, neglect, allusions to past domestic violence, cursing, brief mention of pedophilia and kidnapping (David), allusions to committing future pedophilia (David), threats, cancer mention, Sarah death discussion, Tommy death mention, murder, prison, mentions of god and religion, fights, general violence, alcohol consumption, using music lyrics to move the plot, daddy issues, use of y/n

Word Count: ~15k

PART 2 (coming soon)

Ao3 Link

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

Joel Miller is not a good man, that he knows like the backs of his calloused hands. 

He knows loss too, feels it burrowed in the hollow cavity of his chest. Sees it in the face of every little girl he meets. 

The memories sting. 

He knows pain, deep in the depths of his character, down to the fundamentals of what makes him something that resembles a human being. The belts, the bigger hands, the harsh words, and then the grief. The recent Bring back my babygirl! The ancient ¡Basta, Papí, por favor, no Tommy, no Mamá! ¡Por favor no esta noche! The indignity of begging, always reduced to begging to a cruel man, an indifferent doctor, a cruel universe. 

He knows hard work, how to work with his hands. He knows the grit and grease of labor. Sees the cogs turning in the engines he fixes, relates to them. Feels like he knows them intimately because he is one too, chugging along day after endless day. But no one dares fix Joel Miller.

Until…

Her name is Erica and she’d like her front bumper replaced, please. She has long eyelashes and a soothing voice. And she has money too, at least more than he, who is almost broke from the cost of Sarah’s medical bills. She comes with baggage, Joel can tell from looking into her eyes, but then again so does he. And he hasn’t been laid in god knows how long. 

She takes him on a date and he lets her. She reveals she has two kids, but Joel doesn’t care. They fuck at her place while the kids are at school and she wants it soft, like her hands, and that’s how Joel gives it to her. 

A week later, Joel has moved in, which is good because his rent was due and he couldn’t pay it. He still hasn’t met the children.

***

It’s Joel’s day off and he’s sitting on the couch in his new home. His back hurts, but that’s nothing new. He’s got an excellent view of their nice, big backyard with a wooden fence. The kind of home he would have liked to have given Sarah. He sighs. Technically, nothing is wrong.

Then he sees it. It takes him a second to realize what is going on. It’s a whirlwind. He sees the back gate open and two tumbling forms fall over the threshold onto the manicured grass. One form is bigger, a boy of about twelve or thirteen beating the shit out of a much smaller form, fists flying. The other form is a little girl, no more than eight, defending herself like her life depends on it. Perhaps it does with the way he’s going at her. 

This must be the son, Aiden, and the daughter, Y/N. 

He’s a good boy, really, but he has anger issues sometimes. He’s been through a lot. That’s what Erica said, but Joel does not see a good boy. He sees a bully. A disproportionately violent one at that. Nothing that tiny girl could have possibly done could warrant the brutality he sees before him. 

Anger is something else Joel knows intimately, and that is what he greets when he runs outside to end the fray.

“Stop that!” he roars, pulling Aiden off of Y/N.

“Who the fuck are you!?” the boy screams, fury and hatred radiating off of his entire being. 

He continues thrashing and punching at nothing as Joel restrains him.

“I’m gonna kill her!” he screams, his eyes bulging.

“What the hell happened?” Joel growls, still holding onto the livid boy–verging on young man. 

“She ripped up my paper!” he bellows. “For no fucking reason! I worked hard on it!”

“It was a lie,” she says with so much conviction Joel almost flinches.

He looks down at the little girl, her nose bleeding, her right eye turning purple. She has tears streaked down her face, but she is not crying. Her shirt is ripped. The first thing he thinks of when he sees her is Sarah. Of course it’s Sarah, how could he not think of her? But this little girl is different, has a different look in her eye. This look is much harder and feels like she’s lived a thousand lifetimes. He thanks god Sarah never looked that way, but somehow he wants to hear about everything this little girl has experienced. Something twangs in Joel’s chest that he has not felt in what feels like an eternity. 

“It was not a lie, you stupid bitch whore!” Aiden shouts angrily, still fighting back against Joel’s unrelenting grip. “Take that back!”  

“No, you take it back! Dad is not a hero. You could’ve picked anyone to write about and you choose him? After everything he’s done?” she screams herself.

The sound of her voice is powerful but desperate. Joel feels himself needing to know more and bury himself deep inside her experiences.

“SHUT UP!” Aiden yells, finally ceasing his movements. 

A tear falls from his cheek. 

“If I let you go, will you stop whooping your sister?” Joel snaps firmly.

“Get away from me, you stupid cuck!” Aiden curses, turning his energy to Joel. “Who the hell are you to me? Fuck you! I’m out of here!”

He wriggles out of Joel’s grasp and Joel lets him go and Aiden storms back out the rear gate, slamming it behind him.

“You alright?” he asks Y/N.

Joel crawls over on his knees, still upright, closer to her. 

“Had worse,” she shrugs, running a hand through her messed-up hair. 

She wipes the tears and blood from her cheeks.

Joel shudders to imagine what she means.

“He always like that?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “So you Mom’s new boyfriend?”

“Something like that,” he nods back. ”’M Joel. Joel Miller.”

“I’m Y/N,” she says a bit mournfully. “Here,” she continues suddenly, reaching out a small hand to his cheek. She wipes blood (hers) gently off his stubbly face. “Didn’t mean to get ya dirty.”

Joel is nothing short of touched. He wasn’t even aware he could still have such a feeling. His cheeks go rosy pink. His heart pulses. He stares at her delicate hands and notices a long, thin scar on her left middle finger. 

“‘S no trouble, sweetheart,” he hears himself reassuring her. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Could even mend your shirt if ya want. Know how to sew and all.”

He reaches out a large hand, but she flinches at the sudden movement. A dull ache wells up in Joel’s chest. 

“Not gonna hurt you, honey. Swear it.” 

He wants with every fiber of his being for her to believe him, for it to be true. 

She takes his hand.

***

That evening Erica is still not home, working late Joel supposes. It is nine o’clock when Aiden slinks back into the house.

Joel stops him from making his way up the stairs. He is more than familiar with the art of creeping.

“Think you oughta apologize to your sister,” he says as gently as possible. Maybe he can impart some manners onto this unruly child now that he’s calmed down some. “You beat her real bad. You’re much bigger than her.”

“I’d do it again,” Aiden hisses, his eyes cold. “It makes me feel better.”

And then, to Joel, the answer is simple. What do you do with a bully who won’t repent? Fight him back. Show him who’s boss, who’s bigger.

He grabs Aiden by the arm in a flash of anger and drags him up the stairs. The boy screams and flails, but that doesn’t deter Joel. He brings him to the room he assumes is his, the walls covered in sports posters and memorabilia.

“Take off your shirt,” he growls, a familiar fury pounding inside his chest.

When Aiden protests, Joel does it for him, ripping the kid’s shirt nearly in half. Rage floods through Joel’s veins and he can’t exactly place why, but the feeling is very real and bouldering through him at an alarming speed. He knows this feeling, feels strangely at home there.

He undoes his belt and brings the leather end down on Aiden’s back, not the buckle like his father used to do. Joel does have some decency buried deep in his chest. And then he loses himself to the unyielding anger.

“You get ten,” he snarls. “Don’t you lay a hand on your sister again. Is that understood? Now you answer to me.”

No response except for a scream.

“I said , do you understand?” Joel roars, bringing down the belt.

Rage consumes him like a drug. He barely registers what he’s doing. The belt goes down again and again. And somehow, through the screaming and the pain, and the intoxicating feeling of being completely in control for once, Joel’s line of vision wanders to the bedroom door. In all the excitement, it was left ajar and out in the hallway, sitting on her knees is Y/N. Joel immediately expects fear, despair, revulsion. When Tommy would watch him take a beating his face would betray the most acute sense of hopelessness and terror and the waterworks would begin. But Y/N just stares at him unflinchingly, at what he’s doing. She doesn’t cry, she simply sees. Too much for a child, and yet, she watches. She does not intervene, doesn’t even try to. And for the tiniest moment, her and Joel’s eyes connect, and he feels a sense of calm, of comprehension, of recognition in that uncannily knowing gaze. Her irises sparkle and Joel feels…something that he cannot entirely articulate. Seen? Accepted? Understood? Joel knows logically what he is doing is an ugly, vile thing — he has never claimed to be a good man. Practical maybe, but never good. And yet, Y/N sees it — sees him — and she doesn’t look away. She cocks her head slightly, and images of Tommy grimacing in revulsion and fear as Joel mercilessly beat up their childhood neighborhood bullies to the point of unconsciousness pop into his mind, of the haunting look in his brother’s eyes. Even Sarah could not stomach his violent heart when she witnessed him beat up some pervert with a camera that had looked at her funny at the mall. Even though it was for her — to keep her safe. She had stared at him in disgust and pity. She had not seen him then at all.

But now, looking at Y/N, for the briefest moment, Joel can swear he sees something resembling a smile flicker over her serious face. And though it goes as quickly as it comes, he feels the familiar sensation gnawing at the bottom of his stomach: primal and untameable, soft and vulnerable, but fierce and loud at the same time. He feels an inexorable, inescapable sense of care and devotion to this child. But most of all, because she sees him, truly sees him, and does not turn away in disgust, Joel Miller feels the gut-wrenching, unquenchable sensation of love deep in his chest. For the first time since Sarah died on that hospital bed, weak and unwell from the chemo he could not afford, he feels alive . 

***

Things fall into a tentative routine. Every morning, Joel wakes up in bed beside Erica. They fuck the night before more often than not, but always in that same slow way that doesn’t do much for Joel. It’s enough to get off, sure, she isn’t an unattractive woman, but he’s mostly there for the meal ticket and roof over his head. He goes to work at the auto-body repair shop, Erica goes to her job at her law firm. The kids ride the bus to school. He gets home in the evenings before Erica and spends time coexisting with the children. Usually, he kicks back on the sofa, rubbing his sore back, and watches television, minding his own business. Aiden mostly avoids him, doing god knows what in his room. He bullies his sister cruelly and Joel punishes him when he sees fit. Erica knows what he does to Aiden and either doesn’t care or approves. He never lays a hand on Y/N though. She warms up to him slowly, cautiously. Most evenings she sits on the far end of the couch and Joel on the other, but as she gets used to him and sees that he’s not a threat, at least to her, she scoots closer. 

The children’s father is no longer in their lives from what Joel can tell, which is perfectly fine with him. When Joel’s heart does not feel full of lead, he plays the guitar. Y/N sits and watches him. She is a quiet child, but unrelentingly brave. When Joel lets the TV blare, he rarely cares to pay much attention these days, she stays and watches with him, no matter what is on and never complains or asks to change the channel. Blockbuster zombie apocalypse movie? She watches. News special on America’s most dangerous serial killers? She watches. Documentary on venomous snakes? She watches. Should Joel be letting her watch this crap? Who the fuck knows? He isn’t her father. And plus, he won’t admit this to anyone, hardly even himself, but he likes having some company. It makes everything feel…less. And he likes that she doesn’t try to make him speak. Sometimes there are no words and he thinks Y/N understands this. Unlike Erica who yaps every second of the day. But Joel stays polite and plays along. He has to.

But he will not lie, Aiden gets on his very last nerve. There is something that Joel cannot quite place that makes him feel like he has known this boy his whole life even though they are as familiar as perfect strangers. All siblings fight and rough-house. That is normal. Hell, he and Tommy used to fight rough and tumble all the time. But the way Aiden bullies Y/N is something else entirely. And most times, it is unprovoked. And he is so much bigger than she is, growing bigger by the day. 

Joel’s beatings have not stopped Aiden’s anger and sadistic attitudes, but they do make sure that he takes some kind of physical consequence for his crimes. It makes Joel feel better and he thinks it makes Y/N feel better too. And some days he gets so fucking mad at Aiden that he thinks not even god could stop his wrath even if the boy turned into Mother Theresa herself! Okay, maybe that’s extreme, but another part of Joel thinks maybe it’s not. The truth is, though he is loathe to admit it, some days, he is not in control of his anger. Some days he punches so hard, his knuckles bleed and he has to stop for a second to come back to himself. Others he goes so roughly on Aiden that he causes the kid to become bloody and he feels ashamed of what he’s done. But there are other days, very dark days, where he wishes he could do it over and over again. He convinces himself he’s doing it for Y/N and not some other sinister ulterior motive he does not care to dwell on…

One night, a few months into Joel’s new living arrangements, he walks through the upstairs hallway to his and Erica’s bedroom, passing the closed door to the bathroom that the kids share. He has done this what feels like a thousand times before and doesn’t think anything of it until he stops and realizes he hears Y/N singing. 

♪“ Someday, my pain / Someday, my pain will mark / You…”♫ she sings softly.

He can barely hear it over the crash of the water from her shower, but her voice is beautiful. It pulls at Joel’s shrunken heart, deep inside his long-dead chest. Her voice has an eerie quality to it too, almost haunting. He’s not sure of what song it is, but he finds himself wanting to know. Eventually, she stops, and Joel goes to bed, but her voice echoes in his mind for hours as he lies awake in the dark.

The next day, Joel is sitting on the couch when the kids get home from school. Y/N joins him on the other side of the sofa as usual. They watch reruns of some unfunny family sitcom.

“Heard you singing last night,” he finally grunts unceremoniously.

Y/N goes very still.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be quieter next time.”

Joel looks over at her. He realizes she looks terrified.

“Ain’t no problem with it,” he tries to explain, confused. “Thought you sounded nice is all.”

“You tryna trick me?” she stammers, tears collecting in her shimmering eyes.

“What? Trick you? What you crying for, honey? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Joel is genuinely flabbergasted. 

Tears trickle down her cheeks. What has he done this time? he wonders. But he is concerned more than anything. Hell, he hasn’t seen her cry like this since the day they met. Not even last week when Aiden slammed her head into the metal oven in the kitchen (luckily it was off or Joel would have really killed him that time).  

She sniffles, looking conflicted, then collects herself as best she can manage.

“M-my dad didn’t like when I would sing. ‘Specially if he was in a depo…I forget the word…deponition? Deposition? When he was on the phone for work, I mean. If I was being too loud. Or too shrill. He didn’t like that one bit. He’d get mad…” she trails off. 

“The way Aiden gets mad?” Joel asks very slowly, not truly wanting to know the answer.

“Yeah,” she nods after a while. “Except he’s a lot bigger. And stronger. He…he broke my arm once. But it was on accident I think. He got me ice cream after.”

Anger, red and hot, pulses through Joel’s veins. What hadn’t this child endured at the hands of angry men? 

“What did your mother do?” he bites out, almost unnaturally calm from trying to control himself.

“Well, most of the time he’d kinda like hit her around, I guess? But the time he broke my arm was the time she made him leave for good and they got a divorce and all. Aiden says it’s my fault he won’t come around anymore. He was so mad. He loves Dad so much. I don’t understand it though because even though Dad likes him a lot more than me, Dad would still be so mean to him sometimes. Mom says I don’t even know all of it...Promise I won’t bother you with singing though, okay?”

“Sweetheart,” Joel says as softly as his blinding rage will permit. Somehow, when he’s with Y/N, he finds he can control himself better. “I’ll never get mad at you for singing. Or being too loud. Or anything. Never gonna put my hands on you. I’m sorry if what I do to Aiden scares you or made you think that I would ever do such a thing to you.”

“It doesn’t scare me,” she shakes her head. “When you get rough with Aiden, you do it because he did really bad, to protect me. It’s like with you there’s rules that make sense. Aiden chooses to be mean and violent so you choose it back to him. With my dad, it was different. It was like I could breathe wrong and I’d get in trouble. Get in trouble for things I couldn’t control or help. Sometimes I did bad, I know I did, but I also know there were other times where I wasn’t hurting anyone and he’d still hurt me so badly. My dad never got mad at Aiden for hurting me though. He thought it was funny, I think. Sometimes he’d kinda like sick him on me. Kinda how you could a dog.”

Joel doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know the right words. He figures he can only show her with his actions who he is and she will just have to learn to trust him. If her father ever enters the house though, he will wring his neck. That’s for certain. Thank God he doesn’t come around for his sake, Joel’s, and the family’s.

“I was just thinking,” Joel finally says. “If ya want, I could learn how to play that song you were singing on my guitar and maybe you could sing it for me sometime?”

“M-maybe we could sing it together?” Y/N asks tentatively, her eyes wide. “Singing in front of other people is kinda scary.”

“I haven’t sung in a while,” Joel sighs. “Might be rusty.” 

“That’s okay,” she grins hopefully. 

Joel wants to take a photo of that rare sight and keep it close for as long as he lives, torn in his pocket or snug in his wallet, he doesn’t care. 

“Joel?” she asks a little cautiously, breaking him from his thoughts. “Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course, kiddo,” he says as gently as he knows how.

“Who’s Sarah?”

His heart stops. His blood runs cold. 

“What? How did you–”

“You were talking. In your sleep yesterday,” she says, shrinking away a little and Joel feels sorry for scaring her again. “When we were watching Dexter . Well, you fell asleep right before. You were snoring and all, but you were also talking and mumbling that name. You sounded sad and scared.”

Joel should definitely not have allowed her to watch that! But that is hardly the point right now. 

His heart squeezes so tight it burns. What was there to say about Sarah – the entire reason his life had had any purpose? His perfect babygirl? The light of his life? 

He could lie. So easily too and Y/N would never know. He could say nothing at all. Hasn’t even told Erica about her yet. Hardly ever speaks to anyone about her these days.

And yet…

“She was my daughter,” he hears himself say softly. “She…got sick. Died of leukemia a while back. She was twelve.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the wallet he was just thinking about. Inside is a tiny school photo of Sarah – the last one she ever took. It’s faded a little, but she’s still smiling so big she could block out the sun. He shows it to Y/N.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” she says and she really does look sorry. 

Not the way his co-workers and customers say it – almost as a reflex – to fill the void in the conversation. Her eyes are shimmering.  

“Nothin’ to do about it now,” he shrugs, running his thumb over the photo paper, softened with age. “But she was so damn special. My whole world.”

He has learned to repress the tears, not to show weakness, that is not hard. Not anymore. But the anger that broils up inside him – the injustice of it all – how he was unable to help her. Unable to save her. He feels almost like a child again, powerless in an unforgiving, unrelenting world. He wants to fight back!

He is so angry he begins to shake and his hands clench into fists. 

He wants to flip over the fucking coffee table – fling it across the room! He wants to punch in the glass of the flickering TV screen until his fist is broken! He wants to–He wants–

He just wants his babygirl back…

A sob, small and foreign rises in his throat, but he pushes it down. 

He thinks Y/N knows though. Can see the vulnerability in his eyes.

She reaches out a small hand and touches his fist, pushes it down gently into the soft fabric of the couch so he’ll stop shaking. It doesn’t entirely work, but he thinks he appreciates the effort.

“I don’t know if this is the right thing to say,” she begins a bit skittishly, still not entirely trusting the hulking, raging man above her. “But I think I would have liked to have been her friend.”

And for the first time since Sarah died, Joel sobs . 

Y/N pops up from the couch and Joel’s heart cries out louder in his chest for her to come back, don’t leave me too as he tries to suck the tears back in. It doesn’t work though and liquid gushes down his cheeks. He doesn’t think he can take the rejection, the loss of her. But thankfully, she returns just as quickly as she went with a handful of tissues stuffed into her small fist. 

“Here, Joel,” she offers. “Here. Don’t cry.”

Joel does cry though. He’s ashamed he’s broken down in front of this literal child, and he doesn’t let out much noise, but he doesn’t take the tissues either. He can’t. 

She’s so sweet though, or maybe it’s because she is truly afraid of him now, of his wrath, he’ll never really know, but she frowns and reaches out a little hand, the one with the scar on the middle finger, and tries to wipe up the tears.

The paper of the tissue tickles his cheeks.

“Shouldn’t havta…” he tries.

“Didn’t mean to make you…” she answers.

A pause.

“You didn’t, honey. That was all me,” he assures her finally.

She lets out a sigh of relief and soaks up the last of the salt water from his face, brushes the tissue gently against his nose. It tickles, causes him to snort. He smirks a little.

She smiles back shyly, she can’t help it, he can tell. 

“You know,” he says thoughtfully after a few moments of silence, sighing deeply. “I reckon she would’ve wanted to be your friend too…”

***

A few months roll by. Things are virtually the same except Y/N seems more comfortable around him now. Maybe it’s because she saw his weakness up close and personal, his Achilles heel —— knows how to coax it out of him now if she has to. Or maybe it’s because she truly trusts him. Whatever the case, she sits closer to him on the couch now, still giving him a respectful foot of distance though of course. 

Once in a blue moon, she sings for him and he tries to keep up with the lilting sound of her high voice. She says she likes his low, deep voice just fine, it’s just she still gets nervous singing in front of other people so it’s still a rare occasion. His favorite is when she sings solo and he gets to strum along for her and really listen. Sometimes her voice cracks in a very specific way that some might find to be a flaw, but Joel would never. 

Aiden makes fun of them and calls them the ‘Von Trapp Family Singers.’ Are they a family? Joel wonders.

One day after work, Joel goes to the library to find some sheet music for a song Y/N likes. She treasures the photo-copied paper like a gift as Joel deciphers the notes he can actually read for her. She color-codes each one carefully in magic marker so she can remember the differences between them. 

The next day, Aiden burns it up with a lighter he has acquired from God knows where. Joel confiscates it – the last thing he needs is this particular child setting fires – and It doesn’t end well for Aiden. He limps for damn near a week. But some days, when Aiden is calm, he joins Y/N and Joel in front of the TV if a sports game is on. He doesn’t sit on the couch though, just the floor. He doesn’t say much to them but does get invested in the good and bad plays of each game, gets sore if his team is losing. On one particularly good day, when the Rangers hit a grand slam, and Joel was actually paying attention, he and Aiden actually high-five.  

Things are going…well? Is that the right word? It is a foreign concept for Joel. For Christmas, he gets Y/N guitar, Aiden a book on boxing so maybe he will redirect his anger into somewhere productive, and Erica a spa-day kit for 20% off that he saw at CVS (he never claimed to know what women want). Aiden is neutral, surprised, he thinks, that Joel even got him a present. Erica is actually appreciative and returns the favor with some new socks and underwear. 

“A practical gift for a practical man,” she says, kissing him on the forehead. 

Joel supposes he appreciates the gesture. 

Y/N, though, is thrilled.

“Thank you, Joel! Got you something too,” she says excitedly, bouncing up and down in her red and white pajamas.

“That’s not necessary,” Joel chides, leaning over to pick up the wrapping paper that was strewn across the living room floor. 

But secretly he is curious. He didn’t think she even had any money of her own…

Aiden opens the cover of the boxing book with disinterest, eyeing the new guitar distastefully. 

Y/N jumps up, leaves the room, and returns with a small plastic baggie in her hands. Inside are little, different bits of colored plastic clumsily and haphazardly cut into tiny, sharp-looking, badge-shaped pieces. One he recognizes is from the top of a yogurt container he put into the recycling the other day, another one from the top of a Gatorade bottle. 

“Here ya go!” 

She shoves the plastic bag into his large hands enthusiastically.

“Thank you,” Joel responds, still unsure what he was given.

It reminds him of when Sarah was young and would come home with some sort of abstract macaroni painting from kindergarten and he would nod and smile knowingly when she explained that of course it was Two dinosaurs getting married, Dad. Duh!

“You could try one on my new guitar,” she offers, a little disappointed when he doesn’t have more of a reaction. “You said you lost most of yours…”

Joel immediately feels guilty and then it clicks. She tried to make him guitar picks! His heart clenches with emotion he can not quite identify. 

He pulls a little orange one out of the bag and accidentally nicks the edge of his finger. Because of the way it was cut, no doubt with uncoordinated child’s hands and a pair of scissors, the edges are much too sharp to serve as an actual guitar pick without damaging guitar strings or apparently Joel’s finger. Dumb kid. But he’s beyond honored anyone would take the time to do such a thoughtful thing for him. 

He hisses softly and sucks the blood off his finger.

“Oops,” she says, horrified. “Shoot. Sorry, I–”

“‘S no trouble,” he interjects dismissively. “Love ‘em. Was my fault anyway. I’mma be honest with you though, sweetheart; don’t think the guitar strings can handle these babies.”

“Oh,” she says softly, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Oh, yeah, okay...”

She deflates, looking down at the carpet.

Joel selfishly lets her be sad for a beat before swooping back in to be the one to save the day.

“But here’s what I’ll do…”

She looks back up at him with an intoxicating kind of hope in her eyes.

He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and slips the orange pick into the photo slot next to the picture of Sarah. He returns the wallet back into his pants. 

Y/N positively beams. Brighter than the sun, even, Joel thinks.

Aiden yawns purposefully loudly and rolls his eyes. Erica looks touched and maybe even a little proud of her choice in men. But Joel didn’t do it for them. The only reaction in the world he cares about is hers.

Y/N is still grinning, bouncing on the balls of her feet again. But then she does something new: she leans in and hugs him, wrapping her little arms around his waist, burying her face in his flannel shirt, pressing against his tummy.

The world stops for Joel. 

At first, he just hangs there limply, awkwardly. Literally forgets what one is supposed to do in such a situation, but then instinct kicks in and he wraps his arms around her too and squeezes ever so slightly. It’s a more cautious hug than Sarah would have given him – she would have squeezed him half to death – but Y/N is still holding him. Someone small and warm is holding onto him for the first time in what feels like an eternity. And just like that his past is rhyming with his present and it is the most beautiful sound Joel Miller has ever heard. 

Joel Miller is not a good man, no, but maybe, just maybe, he thinks he could be one for Y/N. 

***

Joel tries to be good. He does. His first order of business is stop beating on Aiden – especially in front of Y/N. No amount of violence towards the kid seems to do any good anyway – he still hurts her. And Joel is sick of bandaging her up and wiping the blood from her cheeks; something has to change. Not that he wouldn’t do it a thousand times if he had to. He’d do anything for the girl, that he is sure of. And the truth is, Aiden is close to getting big enough to really fight back. And Joel knows if Aiden really lays a hand on him, he’s not sure he will be able to control himself enough to not inflict permanent damage. And he doesn’t want that. Truly.

So at first, Joel thinks about having Erica send him away to a wilderness camp for troubled children or some such program he sees mentioned on reruns of Dr. Phil. She has the money to do it too. But she won’t send him away. She refuses, loves him too much. Protecting Y/N seems as far down on her list of priorities as ever. She is useless at disciplining him, always has been, so it is up to Joel to find another solution. So the next thing he tries is to set the boy up in boxing classes. This is risky since it might just teach him new ways to hurt Y/N, but at least it will be a place to direct his anger.

It works for a while, to his and Y/N’s immense relief, but that leaves Joel nowhere to take out his anger. He tries to ignore it at first and shove it down, but it starts to come out in little ways. At work, he barks at a customer who locks his keys in the car he’s trying to fix. At home, he shouts at Erica for missing Y/N’s school play. The rage leaks out of him, pours off his entire being. He tries jerking off more to increasingly violent porno magazines to calm himself down since Erica is sure not satisfying him. It doesn’t do enough though, not really. Finally, he tries boxing at the local gym himself, but it is not enough either. Boxing has rules. The first sorry sucker he gets in the ring with, he beats to the point of unconsciousness. Two men have to pull him off to get him to stop. They kick him out immediately.

So Joel tries going to the bar after work with the guys from the shop and drinking a little to take the edge off. That actually helps somewhat. He’s careful about it, never comes home drunk, never drinks in front of Erica or the kids. But what helps the most are the bar fights. He’s careful about that too. Only fights the assholes, which there are many of. Switches up the bars he goes to. But some motherfucker slaps a girl's ass without permission? Joel’s on him in seconds, watching like a predator from the shadows. Some dude throws a drink in the bartender’s face? Joel clobbers him half to death. And sometimes? People in the bar applaud him, even cheer him on. It’s probably because they’re intoxicated, but that’s how he justifies it to himself like he’s some kind of goddamn vigilante. Deep down he knows he is something much, much uglier. But at least he’s not doing it to Aiden, a child. And more importantly, at least it is away from Y/N.

***

One day, Y/N falls sick. It starts out as what seems like a cold with a nasty cough. Kids are little germ factories, Joel knows that. He tells himself it is nothing to worry about – that all kids get sick sometimes. The first few days she lies on the couch like a zombie, coughing incessantly into her elbow and sleeping a lot. She snores ever so slightly which he finds charming. Joel stays home from work with her because Erica has to be in court and they watch lots of nature documentaries and daytime talk shows. 

Then the coughing gets worse and Joel’s brain stops functioning properly and he has trouble explaining why. He feels more on edge, more agitated. Erica takes Y/N to the doctor and comes back with a diagnosis: walking pneumonia. Nothing too serious, lots of kids get it. She is prescribed antibiotics and is supposed to drink lots of fluids and wait it out. But when Erica tells Joel the news of what the doctor told her he is holding a glass of water and it shatters in his large hand, cutting the skin of his middle finger.

“Fuck!” he yells. 

And he cannot articulate precisely why, but he feels good that there is a justified reason to yell. 

Erica wipes his hand and cleans the glass up.

“Gotta go to court again today, honey,” she says like everything is fine and normal. “Can you look after her today? Call in sick? She’s in bed. Going through it.”

Joel nods and she is gone like this whole thing is nothing. Like her precious, living breathing child is not suffering in the room above his head.

He climbs the stairs and enters Y/N’s room. He doesn’t often spend much time there. The walls are painted pink and differently shaped dolls and stuffed animals line the white vanity across from her canopied bed. He does not think he has ever seen Y/N play with any of those specific toys, come to think of it, or express any interest in the color pink (no doubt Erica’s secret passion for interior design rearing its ugly head). He vows silently, one day, to paint the walls any color she wants. 

But there she is, sprawled out in her bed coughing a nasty cough. Something shifts inside Joel at the sound. She looks unwell and weak and so small. 

“Hey, honey,” he says softly, almost robotically. 

Something is not right. He sits on the edge of her bed, feels her burning forehead. He takes her temperature gently with the thermometer that goes in her ear. He feels that weird sensation like he’s been here before even though he has hardly ever entered her bedroom. One hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit it reads when it beeps. Joel swallows a lump in his throat that he didn’t realize was there.  

She coughs pathetically. She looks out of it, her eyes far away. Joel’s heart throbs painfully.

Y/N is mumbling something incoherent now. Joel leans a little closer so he can decipher the words.

He makes out something like: No, Dad. Don’t. Stop, please. Please, not tonight. 

Joel stops breathing. 

She must be delirious from the fever. 

And then she’s crying. Quietly, but crying all the less. And this time, unlike every time he has seen her tears before, she sobs. Actually makes noise, her chest wracked with it. 

Then she coughs so hard she starts to wheeze and it hits Joel so ferociously he practically loses his grip on reality.

When Sarah was sick she had leukemia, a blood cancer. And cancer requires treatment. Expensive treatment. But of course, Joel hadn’t cared. He would have sold every item he owned to save his child, would have traveled to the ends of the earth if he had to, done literally any and everything in his power to protect her. So he paid for most of her chemotherapy with high hopes. Desperate hopes, but high ones. It had been her best shot at getting better according to the doctors. And the thing about chemo is, the side effects can literally be deadly. Joel is not a man of science, but the doctor explained that those drugs kill the bad cells that make up the cancer, but also the good ones. It fucks with your immune system, weakens you. Makes you lose your hair, vomit, and or be so weak you can barely walk. All that happened to Sarah. Joel felt like a traitor taking her to those treatments. Logically, he knew they were necessary, but he always felt like he was the one doing those awful things to her. It eviscerated him, left him raw and empty, and helpless like a child.

But in the end, it was the pneumonia that killed her. Her body couldn’t fight it off. She’d died in a hospital bed, Joel at her side, holding her hand, unable to do a single damned thing except scream .

Y/N coughs again, simultaneously pulling him from his thoughts and throwing him back into them. His heart is pounding in his chest to Do something! But there is nothing to be done, nothing he can do! Why can’t he ever seem to protect her?

She looks up just then, notices him for the first time since he entered the room, still crying feebly.

“He hurt me,” she whispers up at him, her eyes glazed over and glistening with tears. She reaches out for a handful of his dark blue work shirt and pulls it tightly to her. “He hurt me. And I couldn’t–I c-couldn’t…”

And then he is holding her, not quite sure how, but he is holding her trembling body to his chest and he will not let her go. Not for the world, not for anyone. He will not lose this child. He wraps his arms around her, holds tight. He will keep her safe, no matter the cost. 

“It’s okay, babygirl,” he whispers. “I got you.”

***

Joel and Erica get married that spring. They agree on a private ceremony in front of a judge with only Y/N and Aiden in attendance. When Aiden hears the news, he throws a fit, He breaks dishes and punches a hole in the TV set which sets Joel’s teeth on edge. But Y/N is overjoyed. In the end, he and Joel adorn what Joel considers monkey suits and Erica wears a beautiful white dress that accentuates her figure. Y/N wears a frilly pink dress and carries a basket of pink roses. Joel never thought he’d be a married man and yet here he is. He imagines Sarah in attendance too and his heart aches. This is his life now. 

He refuses to wear a ring.

***

Time passes. Long stretches of time where things feel–dare he think it–normal.

 Aiden doesn’t beat Y/N, but begins to get into fights at school. Joel saves his violence for the bar scene which he begins frequenting more often. 

Erica starts working later, gets promoted in her job. Fucks Joel less and less, not that he cares very much. 

Joel goes to back-to-school nights and family cookouts. He teaches Y/N to play the guitar and how to fix car motors. In both these activities, she is no natural, but she tries her best and listens well. She smiles more than he’s ever seen. He drives her to sleepovers and Aiden to boxing practice. He paints her bedroom walls orange.

Things feel stable.

Two Christmases pass.

And then things take a downturn.

***

One evening, Joel returns home from work later than usual. When he arrives home in his truck, he notices an expensive sports car in the driveway. Erica has affluent friends, sure, but he’s never seen this particular car before. Something about that doesn’t sit right with him.

He opens the front door with a creak and Erica intercepts him before he can make it to the dining room table for dinner. She presses a hand to his forearm bulking with muscle.

“Don’t freak out,” she whispers urgently. 

Joel stops and hears the sounds of people eating dinner and a man’s raspy voice speaking.

“Freak out about what?”

He makes his way past her to the dining room. He sees a man he does not immediately recognize sitting at the head of the table, Y/N is flanking one side of the table next to him and Aiden the other. He is conventionally handsome and wearing an expensive pinstripe suit. When he looks up, he smirks at Joel. Joel thinks he looks kind of like Aiden if you were to squint. And then he understands who he is.

“The fuck are you doing in my house?” he growls, lunging forward.

“ Your house?” the man smirks again, unflinching. 

He looks Joel over, examining his mechanic’s uniform, the grease stain on Joel’s cheek. 

Erica grabs Joel. She pulls him back out into the hallway.

“Tell him he’s not welcome here,” Joel snarls, trying to get a look at the man over Erica’s shoulder. 

She pushes him backward gently. Instantly, he is worried for Y/N, for all intents and purposes alone in there with the man who abused her and this entire goddamn family for that matter. He catches a glance at her and she looks terrified . Aiden, conversely, Joel sees, looks like he just won the lottery, staring up at his dad in adoration. Joel doesn’t think he has ever seen him look so happy.

“This is important to them,” Erica snaps quietly. “That’s their father. He has a right–”

“Get him out of here or I’ll kill him,” Joel says deadly quietly. “He what? Doesn’t show up for over three years and you think that–”

“I know that he has a right to speak to them. I am their mother and they need a sense of closure. Aiden needs this. So you will sit down at that table and have an amicable dinner or so help me God, Joel.”

Erica never speaks to him like this. He is shocked.

“Fine,” he snarls after a while, his chest heaving. 

He can hardly think straight while Y/N is in there alone with that excuse for a man. Better he be close to protect her instead of thrown out of the house.

He walks back in with Erica, who sits next to Y/N, leaving Joel nowhere to go but next to Aiden.

“I’m Derek,” the children’s father says, leaning over the food Erica has prepared to shake Joel’s hand. 

Joel doesn’t take it.

“And you must be Joe? The new husband.”

“Joel,” he replies shortly.

He looks over at Y/N who is trying to be brave, he can tell, but deep in her eyes, looks petrified.

They eat dinner in tense silence until Derek breaks it and begins bragging about his golf club record, the latest client he’s been representing, his new girlfriend, Sylvia.

“See, she’s helping me become a better man,” Derek insists with a forkful of steak. “I know I haven’t always been…the greatest of fathers or partners, but she really convinced me coming here would be a good thing. That it would be healing. You guys will meet someday, I’m sure.”

Joel leans forward toward Derek, reeling at the idea that this man could possibly be back in the picture of his family’s life, but Erica reaches under the table and squeezes his knee in a death grip and Joel holds himself back.

Aiden hangs on his father’s every word. Erica looks somewhat intrigued after she lets go of her husband’s leg. Y/N screams silently at Joel, who tries his best to communicate without words that he will keep her safe.

“And I know I’ve missed quite a bit,” Derek continues. “Which is why I brought these. Sylvia’s idea, really.”

He reaches down toward his feet and pulls out a fancy golden gift bag and takes out two presents. He hands one to Aiden and the other one to Y/N. Aiden rips his open excitedly. Inside is a hunting knife with a red handle. 

Great, Joel thinks.

Y/N doesn’t move though, stopped like a deer in the headlights.

“Open it, girl,” Derek sneers.

She looks over at Joel. 

“Go on, baby,” he says softly, heat pumping through his blood.

She unwraps the pink wrapping paper and finds a Barbie doll in a clear plastic box. Joel has never seen her play with dolls at all come to think of it. 

“Isn’t that thoughtful?” Erica smiles cautiously.

“Thanks, Dad,” Aiden says enthusiastically. “Can’t wait to show the guys at ROTC.”

“Good for you, son,” Derek grins. “Serving our country is the highest of honors.”

Joel suddenly tries not to think about Tommy blasted to bits halfway across the world in Afghanistan, his body in such bad condition all that he got left of his baby brother was a finger and two bent dog tags.  

Aiden beams.

“Well,” Derek barks, eyeing Y/N distastefully. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” he taunts. 

Joel sees where Aiden gets it from. This arrogant, bullying behavior. He shifts in his seat, ready to strike if necessary.

“Thanks,” she says very quietly. 

Derek grins in a kind of satisfaction that makes Joel want to go over there and punch his daylights out. He almost does too until Erica kicks his shin beneath the table and he controls himself. 

Y/N frowns. She looks over at Joel, then back at her father. Something ripples across her face, but it goes so quickly Joel cannot assign any meaning to it. But she looks ever so less scared somehow, more angry almost, but not quite.

And then after about ten minutes of somewhat peaceful eating and Derek making Aiden and Erica laugh with stupid anecdotes from his court cases while Joel and Y/N exchange looks, it happens.

Y/N’s hand reaches forward and knocks against her glass of coke. It goes flying over in Derek’s direction and drenches him in the sticky liquid, staining his suit.

“Sorry, Dad!” she squeaks immediately. “Oh my god, I–”

“You little slut!” he roars in response, almost like a reflex, backhanding Y/N across the face with lightning speed and accuracy. “Do you know how much this fucking suit cost!?”

The force of the blow is so strong it knocks Y/N from her chair onto the ground.

Before a coherent thought can even go through Joel’s head he is on the other man, slamming him up against the wall behind him by the throat.

“Joel, don’t you dare!” Erica yells, but it is too late.

Joel sees red and can’t exactly recall what he does next, but it goes something like this:

He squeezes around Derek’s throat and bangs his head backward against the wall a few times. The other man tries to get a punch in, but Joel ducks and kicks him in the balls. Derek crumples to the ground and Joel gives his chest another hard kick. He whines pathetically. 

Aiden gets up then, but Erica uses all of her strength to pull him back before he can get involved in the mix. He resists, shouts something that Joel cannot make out, but Erica manages to keep him from the two men with a great amount of effort and struggle. 

Derek is on the floor now and Joel is straddling him, landing punch after ruthless punch down onto his head. His nose begins to bleed, but Joel keeps punching. 

“HOW DARE YOU?” he roars down at the trembling, gushing man on the floor.

There is so much blood splurting all over his face, dripping down onto his expensive stained suit, and the floor that Derek almost stops looking like Derek. Joel sees Aiden’s face in his features. And then there is so much blood that it could be anyone’s face screaming back at him for mercy. It could be those creepy, asshole men at the bar. It could be the much bigger kid who always used to beat up Tommy every day in the schoolyard. It could be that damned head doctor who let his babygirl die. It could even be his no-good, bastard, alcoholic papá . 

He turns his head ever so slightly while still delivering punches. Erica has Aiden in a bear hug. She is screaming for Joel to stop. Aiden is bellowing something that sounds like, You bastard, I’ll kill you! Get off of him! I’ll kill you! And then Joel sees Y/N still on the floor from where she was knocked. Her face is still turned in the same direction it was slapped into, but she is not crying or screaming. Her eyes are dancing.

They connect with Joel’s. 

He knows he is supposed to be a good man for her, but she doesn’t seem to mind his deviant behavior. He stops then, though, because otherwise he thinks he will kill the man and he doesn’t want Y/N to experience that. He steals a glance at her again and she looks ever so slightly disappointed, but her wide-eyed expression tells Joel that Christmas has come early this year. She sends him a look of gratitude and Joel thinks that maybe he did act like a good man for her after all in the case of this vile, pathetic person who is supposed to be her father. 

 Finally, Joel stands up. He walks over and reaches out a bloody hand to Y/N and pulls her gently from the ground. Even after she’s standing upright she doesn’t let go of him.

Derek gets up after a while, wiping his sleeve over his face to try to tame the excess blood. Joel thinks that maybe he broke the man’s nose. He feels not a shred of remorse. The other man spits on the ground at Joel’s feet and leaves without saying goodbye to his ex-wife or children, slamming the front door behind him.  

Erica is not pleased with Joel’s behavior. Aiden is shouting and screaming. He breaks a plate by throwing it onto the floor with a loud crash. Joel leans over and grabs the knife his father gave him and sticks it in his front pocket so Aiden doesn’t feel tempted to use it. Y/N’s small hand is still in his. 

When Aiden is coherent enough to listen to instructions and all screamed out, Erica sends the children upstairs to bed. 

Joel tries to walk Y/N up to bed to tuck her in, but Erica stops him.

“ Not you,” she growls at Joel. 

She is livid in a way Joel has never seen before. For a moment, he seriously wonders if this is the end of their relationship. 

The kids scamper upstairs and Erica yells at Joel for ages. 

At a certain point, he stops listening. He doesn’t try to argue back. Doesn’t care to. He is actually calm now, though his chest is still heaving from the exertion, more calm than he’s been in ages. He knows that she will never understand why he had to do what he did to Derek. She lives in another reality where his violence is not acceptable if she has to bear witness to it. She doesn’t care about Y/N the way she is supposed to. Never has. Doesn’t know or see her. Not the way Joel does. Has too big a soft spot for Aiden. Tolerated Joel’s violence toward him though like a coward. Maybe deep down she knew he needed some kind of discipline? But when Joel lays a hand on her scumbag of an ex-husband that’s what’s too far? When he hurt her own daughter? When Joel himself was responsible for hurting her own precious son? Where was her outrage then? 

But he voices none of this. Pushes it down. He cannot lose her. Not this house, not the kids, not the financial security. Never Y/N. 

Erica banishes him to the couch for the first time in their relationship. Joel doesn’t mind. 

Hours later, late into the night, he hears soft footsteps walking down the stairs. He rolls over on the sofa to see who is approaching. He wonders if it is Erica there to apologize because he knows her well enough to know by now that she will forgive him eventually. She will forgive anything it seems. But it is not Erica at all.

“Joel?” a little voice asks quietly. “You up?”

“Yeah, baby,” he replies. “You okay? I’m so sorry he pulled that shit on you.”

Y/N shrugs. 

“Sorry I…I didn’t stop it before it happened,” he admits like a secret. 

She shrugs again.

“‘M sorry she made you sleep on the couch and all,” she replies.

“‘S no trouble. I don’t mind.”

“But it’s my fault you got in trouble in the first place.”

“Y/N, you ain’t done nothing wrong,” Joel tells her seriously. 

It’s hard to see her in the dark, but he thinks she’s grimacing guiltily. 

“I just wanted to say…” she begins hesitantly. “Thanks for like sticking up for me and all that. You…you’re the only one who does.”

Joel hides a smile from his babygirl. Something inside him likes being that person for her, he cannot lie to himself. Likes being the one she can count on. 

“You were like some MMA fighter,” she continues. “But then all the blood was like in The Shining .”

One day, not long ago, Joel had fallen asleep on the couch when The Shining came on and Y/N had watched the entire thing out of her own free will. That movie had frightened the shit out of him as a kid!

“I’m sorry if I scared you, sweetheart.”  

“You didn’t,” Y/N replies matter-of-factly.  “I wasn’t scared of what you did for a second…I know that’s messed up, but I kinda wanted you to…” 

She trails off.

Joel understands. 

“I kinda, please don’t get mad, but I sorta knocked the cup over on purpose,” she admits.

Joel’s eyebrows go way up on his forehead in surprise.

“It’s just,” she babbles quickly in self-defense. “Mom and Aiden were like giggling and hanging onto every dumb thing he said and it scared me. I thought they might let him keep coming around and start liking him again. And I also knew he hadn’t changed too. I could tell on account of how he was looking at me in that same mean way he always did. And I also knew you’d save me like you always do and you had this angry look in your eyes. I knew what you would do. I could feel it in my gut…”

“You little shit!” Joel smirks. 

He has to give her credit where credit was due – that was incredibly shrewd. Dangerous, but oh so clever. She played everyone in that room like a fiddle. Joel is honestly kind of proud.

“You mad?” she asks tentatively, biting her bottom lip.

“Nah,” Joel grins. “At you? Never. You shouldn’t have had to let him hurt you to get him away from you, but you protected yourself and that’s the most important thing. If I had to do it over, I would.”

Y/N smiles. 

She’s a fucked up little girl, but Joel is a fucked up man, and they both live in a fucked up world.

“Got your back,” he grunts. “Remember that. Now scurry along back to bed and get some rest.”

“G’night, Joel.”

*** 

Time passes. 

Erica forgives Joel of course and Derek never comes around again. 

Y/N and Aiden grow bigger. 

They go on camping trips and Joel teaches Y/N and Aiden how to fish. Never thought he would see the day where Aiden was willingly listening to his instructions, but the day comes anyway. Of course, the boy’s favorite part is cutting up the bloody fish guts like Joel’s used to be as a child. Y/N likes the part where you wait for the fish to bite. She sits next to Joel on the grassy river bank, the sun shining down on the lazy lake they are camping by, and smiles softly to herself.

Another two Christmases pass.

All the while, Joel is visiting the bar more and not necessarily to drink. His violent streak is getting worse somehow. He thinks, though he’s no goddamn shrink, that it might have something to do with the fact that he and Erica are not having any sex. Their relationship is still amicable and she is still sweet to him, and he tries his best to be to her too, but in the bedroom is mostly crickets. Joel jerks off, of course he does, but his fist is no substitute for a warm body. 

Joel causes such a scene at the bar he frequents the most, that the cops have to be called. He ditches the place before he can get arrested, but he’s getting worried about his behavior. Something must change.

So then come the women. They practically throw themselves at him. Never has he thought he was that attractive until women literally offer themselves up to him on a silver platter after saving them from some drunken creep. Joel had always declined until now. But Joel is only a man. He fucks them rough and dirty (with their permission of course – Joel is not a good man, and a lot of things, but he isn’t a fucking rapist) in the bathroom stalls, in the alleyways. In the moment it feels good and helps him let off some steam, but after he feels guilty. And it doesn’t satisfy him much more than with Erica if he really thinks about it. One thing that Erica has over these women who let him act out his violent self is the look of devotion in her eyes. That’s always the thing that gets Joel to cum in the end when he does get to fuck her.

 He would leave her, she isn’t that special to him if he’s honest, but she offers him a twofold sense of stability he has never known in his life. The first fold is the financial stability that has evaded him all of his days. The second is the feeling of family . Something so mundane and normal. And despite her flaws, she treats him so well – better than Sarah’s mother ever did. And most importantly, he doesn’t think he could leave Y/N. Not now. Not when she looks at him like he is the universe. Not even Aiden whom Joel has (begrudgingly) begun to see the traces of himself in. 

***

This particular muggy, summer day begins normally. Joel goes to work, fixes a Chevy Impala’s fluid tank. And then he walks in with an old, beat-up Honda Accord. 

His name is David, and Joel has heard of him through murmurings and bar stories and whispers at community barbeques. He’s a notorious neighborhood legend, whose house kids cross the street to avoid. He is the boogeyman at the end of the cul-de-sac. 

The story is, though through the many versions Joel has heard some of the details get muddled, that he kidnapped and raped a twelve-year-old girl (that part all versions agree on). Some say he was supposed to have ten years in prison, others say twenty, but whatever the number he got out in one for “good behavior.” In jail, he supposedly devoted his life to God and became a preacher.

Joel doesn’t want to help him, but his boss hisses at him that money is money and he’s going to serve the man whether Joel likes it or not. 

There’s something wrong with the exhaust pipe, so Joel bends down and takes a look at it. He opens the trunk and sees a box of Bibles next to a plastic bag of zip ties. His blood runs cold.

“The fuck is this shit doing in your car?” he growls, referring to the zip ties.

“The Bible is the word of God, Mr. Miller,” David replies, eyeing Joel’s nametag. “Would you like one? I’m always trying to spread The Good Word.” 

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” he spits, looking over to make sure his boss is not watching. 

“If you must know, though it’s none of your business, those zip ties are for my garden to help hold up my plants. They are remarkably useful,” David smiles sickeningly politely. 

And that’s when Joel loses it just a little.

He picks up the ties and pockets them.

“Listen here, you pedophile piece of shit,” he snarls. “If I hear about you stepping one goddamned pinky-toe out of line–”

“Hey, Joel!” A little voice calls.

The breath is knocked from Joel’s lungs.

Y/N bounds up to them holding a brown paper bag out of nowhere. 

“You forgot your lunch! Mom dropped me off so you could have it. It’s tuna though. I hate hate tuna. But you’ll eat anything so I hope it’s good for you at least,” she babbles.

“Baby,” Joel says very quietly, his heart thrumming in his ribcage. “Right now’s not a great time. Why don’t you go on home and I’ll catch up with you later?”

Then she notices David. By the fact that she doesn’t immediately leave, Joel determines she has no clue who he is.

“Hello, young lady,” David smiles, eyeing Joel knowingly. “I’m Pastor David.”

“Uh, hi,” she says.

Joel thinks he might actually kill him.

“Would you like something to take home with you?” he asks.

Y/N blinks in confusion as Joel steps in front of her.

“She’ll be going now, won’t you Y/N?” Joel suggests dangerously.

“Here,” David says before she can respond.

He hands her a black-covered bible.

Y/N takes it, looks at the cover, and laughs. Joel and David both look down at her in surprise.

“No offense, ‘Pastor David,”’ she smirks. “But I don’t believe in that shit. Here, you can have it back,” she offers.

He takes back the book somewhat defeatedly. And Joel grins internally.

“Bye, Joel,” she tells him, still smirking. 

She side-hugs him quickly and returns to Erica’s car. 

“How dare you even look at her–” Joel booms at the sad, pathetic excuse for a man once she is out of earshot. 

His hands are clenched into fists and they are shaking. Every part of him is on fire. 

“I think I’ll be going now,” David interjects lightly. “I can see my business isn’t welcome here. You have a beautiful daughter, Mr. Miller. Quite a mouth on her. Shame if something were to happen to her…Oh, the things someone like me could make her believe…”

Joel reaches back his fist to punch, to pummel, to kill, but suddenly, another hand grabs his and holds it in place. Joel’s boss has materialized behind him and is holding him back. Good thing too. It’s probably the only thing that saves Joel’s career and David’s life. 

David winks and drives away as the boss begins to reprimand Joel who is still shaking and fuming.

All he knows is this: If anyone touches his babygirl he will not hesitate to put them six feet under, no matter the cost to himself. He will not hesitate to get blood on his calloused hands. He will not hesitate to kill. And this time? His baby will not sustain a single scratch . He will not wait for her to get hurt before he acts. 

***

Joel wants nothing more than to go home and spend time with his babygirl and wife and even his step-son if he will allow, but there is blood popping and oozing and broiling and churning under his skin like billowing, bubbling lava. If he doesn’t do something about it soon he will explode worse than a volcanic eruption so he heads to the seediest bar he can think of. He makes his way inside and sits right up at the bar, already occupied by a few people. He orders a drink (his usual: whiskey on the rocks) and waits for the impending opportunity for violence he is sure is lying in wait.

He cannot believe the shit that came out of ‘Pastor-fucking-David’s’ sick, perverted mouth and that he almost lost his job over it. He lets that thought charge him up into a rage, his fists clenched so tightly they are beginning to ache in the joints. He cannot believe that disgusting little fucker had the audacity to say that horrible scummy bullshit in his presence when he would do anything to protect that innocent child. He takes a drink of his whiskey and knocks it back in one gulp. He would do anything , ‘Lord’ only knows. He snickers to himself sinisterly. 

And while he’s on the topic, fuck God! When had He ever done a single damn good thing for Joel his entire miserable life except maybe to give him Sarah and then take her away like she was nothing and not the entire light of the universe wrapped into a small, vulnerable person? Joel doesn’t know much about the bible, truth be told, but he remembers a few things from his Sunday school days. He remembers that people are created in the image of God and the stories he remembers most are from the Old Testament which heavily featured a God of absolute rage. Maybe that is the way he is god-like, built of anger and revenge and wrath and the sick, pathetic hunger for power that lurks inside most people. 

But he also remembers Jesus being meek and mild. Joel never understood that desire until he had Sarah and then Y/N in his care. If Joel could snap his fingers and make himself some fundamentally kind and caring man he would, but he can’t. Joel Miller is not a good man. He tried to be for Y/N, he truly did, but look at everything he’s done in the time he’s known her: he used Erica to get financial stability and roof over his head, he’s cheated on her numerous times, he beat Aiden, a child, and everyday the weight of that guilt grows greater as he begins to truly understand how wrong that was, and he beat his babygirl’s pathetic excuse for a father (but still her father) in front of her. He also beat people in bar fights and that time at the gym. And the thing is: is he even a little bit sorry about any of it – except for maybe what he did to Aiden? No, not even a little. And he’d do all of it again if it could mean getting to spend time with his babygirl, Y/N, again. His babygirl who FUCKING DAVID tried to threaten!

And the problem is: who knows what that fucker is capable of? The police and the judicial system let him out after one year which can only be described as a colossal moral failure and a massive miscarriage of justice. It wouldn’t take much for David to really figure out where they lived and grab Y/N and throw her in his trunk like he did that poor other little girl. Maybe that’s paranoid, but Joel knows better than most that when a man wants to do a dark thing he will find a way to do it. Joel does not want to live his life constantly looking over his shoulder as some horrendous pedophile lives freely. 

And then he turns his head to look down at the rest of the fairly busy bar and he sees him . None other than David himself, drinking a beer. Joel cannot believe his luck. It is like all of the light in heaven has aligned to give him such a gift. A part of him is screaming to not engage because Joel is sure he could kill him for what he said about Y/N. But the rest of him is already standing up and grabbing David by the shoulder and–

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the fuck out of here now ,” he snarls. “Almost lost my job because of you, you sick fuck. You’re lucky I give you a warning and don’t wring your neck on the fucking spot.”  

David turns around, Joel’s fingers digging into his shoulder.

“Proverbs 24:1 and 2,” he quotes calmly. “‘Do not envy wicked men or desire their company; for their hearts devise violence, and their lips declare trouble.’”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means perhaps I will be leaving. I don’t care to spend my time with wicked men such as yourself. And I have many preparations to make for what is to come. How is your daughter doing since we last met?”

Joel’s heart runs cold. 

“Get my baby’s name out of your goddamned mouth .” 

“Hope we run into each other soon,” David grins as he gets off the barstool and dislodges himself from Joel’s grip. “There is a lot I could teach her.”

He turns to leave. Disgusting coward, Joel thinks. He could let the man go. But then what? Live in fear of him? Let his precious Y/N live in fear of him? Joel is tired of living in fear, of resigning to a cruel man in a cruel world, and he will never do that or let Y/N do that ever again. 

And then David leans in so close that Joel can smell the alcohol on his breath and the sweat on his skin.

“Can’t stop thinking about her pretty little hands around my–”

Joel doesn’t let him finish. In that moment he knows what will transpire. He picked this seedy-ass bar for a reason: so that no one will bother to stop him.

He lands the first punch with ease, doesn’t even feel the pain till minutes later. The force of the blow to David’s head is so strong he slams down into the ground. It is so violent that David’s eyelid starts to bleed and the skin around the impact spot becomes puffy and dark. 

David shouts for help, but no one in this place gives a fuck and even if they did everybody knows who he is and what he did so they don’t give a shit two times over. 

Joel continues the assault. Punch after punch reigns down on the other man as blood begins to coat his features. David tries to get a punch or two into Joel’s stomach, but Joel straddles each of his biceps and holds him down so he can continue hitting. The longer Joel hits, the better he feels. This time is different. This time he does not see the features of every man he’s ever hated in the face of his victim. This time he sees only David’s disgusting smirk in his mind’s eye. This time he only thinks about how he is saving Y/N from a lifetime of fear and cruelty. This time Joel will not let his adversary get a strike in first. This time he will be the one to stop the fate of impending devastation that lies in the palms of David’s shaking and broken hands. This time he can save her . 

When Joel is done with his hands, he is panting heavily. He moves on to his feet, kicking the man’s gut sadistically, his trembling hands, his face. Crunch , goes David’s skull. And then he is not moving or breathing.

Joel stops.

A lick of fear trails against the inside of his stomach, but the rage, always the rage warms his stomach like a rush of flames.

So he keeps going. He bends back down and squeezes the man’s throat just to make sure. It’s good he did too because David’s bloodshot, viens-having-burst eyes snap open and David makes a pathetic little squealing noise and Joel squeezes harder, rougher, with more conviction.

In the end, it takes longer than he thought it would. 

Joel only stops when he hears sirens blaring in the distance. He looks up for the first time since the assault started and sees all of the patrons staring at him in revulsion and fear. The bartender actually has the phone in her hand. Joel guesses she was the one to finally call the cops. He guesses he was so sadistic and violent that even this shitty place had seen enough. He thinks to run, briefly, but where would he run to? Everything he has ever wanted in life is now going to be closed off to him. But he saved Y/N and that makes everything worth it. It has to have been worth it.

Joel puts two scarred, calloused fingers to David’s pulse point, as blood (his and David’s) drips down from his knuckle onto the wooden floor and feels nothing.

When the cops handcuff him and take him away, he doesn’t resist. He comes quietly. He cannot ever really be a good man for Y/N, he understands that now, but at least now she and he may know some peace of mind after what he’s done.

***

The time leading up to the trial is a blur. 

Erica pays for an excellent lawyer, but divorces him on the spot. It seems there are some things even she will not forgive, and apparently murder is one of them. She allows the children to see him one last time in cold, sterile police interrogation room. A court-appointed child advocate social worker must be present. They allow him to have his handcuffs taken off for the first time since he was arrested. The kids are told he accidentally killed someone in a bar fight and for legal reasons he leans into the “accidental” part. 

Aiden comes in first. He knew who David was and tells Joel he did the right thing. Joel is surprised. He reaches out a limp hand, dirt caked under his fingernails, and shakes Joel’s for the first time since they’ve known each other and they part ways on good terms.

“You’re not my dad,” Aiden tells him quietly. “But you always put up a good fight to be there.”

And he leaves.

Joel is more touched than he wants to believe.

Y/N’s visit is much more difficult.

“How could you!?” she screams, standing by the door the second she sees him as he sits at the interrogation table, his chair turned toward her. 

At first Joel thinks she means how could he killl another human being. Y/N didn’t seem to know who David was after all. But that’s not what she is mad about.

“How could you leave me!?” she shouts, tears in her eyes. “You’re going to be taken away from me! Mom is leaving you because of this and that means you aren’t like my dad anymore. You’re going to forget all about me and never get to see me again because you killed some dumb man who tried to give me a bible?”

“He was not a good man,” is all Joel can say. 

He can’t be the one to tell her more, hasn’t told anyone how David had threatened her. Not even his lawyer. He doesn’t want to scare her, doesn’t want to admit to anyone he let those words even get to leave that shit stain’s mouth. 

“I don’t care!” she shouts again. “I want you!”

And then she bursts into tears and runs into his chest and Joel holds her against his orange jumpsuit and starts to feel tears trickling down his own cheeks.

“Never gonna forget about you,” he nearly scolds her into hair. “How could you ever think that, baby? You’re my babygirl. I’ll get out one day and come right back to you, understand?”

“But Mom–”

“You’ll be grown by the time I get out and won’t have to worry about what she says. But I’ll tell you this: you might feel different about me by the time your grown up and however you feel I want you to know I’ll respect that. But I ain’t gonna forget about you. Not ever.” 

“Your time is up,” the court-appointed social worker states. 

“No!” Y/N shouts, burying herself deeper into Joel’s embrace. “NO! I’m not leaving! I won’t leave you!”

Joel hugs her back tightly, crying into the top of her head as she sobs softly into his chest. 

In the end, the social worker has to pull her away as she screams.

“I love you, Y/N!” he calls to her as the social worker drags her from him. “Never gonna forget you, babygirl. Remember that.”

All Joel can hear back is a broken wail.

***

Erica attends the trial; the kids are forbidden. Joel’s defense claims it was a drunken accident and goes for manslaughter. Because he killed a known child molester he has no trouble while he waits in jail. He is even considered a hero by some. No one tries to fuck with him and that’s how Joel would prefer it since if he gets into too many fights it will just add to his sentence and he must get out and get back to his babygirl if she’ll still have him. His lawyer tells him not to mention the threats that David made toward Y/N because it will look like more of a reason that Joel would have had to intentionally kill him as opposed to accidentally like the manslaughter plea would have the court believe. Joel listens. He does exactly what he’s told because this lawyer is good and he needs to get out someday for christ sake.

In the end, he gets ten years and his lawyer tells him he could get eight for good behavior.

Eight years, if Joel can manage it.

They take him away to prison in handcuffs. Erica sobs. It is the last time he sees her.

***

Joel always wondered if his temper would land him in prison. Now that he’s here things go surpringly well. He gets a reputation for being the murderer of a child molestor and people respect him, listen to him when he bothers to speak. He keeps things in order and people start to refer to him as the “pod boss.” He also reads a lot in his cell, tries to help people with their cases and appeals if he can. And if someone steps out of line, Joel is more than happy to put them in their place so long as he can avoid attention from the guards, who he actually mostly gets along with to their faces, but behind their backs beats people to a pulp. No one ever dares to snitch on him and he is considered on the right track to get out for good behavior early. 

Time passes — painfully long stretches of time.

He has a lot of time to think, to read. He reads every book in the prison library over the time he is incarcerated. He reads parenting books, self-help books, books on trauma, books on abuse, books on anger management, books on meditation, books on spirituality (nothing sticks in that regard though, he is still furious like God, but less so these days). Somehow his anger has started to simmer down a notch.   

But he worries his babygirl will forget about him, or worse grow to hate him. He’s not sure he’ll survive that.    

Luckily, or he might have withered away and died, somehow Y/N convinces Erica to let her write him a letter once a month and have one call with him on Christmas. 

Christmases quickly become his favorite day of the year. 

Y/N writes him religiously. She talks about how angry she is at him, how she misses him, how she finally fixed the motor on Joel’s old pickup truck, how some boy gave her a love letter on Valentine’s Day, how she thinks of him every day.

Joel never tells her what David said about her, lets her believe he is just some violent, drunken idiot. He writes back how much he misses her, how he read a new book this week, how prison food is shit, how he’d probably greet that boy with a shotgun if he thinks he’s getting anywhere with his babygirl, how his whole heart beats for her.

She’s allowed to send him one photo a year, her most current school photo, and Joel hangs them on the wall of his cell so he can see her beaming at him at his highest and lowest moments along with the tiny picture of Sarah he managed to save from his wallet. 

Aiden even sends him a card each Father’s Day. It never has anything written in it except for whatever stupid pun or text the card came with, but Joel reads between the lines with that one. Each one seems to whisper to him louder and louder, I love you and I forgive you. Joel writes him back, “Thanks, kiddo. -Joel” He hope that conveys the thousands of sorrys he wants to scream from the rooftops and say straight to the boy’s face. He will someday when he gets out. He makes himself promise. He hears from Y/N when Aiden joins the marines. 

When Joel gets to actually hear Y/N’s voice on the old prison phone it’s like the most beautiful sound he has ever heard except for maybe Sarah’s voice. She babbles away about her life and what’s she’s up to and he hangs on every word like gospel. He barely gets a word in, but prefers it that way. Wishes he could hear her singing. Once, when she’s sixteen, and sounds so woefully grown up it hurts Joel’s entire heart, she hums a little absentmindedly and he can’t get the sweet sound out of his head. Her love for him never seems to waver and that is a blessing that Joel will never forget, the only thing he would thank this cruel God for. And of course, his love for her never wavers either. She is the only beacon of light for him in this dark and mundane existence. She is his everything.

***

When Y/N is eighteen and no longer under her mother’s control, she comes to visit him in person. This is the first time they have seen each other in six years. Despite their loving correspondence, Joel is nervous to see her for the first time since her childhood. He worries about how awkward it might be.

When he sees her walking into the dinky little family meeting room, his entire mode of existence changes.

She looks so beautiful, so grown-up. Sure she had always been a cute little kid, Joel always thought that, but now she is a woman. Tears come to Joel’s eyes. When her eyes connect with his, he feels so seen .

He tries to get a word out, but before he can she is running to him, into his arms and Joel has never felt something so perfect in his entire life. He knows he has never felt a love like this before. Not even with Sarah…something about this is different somehow? Joel is not too in touch with his feelings, but he’s trying to be more attentive to them these days with nothing left to do but read about such topics as “emotional regulation” and “mindfulness.” He’ll come back to this thought later though…

Y/N begins to babble into his ear, something about missing him and not wanting it to be awkward, but this is the furthest from awkward Joel has ever felt.

Joel has never been a man of many words so all he can think to say is,

“Missed you, babygirl.”

She grins at that, brighter than all the suns of all the planets in the universe (Joel has been reading about those too) and he laughs for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

She laughs too, wipes tears from her eyes, and says,

“Missed you too, Joel. More than you know.”

Joel thinks that can’t possibly be true for that is all he has known for the last six years and possibly his entire life: missing her.

She comes once a month, drives an hour just to see him, and she tells him about college and later her very own shitty apartment. Her mother has thrown herself into her work and Aiden is serving his second tour. She makes good grades and has a stable boyfriend that treats her well, she swears. Joel couldn’t be happier for her, except the boyfriend business does make him want to crush that little fucker’s head in for some reason.

***

The last time Y/N comes to visit before his release (eight years to the day for good behavior) (she is 20 damn years old already!) something feels different to Joel. When he hugs her to greet her, he’s suddenly very aware of her body, the curves of it, her softness. Her hair smells so good, he doesn’t want to let go of her and then to his intense dismay and shock he feels himself getting a little excited down south. Immediately, he lets go of her, feeling like a pervert, praying she didn’t and doesn’t notice. He doesn’t see any obvious signs from her and the two sit down (Joel rather quickly) at the flimsy, nailed-down table and they talk of Joel’s impending release. All the while, Joel is trying to stay calm. He convinces himself it was just an accident and that he hadn’t been around any women in what felt like an eternity and that’s what  led him to get worked up. But when Y/N leaves to go home he feels a kind of dull longing in the bottom of his gut. A different kind of longing then what he had felt for a younger Y/N. Joel tells himself not to repress for the first goddamn time in his life and let himself feel. And he does. He feels butterflies and yearning and need, a great big need inside himself. And then he knows what else he feels: the gut-wrenching, unquenchable sensation of love and beneath that, primal, base, and self-loathing: desire . 

In his solo cell (that he has acquired because he is the pod boss and respected) he jerks off to those thoughts, touches himself to those feelings. When he cums unusually hard, he feels an overwhelming amount of shame. Of this, Joel knows, he will never ever tell another soul. Joel also knows he will not hurt his babygirl any more than he already has, intentionally or not, not ever. But then again, being a good, upstanding man has never really quite been in his arsenal, has it?

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PLEASE COMMENT LIKE REBLOG IM BEGGING IM PLEADING IM CRYING

PART 2

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

[skzoologist]

The link

word count: ~1.8k

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort

summary: Everyone has their own limits, but some turn a blind eye to it.

a/n: If there are any mistakes to this, please tell me so I can fix them, as I wrote it past midnight when I wasn't feeling well. I ran through it the next day, but I am just one person and so mistakes could have easily slipped past me. Either way, I hope you enjoy it!

Back to the masterlist

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

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Bae had been feeling off all day, from the very moment he had opened his eyes. It was an unsettling feeling, one that sat heavily in his stomach and made his organs twist into knots, like a myriad of snakes piled on top of each other.

Then he met the others and it all became clear, the air so tense you could basically cut it.

He felt nauseous.

It was comeback season; their album was nearly releasing and so everyone had been working day and night to perfect their skills, to perfect this gift for their fans. Each member sported an aura of exhaustion around them, the skin underneath their bright eyes dark and dull. Some looked more worn down than the others, contagious smiles not quite reaching their eyes.

Bae wasn't an exception to this, far from it. He had pulled his fair share of all-nighters, only beaten by 3RACHA themselves. Perfectionism ran in his veins, and so he could easily recognise when someone was trapped in their own mind, ruining their body for the sake of some unattainable perfection.

And it didn't take more than a single glance to see it on Chan, the signs all there and hard to deny.

The male looked like death itself, forced into a prison of flesh and hating every second of it. Those chocolate eyes were dull, never truly seeing what was in front of them unless it was that cursed laptop screen he had spent days upon days staring at. Not to mention how irritable he was, snapping so easily that the younger members were now afraid to approach him, sparking quite a few confrontations that were hard to break.

And Bae was forced to witness it all, heart heavy as their strong leader was crumbling to the ground in front of his very eyes.

It was late at night that Jisung asked him to stop by their studio, needing some advice and Bae had always been happy to help, especially in such stressful times. No matter how much his own joints ached, mind on the brink of exhaustion, he would always heed the members’ calls. And so his hands deftly packed his bag and locked the room, being the last one to stay behind and practise the dance moves until they were burned into his synapses.

He made quick work of the way there, empty hallways bright in contrast to the outside world that was bathed in darkness.

Once he reached the door, he peeked his head in, no need to knock as he was a regular there. Jisung noticed him almost immediately, as if the male had been staring at the door this whole time, rushing to his side with an almost panicked look. That made the alarm bells inside Bae’s head ring ceaselessly, already guessing that it was about Chan; and it wasn't anything good.

“Hyung, oh my god I'm so happy you're here. Chan hyung’s out of control and at this point you're the only one that can help.” - the frightened boy rushed out, words nearly unintelligible.

Bae held Jisung close, running a calming hand through the younger's dark locks as he put a tiny smile onto his face, hoping to reassure and calm the slight trembles in the other’s body. He already knew what this was about; sadly it wasn't the first time, and most definitely not the last.

“It's okay Sungie, go back to the dorms. I'll take care of it, hm?” - he hummed out, voice low and unwavering.

Jisung nodded, looking up at him with wide, grateful eyes. With a small push of his hands away the quokka went, and he was forced to address the heated argument that could be heard from inside the room by now.

Right, Changbin was still in there with Chan.

With a deep inhale Bae pushed the door open, softly closing it after he slipped inside. A sight he was unfortunately familiar with greeted him: Changbin was shouting back at Chan, both participants equally frustrated with each other. So much so that they didn't even notice him, only when he placed his hands on the younger's shoulders, touch firm yet gentle.

“Bin, I got this. I'll pack up afterwards, just go after Jisung. Please?” - Bae asked in a soft voice, his voice only heard because the two were surprised into silence by his sudden appearance.

When he felt that the other was about to protest, unable to let things go, he hugged Changbin from behind and gently squeezed him into himself. It was something he had always done in times like these, when things got too heated; and it never failed to calm Changbin down, something he was hoping to achieve at that very moment.

It seemed to have worked once again as the younger's shoulders slightly relaxed, a long sigh heard from his direction. Bae patted his back, watching him leave before he steeled himself, eyes now staring at Chan.

Chan, who went back to working on a track, jaw set so tight Bae was afraid the man would break a tooth. Still, he knew he wouldn't have an easy time with the older and so he softly called out to him, slightly dejected at the lack of reaction.

That didn't deter him and so he tried again, only to have the raging storm that was now Chan directed at him.

“What? You're gonna tell me to go back and rest too? Save it, I don't fucking need it right now.”

Bae took in a deep breath, the burning in his lungs grounding him and granting just enough distraction to steel himself. His hyung wasn't acting like how he usually did; these words weren't truly his.

“If you're just gonna stand there, you can go. You're bothering me.” - Chan mumbled and Bae could feel his own storm brewing inside, answering the older’s in a silent rage.

With a single step he closed the distance, hand slamming against the table with such vicious force that Chan flinched, wide eyes now blinking up at him.

“I don't need your sass right now either!” - he hissed out, face now so close to Chan’s that he could see the wonderful array of browns swirling inside those eyes.

He took another breath, eyes slightly narrowing down at his entirely too tired hyung.

“I understand the pressure you're under, and you know I do. It's not easy to be the leader of our group, especially when it's comeback season and work buries us alive. But please, listen to us. You need rest now, not more work!” - his voice was determined, words cutting straight to the point as he knew just walking around it with pretty sentences wouldn’t work.

His pleas fell on deaf ears, Chan’s eyebrows furrowing in renewed anger.

“I know my own limits, so y’all can stop pestering me so damn much.”

Bae never wanted to hit Chan so much before, to make the older see some sense already. He could feel his own pulse climbing, heart beating faster and faster. That sickening feeling that resided in his stomach was now replaced by burning acid. The sorrow he felt for the man was the only thing keeping it in check.

“If your limits include snapping at us constantly, then by all means, go ahead. I'll just go back to drying up Innie’s tears then, but maybe Sungie joined him by now too.”

Bae was aware how cruel saying that was, and his heart hurt at the words. But nothing else worked when Chan became blinded by deadlines and the impossible weight of public expectations; he knew, he had tried everything in these past years without any success. His heart ached and broke into tiny pieces at his hyung's expression, eyes now wide and filled with nothing but immense guilt and regret.

Before Chan could say anything Bae pulled him close, not caring how this awkward position was hurting his aching back. He could feel the older tremble in his hold, hands latching onto him as if he was Chan’s lifeline.

There was only silence after that, no sound heard besides the occasional quiet sniffle. Bae didn't acknowledge those quiet little sounds, instead he soothingly ran a hand over the other’s back and drew little shapes into the clothes skin there. The hold on his clothes tightened, making his heart squeeze painfully, pulling the other impossibly closer to himself.

Once he was sure Chan was calm enough, he gently pulled back, giving his hyung an understanding smile.

Chan was always there for all of them, giving them a shoulder to lean on whenever they needed it. He was a constant in their life, their rock, their pillar; something they could lean on when times turned harsh. There was not a day when none of them leaned against their oldest hyung in a way, may the reason be something silly like a lost game, or something serious like the fear of failure.

It didn’t take long for the older to weasel his way into Bae’s heart, and so he swore to himself that he would let Chan lean on him, seek comfort in him, no matter what.

“I'll pack up and then we can go, alright? Save your work in the meantime, before it gets lost.” - he gently instructed before doing as he said he would, waiting for his hyung's nod.

There wasn't a lot to pack up, only Jisung and Changbin’s jackets, along with a bag that belonged to the former. Bae put them all together, the bag slung over his shoulder and the jackets tied around it, leaving his hands free.

“Ready?” - he asked, glancing at an awaiting Chan.

The male stood there, eyes cast towards the ground in shame as his hands fidgeted and tore at his nails. Tension was visible in the older's form and Bae could feel his heart painfully squeeze at the sight, silently beckoning Chan over.

Once his hyung was in reach he kneeled down, back open and turned towards the other.

“I don't-... Bae…” “Hyung, please?”

His voice was nearly pleading, wanting to lessen Chan's burdens as much as possible. Thankfully there were no more protests heard in the silent room as the older climbed onto his back, actions slow and hesitant.

With a single motion Bae stood up, a surprised little sound escaping the one he carried. It drew the smallest of chuckles out of him, yet he just silently went on his way back to the dorms, letting the teasing comments die on his tongue.

It was quiet, neither of the two really spoke on the short trek. They didn't need to; there was a certain level of understanding between them, forged by the time and difficulties they had faced together. It was more than enough for Bae to understand Chan’s silent words, his hyung practically melting into his hold as time passed. That hold around his neck was steady, trusting, and he couldn't ask for more.

“Thank you.” - the words were murmured into his skin sleepily, drawing a small smile out of him. “I'll always be here for you, Hyung.” - his words were but a whisper, afraid to shatter the tranquillity that settled over them.

[slvttyharlow]

Missing Anniversary.

Featuring. Jack Harlow x Fem! Wife! Reader.

Anonymous Request. Can you write a jack fic where he misses an important date like anniversary or something so a little angsty that turns into fluff.

Summary. Jack misses an anniversary and you’re upset.

General Tags. Angst and Fluff.

Content Warnings. Crying that's it.

Word Count. 809.

Notes. Anon, I hope I did your request justice, I'm so nervous, this is my first fic that's out on this acc and I really wish I did good, please go easy on me. If you'd like to be tagged when future works are out, you can fill out that taglist form.

Extra. Requests are open, please read my rules beforehand! / Comments, likes, and reblogs are highly appreciated but not pressured.

Starred Links. Navigation + Masterlist + Prompts + Taglist

When Jack came home, you were sitting on the couch strolling through your Instagram not even throwing a glance his way. He walks in and smiles when he sees you. “Hey babe, it was a good day at the studio, got a lot done but I missed you though.” He said with a huge smile on his face as he walked up to you going to kiss your lips but you moved your head slightly so that his lips met your cheek. 

“What was that?” He questioned but you just ignored him and kept scrolling through your phone. You were pissed and you had every right to be, today was your wedding anniversary and you thought to make it special by cooking his favorite food and setting up his favorite lingerie that he could take off of you later but he forgot. You tried giving him the benefit of the doubt like maybe his phone stopped working but he texted you earlier asking you to send a picture of the cologne he regularly used.

You knew he would be busy with his album, and you were fine with that, you supported him every step of the way but you never expected him to forget an important day like this, you treasured this day so much, the day you married your high school sweetheart so him forgetting made you feel hurt, you’d have been happy if he just sent a text, it was the thought that count.

“So you not gon tell me why you’re acting weird?” Jack was getting quite annoyed at being ignored especially when he came home early to be with you since he missed you throughout the day, you were the only thing on his mind when he was at the studio so for you to be acting this way towards him was crazy. You simply rolled your eyes and got up and walked past him, bumping his shoulder as you walked to the dining table and picked up the plates of food that were now cold, and made your way to the kitchen to wrap them with saran wrap. 

Jack wondered what he could’ve done to make you this mad at him but he came up empty. What he did know was he wasn’t going to let you go to bed angry. “Babe, please tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it,” he spoke softly as he walked into the kitchen, watching you put the food in the fridge. You ignored him again and were about to make your way to the bedroom but Jack immediately got in front of you, stopping you from taking another step. “Nuh-uh, you know we don’t do silent treatment and no going to sleep angry at each other,” he says as he looks down at you. 

“Jackman move out of my way,” you said as you got annoyed with him being in your presence, not wanting to look into his eyes knowing if you do, you would give in like you always did. Jack was surprised by the use of his first name since you always called him ‘babe’ or ‘baby’. “Not until you tell me what's going on.” 

“Do you know what today is? Why don’t you check the date!” You yelled as you stepped back putting some distance between you and him. You watched him pull out his phone with a quizzical look on his face and when he sees the date, you turn your back towards him not wanting to make eye contact since you might start crying at any moment. “Baby… I’m so sorry, I thought it was tomorrow, I swear I have everything planned,” you stayed silent and he came closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him and that’s all it took for the tears to roll down your cheeks and he started rocking you back and forth.

“You know I love you right?” He says soothingly as he starts tracing shapes on your stomach, you nod your head silently and lean more into his touch. “I promise you, I thought the 25th was tomorrow and had everything ready for us to celebrate,” 

“It wouldn’t hurt you to start checking your calendar on your phone,” your response makes him chuckle. “Yes, I’ll be more up to date from now on, can we start over our anniversary for tomorrow, trust me you gon love what I have planned.” 

You turn around in his arms and look into his blue eyes. “Yes we can, I’m sorry I was mean to you,” he shakes his head. “Don’t apologize, I deserved it, I love you,” he rubs your arm a bit. “I love you too, babe,” he connects his lips with yours, holding you close to him not letting you go, come tomorrow he will make it all up to you.

© harlowsthetic 2023. | All Rights Reserved. Do not repost on other platforms, copy, steal, or translate any of my works!

[biteyoubiteme]

biteyoubiteme's 2024 tumblr wrapped

2024 is over and now we are on to 2025! im so happy to have joined the writing community here on tumblr this year and im so excited for whats to come now in the new year! I wanted to share some of my fav fics from this year but there isn't nearly enough space for me to talk about all the amazing fics I read this year but just know that anything I liked or reblogged im so thankful to have read bc it’s so fun and heartwarming that we all share our fics together to enjoy for free with people who love the same things as us.

ive met so many amazing people on this app and im so happy to share a space with such amazing writers and readers and get to just talk about cute boys with you all. ;-; <333

cams fic stats:

-56 fics/drabbles/thoughts -116.77k words written

cams personal favs:

busy signal wc: 4.7k (yeonkai x reader) [NSFW] my first fic! im so happy I just up and posted this baby even if I was scared lol im so much better for it and I love love love the yeonkai au ive got going on and ill say that all the yeonkai x reader fics I have on my m.list are just my favs bc I really do love them all but this one was the starts so ill give it the floor. black cherry flavored wc: 9.2k (ot5) [NSFW] this was by far my most popular txt fic and the one I had the most fun and stress writing- I love the way it turned out and im so happy so many of you guys loved it just as much as I did. I was so worried with how it would come across I just love love love that so many of you liked it and im so excited for kinktober 25' already planning out the ot5 fic so yay for that lol bubble gum flavored wc: 6k [NSFW] this fic was just smut basically but it was the one fic that I was so so so so so excited for bc I just love it like beomiebear will be in my head forever im working on pt2 and just ugh I love him he’s always on my mind- lemon cake wc: 8.9k [NSFW] LEMON DROP SOOBIN SAVE ME oh I loved this fic bc I got to work with all my friends on it and it jsut made me so so so giddy- ugh I love to work with amazing writers and I love it even more that I got to be apart of the collab in the first place ;-; bitten wc: 3.8k [NSFW] for someone with the user name that I have I don't nearly have enough vampire content and I need to fix that- I loved this fic and I wish I could have made it like 17k bc I would do it and id do it again and again and again.

cams fav reads of 24'

again I wish I could put like a million links on this bc I read so many good fics in 2024 but sadly I cannot but just know if I left a reblog or like on a fic I was happily fed by your work <333 these are not in order at all!!!

heartworm - @hyukascampfire - huening kai / txt I adore this fic so so so much and I think about just how delicious ashs writing style is every single day- I will keep thinking about this fic until I can't think thoughts any longer Betrayal - @apeachty - yeonkai x reader / txt I love everything nina writes and the two of us have our pinkieslocked as we giggle about yeonkai and I need everyone to go and check out all her works bc im only putting one but I love them all. also dropping the link to this soobin drabble with small boobs reader bc I love it sm! fluffy ice - @beomiracles - yeonjun / txt serene wrote so much this year and so much of it is so fucking good but this, although short drabble, just stays in my mind. I love how sweet and innocent it is while having darker elements. serenes writing style just fits this topic so well and id read it over and over again. Escapism - @prince-jjae - yeonjun / txt UGH! no one could get me away from escapism yeonjun- how many times do I have to reblog this to get across the point that I loved it sm? cause ill do it again, ill read it again, and ill love it so much more for it. I love jjaes writing style I wanna break a piece off and swallow it whole okay bc I love it sm. bitten - @silvergyus - huening kai / txt VAMPIRE FICS and a huening vampire fic at that- ugh I loved this I love innocent kai and I love even more that it’s vampire reader- I love this idea so much and what is an ari fic without mirror sex??? I love it so much more becuase of it- good pup - @bandgie - minho x reader x seungmin / skz I love everything bandgie writes but this one took the cake for me this year im still thinking about it and it’s not even something that I ever usually read but ill read anything they put out and I learned something new about myself- also all the coraline fics- ugh this idea was so fucking good and I love love love it switch to me - @chyuuiung - beomkai x reader / txt I LOVED THIS FIC I think about this fic all the time, I post about it all the time and yeah I miss chyuu sm but I need everyone to know what I love this fic and ill keep loving it and thinking about it forever and ever- under the moon - @miupow - felix / skz oh how this fic took me out- I still love it I still think about it and I need to give felix my firstborn asap he’s just so yummy in this fic and lias so descriptive and ugh a hyper pink room and a demon core is my vibe everyday okay I love it the willow tree - @hyukalyptus - yeonjun / txt I LOVE PRINCE YEONJUN I love even more a good rekindled lovers fic and even more so I love a fic thats long and gives so much bc this gave me what I wanted and more- it even had me giggling at times and I love a good fic that can do that- im still thinking about him even now strawberry dreams - @thetxtdevil - huening kai / txt ugh how I begged for mae to work on this fic bc the idea omfg- all of maes ideas are so good I don't know how her mind works but it’s a sexy idea factory- I love Blueberry!kai SO MUCH!!! and im so happy with all the strawberry land fics that were born from this one idea thank you mae you're mind- I will never shut up about it actually Strawberryland m.list

ugh I wish I could add more bc I have so many more recs-

cams 2025 goals:

-although I feel like I will be slowing down in 25' I plan to write longer plot heavy fics since I have several in the making already- -I want to try and keep up with reading new fics bc it’s so much fun to read what everyone esle is doing and sometimes I get lost in just writing and forget what made me want to start in the first place. -and I want to interact with more of you guys! moots or not I hope we can chat and giggle of fics and cute boys bc I love to do that lol thats why im here <333

but here is to 2025! ily all <333

inspo for this post from @heechwe 's post !!!

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed the Radio Star- Tape #2 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: THIS CHAPTER FOCUSES MAINLY ON THE FIRST ENCOUNTERS WITH YOUR KIDNAPPER. I didn't put any warning before the scene starts, but the entire chapter is essentially that. So please keep that in mind. I changed a lot of this from the original version. I have grown okay? I saw inconsistency in my writing and I am trying to fix it. Thank you so much for everyone's kudos, notes, comments, reblogs, bookmarks, EVERYTHING! Please let me know what you think and enjoy.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #1 > Next Chapter: Tape #3

WARNING: Kidnapping, morphine use, abuse, talks of death, and more. Remember you are not alone if you struggle with this content.

Tape Contents: The team starts to comb through your apartment. Meanwhile, you spend your time in a less fiery version of hell.

Word Count: 3,721

March 2, 20XX 

After recording the video, you were damn near catatonic. Your eyes were having a hard time pulling away from the corner of your living room, staring at the fading white paint as it met the trim. You tried to turn on the television for some sort of distraction, but every time you heard a sound a little too close for comfort, you would pause the screen and comb through your apartment like a mad woman. You had locked the windows, the door, hell, you even considered shoving a chair under the knob of the front door. 

You didn’t, though. Sitting in a silently lit room with your legs to your chest. You were trying to remember to breathe in the correct order: in, then out, out, then in. Every so often, your breathing would hitch, and you would start over again. You tried to find something to keep you grounded in the moment, a texture to rub your hands over, but the dread kept building. 

It kept building until it was two in the morning, and you couldn’t handle it anymore. 

You were turning off lights slowly, fingers lingering on the switches before you turned them off, dashing into your apartment’s bedroom and shutting the door behind you. Your body was moving as if it thought the darkness was going to kidnap you. Maybe it would, maybe that fate would be better than what the depths of your mind were producing as you found a light to plug into the wall. The old wall plug-in emitted just enough light in the room that you let yourself relax in the dark of your bedroom. 

When you called your mother earlier, she reassured you that the police were there for you, patrolling the neighborhood every weekend. You tried to tell her that their cars were dwindling, and now it seemed like only one was bothering to make the rounds, but she didn’t listen. One was enough for her, so why couldn’t it be enough for you? 

It was wrong to be angry with her, wrong to be angry with the police, wrong to be angry with yourself. The worst part was being angry with Adeline, the way she was trying so hard to be supportive despite her daughter dying of cancer. The guilt felt like a prod: scorching, agonizing, pushing its way into your chest, where it made its home near your heart. You didn’t want to be angry, not with her, not with anyone, but the feeling of isolation had you crying tears of frustration in your bed.

Maybe they were all right, maybe you were just being crazy. You would go into work tomorrow exhausted and weary, but alive. Everything would be fine. You told yourself this mantra over and over again as your tears slowed, your eyelids became heavy, and your breathing got deeper. Everything would be fine.

Dawn crept into your bedroom window. The sun had yet to rise, its glow just dim on the horizon. You couldn’t have been asleep for longer than two hours or so when you heard soft breathing. Your eyes were heavy and slow to open as you listened to the sound. 

Liquid bubbling with a soft ‘ glug’ sound had you stirring a little, eyes fighting you as you tried to open them and focus on the sound. As your body stirred, a hard hand grabbed your mouth, pressing down on your lips as your eyes snapped awake. The last thing you remembered was a gloved hand shoving a handkerchief to your face and the smell of ether before your world went dark. 

March 5, 20XX

Garcia was smiling. It didn’t take long for the field techs to bring back your computer adorned with pink and green sticky notes with passwords, notes, and to-do lists. She always liked a woman who had a plan and stuck to it. “This girl just made my job easier,” she chuckled softly as she logged into your computer with ease. “Not that it was ever hard, but it was sweet of her to help me out.” 

The whole thing seemed clear of any suspicious emails, apps, or spying devices. She frowned as she moved to your phone logs that she received earlier that day; the most recent call was from an unknown number. The voicemail that followed sent chills down her spine, the sound of sobs before the line went dead. She shared with the team her favorite member, actually, Derek, who was listening to her intensely over the phone while the rest of the team combed through your apartment. 

To say they felt a little shocked was an understatement. You were more prepared than you had let on. Each ‘gift’ was labeled and in baggies in the drawers of your desk. Emily was the first to see a folder in a nook of the desk; as she opened it, she was greeted with a picture of… herself. She let out a huff of a laugh as she started to pull out photos. Spencer, David, Derek, JJ, and Aaron. “She’s got everyone but Penelope.” She said, waving Spencer and Aaron over with a slight flick of her wrist. 

Spencer tilted his head at the blurry photo of himself on the desk, an amused look in his eyes as he read out loud, “‘Give this man a pair of glasses, now!’” He looked over at Hotch and spoke in a curious tone, “Do I really have the kind of face that tells everyone I need glasses?” 

Aaron looked up from his photo and gave Spencer a slight grin. "Do you want me to lie?” he asked, much to Spencer’s dismay. 

Emily spoke up, “At least yours says that she’s asking for my number on mine.” She turned the photo of herself over to them and pointed at the writing. She pointed to Hotch’s photo and grinned, “‘Give us a smile, baby’ is kind of funny, come on.” 

Hotch's frown deepened as he looked at the writing, “She was trying to have a sense of humor,” 

“A sense of humor in stressful situations could indicate that she approaches them in a light-hearted way, she’s optimistic. The type to never give up.” Reid spoke softly beside her. 

“It could also mean that she’s the kind of person who draws people in with her personality,” Prentiss suggested softly against Reid’s anecdote, “She’s easy to love.” 

She let her words sink into the air around them like a cloud, watching the gears turn in the minds of the two men near her. Her gears also started up as she set the picture back on the desk, leaning against the wood gently when her eye caught a glimpse of color on the floor. 

She maneuvered away from the desk and towards your nightstand, crouching down to the floor as she picked up a small beaded keychain off the floor. She smiled softly as she turned a beaded keychain over in her gloved hands, reading the words aloud, “‘or die.’” 

“What, like ride or die?” Hotch called over the question from the desk in the corner of your room. 

“The term ride or die was originally used as slang among bikers, but in recent years, it has been used in hip-hop culture and music,” Spencer said as he stared at the colorful beaded keychain in Emily’s hand. 

“Since when did you start listening to hip-hop music?” She asked with a laugh. 

Spencer smiled a little and shook his head, “I don’t,” 

“Then where did you hear the phrase ‘ride or die’?” 

“Derek has a ride or die,” 

“Who?” Hotch’s voice joined in curiously as his eyes flicked over towards the bedroom doorway, where Derek was standing, still on the phone with Garcia. 

Nonetheless, he was still listening in on their conversation as he pulled his head away from the phone a little and looked over his shoulder. “Garcia, obviously.” He said simply before bringing the phone back up to his ear. “Nothing, baby girl. We were just talking about you.” 

March 3, 2024

You assumed it was the next day, or at least the day you wanted it to be. Not that you wished for this day, but it being the next day meant you were still alive. Your eyes were slow to open as your fingers twitched, grazing against something suspiciously softer than your duvet. The question was alive where? 

Your eyes were catching glimpses of light, pink light. As you let your eyes focus a little more, you realize the whole room was pink, or the lighting made it seem that way. 

Your body felt… hot, like heat was spreading through your veins, making your head dizzy. You felt good. Then, it plateaued. 

Your body, sluggish as it was, moved slowly. You were trying to sit up but found your upper body strength failing to cooperate. Your elbows failed to provide much support, and you fell back on the soft duvet with a soft ‘oof.’  

Eventually, you managed to scoot your body back till your head hit a headboard… that, from this angle, you could see it was in the shape of a vibrant pink heart. Soon, your back was resting against the headboard. You went to move your leg to help achieve a more comfortable position when a sudden sharp pain cut through the heat in your veins. 

Your eyes traveled down your leg, grateful to see pajama pants covering your skin until you reached your bare foot. Your ankle was a horrible black and blue color. The bones looked swollen and deformed against the skin. You felt sick. 

Your body was moving fast to lean off the side of the bed as you felt your chest squeeze, your mouth opening to vomit off the side of the bed. As your broken ankle lay with you on the bed, your head hung slightly off the edge. You turned your head to see an IV stand next to the bed. When you followed the drip tube, you felt sick once more, seeing how it was professionally attached to the back of your hand. 

A whimper could be heard in the empty pink room as you wiped your lips clean with your non-IV hand and again sat up against the headboard. And you waited. Time seemed to be still in this place, moving at a sluggish pace that made your body twitch and buzz with anxiety.

There was no sunlight, just a hue of pink. A pink dresser, heart decor on the walls, plush heart-shaped pillows by your sides, and chains around your good ankle linked you to the heart-shaped bed, along with some other decor you didn’t care to look at for too long. It looked like a room straight out of a fever dream. You were still trying to determine if it was just that, a fever dream.

You swallowed thick spit roughly as your eyes stayed glued to the heavily locked door. You kept counting the locks, four. Your head tilted to the side as you tried to imagine your kidnapper coming in, how many clicks you would hear, the turning of locks, or the jingle of how many keys. How many keys would it take for you to get out of here? 

Unfortunately, you would know the answer soon as the sound of keys jingling hit your ears. One. You didn’t know if you should start screaming. Would they be angry with you if you started to scream? 

Two. Your breathing was getting faster, coming in short, shaky bursts. Your eyes looked down at your chained ankle and then toward your broken one. Would you even be able to move? The morphine was making it hard anyway. What would it be like to walk or run with the full pain of a broken ankle coursing through you? How would you even get unchained from the bed?

Three. You were trying to remember everything you had read about true crime, but none of it seemed helpful now. Did you beg for your life? Should you tell them about your family? Would they care about any of it? Were they going to kill you or scar you in ways you could never imagine? You knew that there were fates worse than death. At least dying carried some dignity. 

Four. You tried to steady your breathing and convince yourself that you still stood a chance of getting out of here alive. You scooted your body against the headboard as much as possible, trying to get the greatest amount of distance from the door you could, given the circumstances. 

The door was creaking open with a gentle turn of the knob. A flash of white light filled the room before it was ripped away from your line of sight, and the door was shut again. The person –a woman– was holding a small tray in her hands. You were blinking rapidly as you stared at the tray, a pain in your stomach making you realize how hungry you were. 

Slowly, your eyes tore away from the tray and up to her face—a very familiar face, but one you could quite place. Pretty blonde hair, curls framing her face, her full lips drawn into a pleased smile. When your eyes met her pale blue ones, you could see nothing but… empathy. No, it wasn’t that. It seemed to be adoration. She was wearing a pair of scrubs, fun scrubs, little rainbows, and animals sprawling across the material as she walked over to you. 

Maybe she was an accomplice, a wife, a girlfriend, or a sister who got caught up in this. The thought made the muscles straining in your back relax a little as she set the tray down on a nearby side table. Your eyes never left her as she moved gracefully through the room. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Her voice was saccharine, “Did the morphine make you sick?” She asked with a light tilt of her head, turning on her heel toward the dresser to pull out a small towel. “That’s okay, it's a common side effect.”  

You gave a numb nod as you watched her get down to the floor and clean up the vomit without complaint. “I didn’t mean to,” Your voice was hoarse and weak, sounding slightly childish as you spoke out the weak excuse. 

She stood up, walked the towel to the hamper, and tossed the pink rag in with a little laugh: “No one ever means to, baby.” She sounded familiar, too. Your eyes traced over her fit frame, which you could barely make out from under her scrubs. “Let’s get you eating,” She said as she let out a soft hum of relaxation, sitting in a nearby plush chair. 

As she buttered some bread, you eyed the rest of the food on the tray: soup in a plastic bowl, water in a plastic bottle, and a plastic cup for the butter. The silverware was the only thing on the tray that didn’t seem to be plastic. 

You glanced away from the food and back to the familiar woman. “If someone is making you do this, a boyfriend or husband or something, you don’t have to do this. Yo-You and I, we could plan a way to fight back,” you offered, your voice soft and quick. Hope was creeping into you as she listened to you speak, the butterknife scraping gently against the bread in her hands. 

“Well, for starters,” she set down the butterknife and bread, crossing her legs over each other. “My husband doesn’t know a thing about you. As for brothers or boyfriends, I’m afraid you're out of luck there, too. There’s only me, Catherine.” 

You felt the hope draining out of you, and she must’ve seen it in how your shoulders tensed and breathing quickened, “Oh, I knew you were going to have a hard time remembering me, but I didn’t think it would be that hard.” Then it all clicked. 

She grew up well, Heather did. Back in college, she was shy and slightly intense, a shell compared to the woman sitting beside you. She started as a botany major and then suddenly changed universities, her major, and you never saw her again. You could dimly remember seeing her in the dining hall that first month of college, and you were overzealous. Sometimes, to make friends, if you saw someone lost and looking for a table, you’d offer them an empty seat at your table. Heather was one of those cases. Your act of optimistic kindness seemed to haunt you as you stared at her. 

“Heather Alexander,” 

She beamed and clapped her hands together excitedly, “You remembered! I knew you would. I’d expect nothing less from you, my Catherine.” She sighed happily, reaching over for the spoon and bowl of soup. 

“My name isn’t Catherine, you know that.” Your voice had a certain sternness now, hardening as you remembered inviting this monster into your life all those years ago. 

Heather scoffed a little and rolled her eyes, “Duh,” she said as she spooned some of the tomato soup and held it up to your lips, “Open.” 

As you stared at the spoon, you didn’t feel hungry anymore, but your lips moved against your will. You needed your strength. Your lips closed around the spoon gently as she fed you the soup. The steps repeated themselves slowly, your eyes staring her down. 

“I didn’t mean to get so physical with our little game, but I just,” She laughed a sweet sound, the dull pain thumping against your ankle as you heard the sound. “I couldn’t help myself, I guess. I hate playing cat and mouse. I was a little impatient.” She set down the empty bowl and spoon with a smile. “Come on, don’t be angry with me.” 

“You can still let me go. It’s only my ankle. You can take care of me at the hospital. That’s where you work, right? We can tell everyone that you found me in an alleyway or something. I won’t tell anyone.” 

“Catherine, do you think I’m stupid?” she asked with a frown, venom in her voice, as she reached for the bottled water. “I know that the second the police get you in a room alone, without me, you’ll tell them everything.” 

“My name isn’t Catherine,” 

“I mean, come on! I work in pediatrics, for Christ's sake! Do you think trauma will let me stay to take care of you? Use your head, Catherine! No, they won’t.”

“My name is not Catherine,” 

Her eyes quickly met yours, the softness they once had now gone as she swallowed hard, “That must be it, then. You think that I’m that fucking stupid, hm? You think I went to fucking, nursing school just for some librarian to call me stupid?”  

“I didn’t say that, Heather. I’m just saying there’s a way out of this before it gets worse. The worst that can happen is-” 

“The worst that can happen, Catherine, is I lose my license. I get arrested. I never see you again. My shit husband could,” She cut herself off and let out a frustrated sound, throwing the bottle of water at you, the bottle hitting your side harshly. 

“Name’s not Catherine,” You replied once more as your hands grabbed at the water, tucking it behind your back, trying to hide it from Heather as her face buried in her hands. 

“Shut the fuck up about the name thing! You don’t fucking get it do you?” She screamed into her hands before she pulled her head away from them and stood up from her chair. She grabbed the plastic bowl and threw the dirty dish at your head. 

You almost felt like deliriously laughing as the plastic hit your head with a soft ‘thud,’ but you didn’t. Your face managed to stay straight as you looked up at her. “You’re who I say you are. You got my gifts, the novels. You’re my Catherine, my Emma, my Jane. Get that through your,” she picked up the butterknife and threw it toward your chest. “Stupid,” Then the tray was lifted in her hands, and your body braced for the impact, but it never came. 

You squeezed your eyes together as you waited for the tray to hit you. Slowly, you opened one eye to look up at her, staring down at you with the tray still above her head. Her hands slowly dropped down as she held onto the tray. A slow smile came back to her face now: “Catherine, you know I love you.” 

“You have a funny way of showing it, Heather.” 

Her smile twitched a little at that, and she scoffed softly before walking closer to you. Her hands were quick to grab the butterknife in your lap. She jammed the silverware into your sternum, a gasp leaving you as she did so. 

“You’ve got a big mouth on you, Emma.” Her face was inches from yours as she jammed the handle of the butterknife deeper into your chest, your own hands reaching up to try and pull her off. 

She was breathing heavily, your breath hitching as fear flooded your senses as she leaned in closer toward your face. The look in her eyes told you everything you needed to know. If it's up to her, which it currently was, you weren’t getting out. Her lips were close to your quivering ones as her force lightened softly, “Think about this next time you decide to talk back, Emma.” Her lips brushed yours slightly as she spoke, you nodded quickly. 

Then she pulled away and gathered her utensils before she gave you another sweet smile, “See you tomorrow, my love.” She said in an airy tone as she reached over to the morphine drip and upped the intake with a quick flick of her wrist. The sound of keys jingling against each other filled your ears as she did so. The door opened quickly, and she walked out of the room, locks clicking swiftly. 

And just like that, you were alone again. You felt your bottom lip shake softly before tears started to fall from your eyes, your hands reaching behind your back as you cried. When your hands found the water bottle, you drank it slowly, tears falling down your face, and a dull and sharp pain in your chest slowly fading.

TAG LIST: @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333

[fellow-travelers-fic-recs]

How do I love thee, let me count the weeks... Final Round-Up

Fellow Travelers Valentine's Celebration: Masterpost

✨ Show the authors some love with kudos and a quick comment on the fics after reading, and be sure to reblog this post, so others can enjoy these fics too!

💠 Authors: if your tumblr (or other socials) isn’t linked, and you'd like it to be, let me know and I'll be happy to add it. Or, if you are linked, and you'd rather not be, please contact me to remove it.

Works below can be found in this Ao3 Collection 💗

❤️ very pretty weeds by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific [T, 2K] Hawk has really put Tim through the emotional wringer this weekend, and he seems far too nice to deserve any of it. Rafael tries his best to give his new friend a warm send-off and a few words of wisdom.

Or, the walk to the ferry from Rafael's POV.

🧡 Under Stars Chilled By The Winter by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G,1K] Hawk has been away in Rome for a week. He comes home to Tim.

Part 7 of Bravery | Part 5 of FT Valentine's Month

💛 you're the home beneath the ruin by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [T, 1K] Episode 2, Inside Hawk's head.

He thinks about Tim, about the joy he felt when he woke up next to him just ten minutes ago, and another memory comes to him, a memory of him smiling so adorably Hawk couldn't stop peppering him with kisses until Tim laughed, ticklish, and wrapped his arms around him tightly, preventing him from moving, not that Hawk wanted to move. He fell asleep in Skippy's arms, feeling safe and content.

Part 3 of FT Valentine's Month: how do I love thee, let me count the weeks…

💚 in the still of the night by @thewindyoubargainedfor | thewindyoubargainedfor [E, 2K] Tim stayed up, waiting for Hawk to call. Hawk made it worth his while.

💙 gold-skinned, eager baby by @lispenard-street | lispenardstreet [E, 10K] Tim sets out for Fire Island with a single goal: to dig Hawk out of his pit of self-destruction.

As it turns out, Hawk is after something else entirely.

A 1979 fix-it… of sorts.

💜 In your eyes, this is a place worth remembering. by @in-our-special-place |  Cupping_Cakes [M, 630] Hawk stumbled into the room, his eyes blurry and his steps unsteady, but his gaze was fixed on Tim, as if he were the only thing that mattered. A wave of emotions washed over Tim, flickering between anger, hurt, and a longing desire to hold Hawk close one more time.

💗 Where figures from the past stand tall And mocking voices ring above. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [M, 472] They held each other's gaze, their love speaking volumes more than any words ever could.

🤎 To Wrap Your Love Around Me by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific [T, 5K] Waking up in Tim’s apartment, Hawk discovers Skippy's old robe, the same one from years ago, and the memories all come flooding back.

Tim doesn’t have much time left, will Hawk be brave enough to stay?

🖤 Beguiled Again by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 1K] Tim comes home late, finding Hawk asleep and wearing his shirt.

Part 6 of Bravery | Part 3 of FT Valentine's Month

💝 I'll be there beside you, to dry your weeping eyes. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [M, 869] Frankie, the man he had loved and grown with through time. The man who had been by his side through all of life's ups and downs. The man who had never given up on him, no matter how lost or broken he felt.

❤️ I'll Forever Love You by Anonymous [G, 602] Marcus slow dances with his love.

🧡 The Night Before The Road Trip by @vespersong | vespersong [T, 2K] So...we all know Hawk planned the trip to Rehoboth beach. Which means he probably packed a bag. But what about Tim? Was he stuck in that same shirt all weekend? Well, let's just say Hawk was prepared.

💛 please tell me now by @thewindyoubargainedfor | thewindyoubargainedfor [G, 1K] When Marcus arrives in San Francisco, he knows the first thing he needs to do.

💚 We'll find the perfect place to go where we can run and hide. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [M, 706] 'I never told you this, but that was the best day of my life. I never felt so free and happy, like I could do anything with you by my side.'

💙 you should be in my space (you should be in my life) by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [E, 3K] What if Tim let Hawk touch him during their mutual masturbation session?

Part 2 of FT Valentine's Month: how do I love thee, let me count the weeks...

💜 All Tied Up With Nowhere To Go by @jesterlesbian | captainquint [E, 2K] “Are they too tight?” Hawk asked, tugging on Tim’s wrists.

Tim’s wrists were, at that moment, bound to the headboard of Hawkins Fuller’s bed by some carefully knotted neckties. Tim was struck by the thought of Hawk wearing one of these ties to work on a later day, becoming distracted in his office thinking of what they had done with them on this night. His mouth twitched up at the corner.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Hawk placed a hand under his chin and tilted Tim’s face towards Hawk’s own. “This is important, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tim rolled his wrists and wiggled his fingers to show they were fine. “I’m not made of glass, Hawk, you don’t have to treat me like I’ll break.”

Or, Hawk teases a tied-up Tim

Part 2 of FT Valentine's Day 2024

🖤 No Expectations by @justviwriting | justviwriting [M, 3K] When Hawk wants to leave Tim in 1957, his plans are disrupted when Tim wakes up before he could walk out the door.

Part 5 of My Fellow Travelers Fanfics

💘 the gold of the dusk and the dawn by @redmyeyes | redmyeyes [M, 3K] Valentine’s Day, 1954

Part 4 of Fellow Travelers

🤎 Me too by @alorchik | alorchik [T, 1K] Hawk feels he can afford it now, here, with Tim.

❤️ Where No One Else Can See  by@bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 2K] Marcus once said Hawk was a damn good liar. And the first step in being the best damned liar that ever set foot in Washington was the necessity of being able to lie to yourself.

Hawk had been lying to himself for so long - about so many things - even he didn't think he would know his own truth if it was laid bare before him.

Until soft brown eyes and a kiss that tasted like milk and eternity.

Until Skippy.

Or, How Tim's touch made Hawk realise a certain fact.

Part 2 of FT Valentine's Month

🧡 The World is Not Kind to Good People♦️ by @lovebunnie | space_kid [T, 727] Tim felt Hawk’s eyes on him whenever they were in the same room, not unlike the unrelenting gaze of God; all powerful, all knowing, something Tim ached for.

💛 Stars fading but I linger on, dear  by @cinnamoncountess | CinnamonCountess [E, 5K] Tulips, roses, lavenders, daisies and orchids —

Tim closes his eyes for fleeting seconds as he passes the bayside and takes in the wide-ranging scent wafting over from the flower sales on each side of the road, drawing into his nostrils where it mixes with the salty sea odor from afar. It is that day of the year again that always squeezes on his heart like a fallen wall of bricks, burying him underneath.

💚 Everywhere I look, you're all I see.  by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [M, 950] In that moment, all the pain, the hurt, and the years of separation melted away. It was just the two of them, lost in their own little world. And for Tim, it was all he ever wanted.

💙 Anywhere You Wander, Anywhere You Go  by Anonymous [G, 1K] As he was now, the man he was now - Tim could not deny the longing in his heart. The need to close the distance between them again, to take his heart back into his arms.

Or, another cabin husbands dancing together fic.

💜 cheek to cheek  by vexinganthony💠 [T, 2K] An extremely fluffy one shot about Tim singing at hawk’s behest.

Part 1 of valentine’s month prompts

💗 Unforgettable  by @justviwriting | justviwriting [T, 1K] Hawk and Tim dance together for the first time.

Part 4 of My Fellow Travelers Fanfics

❤️ One Desire  by @lovebunnie | space_kid [T, 1K] Tim instinctively stepped towards Hawk before stopping, "Hawk, I don’t-"

"You said music doesn’t sound the same," Hawk cut in. "I figured… it doesn’t have to sound the same. Let’s make it sound better."

Part 1 of Fellow Travelers Valentine’s Day 202

🧡 Hold Me In Your Arms  by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 1K] Tim entices Hawk to dance with him, and then sing for him.

Part 3 of Bravery | Part 1 of FT Valentine's Month

💛 You're the one I want to go through time with. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [E, 773] 'Don't you need me, Skippy?' Hawk said softly.

'I have you,' Tim replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

💚 with your kiss my life begins  by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [G, 785] 4 times Tim and Hawk dance.

Part 1 of FT Valentine's Month: how do I love thee, let me count the weeks…

💙 The Way We Danced Till Three by @jesterlesbian | captainquint [M, 2K] “There we go,” Hawk said, as he found the jazz station he often liked to tune into. Billie Holiday crooned through the static, singing They Can’t Take That Away From Me. Hawk tilted the bottle toward Tim in offering, who took it and tossed back a large swig before coughing and spluttering on the sharp taste of the alcohol.

“I don’t know how you do that,” Tim said, shuddering and sticking out his tongue.

Hawk laughed and took the bottle back, placing it on the desk near the radio. “Lots of practice.”

“Dance with me, Skippy?”

Or, Valentine's Day, 1954

Part 1 of FT Valentine's Day 2024

Thanks to all the creators for your wonderful efforts, and to the readers for taking the time to enjoy and share these fics!

Thank you to @fellow-travelers-events for hosting this event. 

Ao3 Collection 💗

[vicsnook]

Long Story Short | Bob Floyd x Reader

word count: 1018

warnings: arguing, profanity

song pairing: Long Story Short -  Taylor Swift

notes: Hey y’all!! This is pt 3 to Wildest Dreams and Exile but Bob’s version! There will be more parts to this which will be linked under Bob in my masterlist. If you’re Team Jake, in my masterlist you will find Cruel Summer which is pt 3 to this but Jake’s version (will be posted Sunday 😅). Hope y’all enjoy!!! Please if you don’t mind, don’t forget to like and reblog and thank you for the previous ones!!! 🫶🏼

Fatefully

I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me

It was now Thursday. 3 days since the fight between Bob and Jake and since you told Nat everything. Everyone at work initially tried to find out what happened but when they realized none of you were going to say anything they quit asking. All of the bruises were now turning yellow but yours were hidden under what felt like a pound of concealer.

Maverick had pulled Bob and Jake aside to ask if there was anything he should know but neither men told him anything. You assumed the concealer was working since he never asked you. Everyone continued the exercises without a hitch. The only noticeable difference was that you always headed off home instantly after the squad was dismissed.

Misery

Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

The past few nights you’d woken up screaming. In your nightmares, you couldn't stop the fight and one of the boys always got seriously hurt. It was the same nightmare each night but with a different guy being left in the hospital each time. Bob had called each day since the fight and asked how you were, never pressuring you to talk and apologizing endlessly. Jake on the other hand was radio silent.

And you passed right by

I was in the alley, surrounded on all sides

After you were done with your exercises that morning you headed for the vending machines in the conference room. Regretting it immediately as you shut the door and came face to face with Jake. 

“Hey” you whispered as he stood in front of you. His eyes were cold, sending a shiver down your spine. “Excuse me,  I have somewhere to be.” he replied and reached for the door handle behind you but the door handle didn’t turn.

And I fell from the pedestal

Right down the rabbit hole

Long story short, it was a bad time

“It’s fucking stuck, of course.” He sighed as he let go of the handle. You turned around to try it and confirmed it was indeed stuck. Most doors at the Academy tended to get stuck due to being so old. “Can we talk?” you asked as you sat on the table across from him. “Well, I don’t think I have much of a choice.” He replied sarcastically.

“Please don’t be like that,” you retorted and he chuckled sarcastically in response.  

“What do you want from me, Peach?” 

“I just want to fix things or try to.” 

 “Look, I’ll fix it for you. It was just sex. I don’t care what you do, we’re just teammates.” He said, the Hangman persona clearly at play which you knew he resorted to in difficult conversations.

“Teammates? I thought we were at least friends. Was it really just sex for you?” You asked, afraid you knew the answer because Hangman didn’t care about your feelings even if Jake did.

“Friends? No, I just wanted to fuck you, Peach.” He answered coldly. The tears starting to pool  in your eyes. 

“What?” You asked, trying to get past Hangman and to Jake.

“Oh Peach,  I bet Mickey that I could sleep with you before the summer was over.” 

“No, you didn’t.”

“Oh darlin’ I sure did. Ask him.” His smug look told you he knew you wouldn’t ask because then you’d have to tell Mickey why you wanted to know. 

“Why did you stick around so long? Why did you keep coming back until Bob showed up then? If it was just a bet?” you asked, beginning to stand up from the chair and heading for the door.

“Well honey, to put it simply, I was just bored. I was always going to leave but Bobby here gave me the perfect out. Why’d you think I haven’t answered your calls? 

You turned away from him and pushed on the door as you turned the handle. Still stuck. But as you pushed again it opened causing you to lose your balance and land on the floor.

“Peach?” asked Bob who’d been walking down the hall. He extended his hand and helped you up as Hangman walked past you both. You thanked him and turned to walk off but he grabbed your wrist.

“What’s wrong?” His blue eyes scanning your tear stained face. “Not here.” You murmured quietly, leading him outside to your car. 

—

Pushed from the precipice

Clung to the nearest lips

Long story short, it was the wrong guy

You had explained everything to Bob as you drove towards the beach. He listened quietly but you noticed his jaw tense when you told him about you and Jake. His fists balling up when you finished off with what Jake had just said in the conference room. 

As you both sat down in the sand he reached over and caressed your cheek but stopped quickly as you winced. “Sorry, I forgot about the bruise” he mumbled as you shook your head and gave him a small smile.

“I want to tell you something.” He said, breaking the silence and then he explained that Cobra kissed him the night after you and him broke up. It never went further than a few kisses but he felt you should know.

“Don’t beat yourself up about Hangman. I was out of line. You had all the right to do whatever you wanted.” He said as you looked ahead at the ocean.

“I shouldn’t have and I don’t want you to think I’m coming back to you just because of what he said either.” 

No more keepin' score now

I just keep you warm (keep you warm)

And my waves meet your shore

Ever and evermore

“I know. I want you to take your time. Let’s be friends first and we’ll see what happens later.”

“I’d like that,” you responded as you placed your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. Listening to the waves as you did once before with him when he told you he was being deployed. 

Long story short, it was a bad time

Long story short, I survived

taglist: @harperdoodle , @weirdothatwritess

click here for the next part!

[nekoannie-chan]

Highway saviour

Highway saviour

Title: Highway saviour.

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Ship: Brock Rumlow X Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.!Reader.

Word count: 278 words.

Square: 5 “Watching the moon.”

Rating: Teen.

Summary: You need help in the highway.

Major Tags: Fluff.

Additional tags: This is my entry to @eclipsingbingo The Rising Moon Flash Event 2024.

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. Please let me know if you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @Smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @Harrysthiccthighss @Marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club  @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @Here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard @rogersbarber

It was a night, and the stars were the only light illuminating the road.

You were driving home after a long mission; you thought you were going to sleep for many hours until your car started making strange noises and came to a complete stop. You tried to start it several times but to no avail. You were alone on a deserted road, with no cell phone signal and no one to help you.

You tried to use the intercom, but it didn't work either. You decided to get out of the car and wait for a vehicle to pass by that could help you.

You were starting to get desperate when you heard the sound of a motor approaching.

The motorist stopped next to you, and as he took off his helmet, you recognized Brock.

“Do you need help? “he asked.

“Yes, my car broke down, and I have no signal to call anyone," you replied.

“I heard your message over the intercom."

Brock examined your car quickly and then looked at you again.

“I can't fix it here, but I can take you somewhere safe.“ He held out an extra helmet that he had with him.

You got on the bike; it was the first time you had been so close to him, but you trusted him.

After a short ride, they arrived at a safe place. Brock turned off the bike, and you both got off. You sat on the grass, looking at the starry sky, and he sat next to you, silent for a moment.

“Thank you for saving me," you said, breaking the silence.

“Welcome," he replied and leaned down to kiss you.

[ssaemilyhotchner]

For your 1k celebration 🎉 Congrats!!!

B

hope you enjoy & ty for participating! 💙

OTHER 1K DRABBLES | Read on AO3 Join the celebration by requesting a letter!

letter: B | prompt: bruises | wc: 1.1k | cw: implied sexual activity | a/n: A professor!Emily AU inspired by the annoying student of the same name (lmao) in 7x22, Profiling 101. Set roughly post-S7, with Emily leaving the BAU, getting married, and taking up teaching/consulting instead of accepting the London Interpol position.

Please do not repost (reblogs welcome) or otherwise claim as your own.

--

The whispers began the moment Emily set foot in her Abnormal Psychology 301 classroom.

She took a sip of her coffee and examined the expressions of the lowerclassmen in the front row: the self-assured, oversexed boys who thought themselves to be charming and irresistible. She didn’t need to listen to know what they were saying to one another. Their smirks gave it away.

She was never going to forget to pick up her dry cleaning ever again.

Rolling her eyes and murmuring here we go under her breath as she settled in for her A.M. classes, Emily cleared her throat, the sound echoing in the lecture hall. “Good morning, class. Let’s settle down and get started.”

Zimmerman, a repeat offender vying for the title of biggest pest, shot her a crooked grin. “Have a nice night, Mrs. H?”

The whispering instantly stopped. A few students shot each other incredulous, wide-eyed glances.

Emily bit back her sarcastic retort and gave him a wan smile instead. She certainly didn’t enjoy this game…but she did know she would win. “I did, David, thank you for asking. Now, I’d like us all to pick up where we left off on Monday, resuming our chapter on J. M. Macdonald—” 

“How’d you get those bruises on your legs?”

God, please grant me the strength to refrain from marching down there and wrapping my arms around his neck.

Emily fixed him with an unamused stare. “We’ve been rearranging our living room furniture,” she deadpanned. Turning away from Zimmerman, she addressed the rest of the class. "From the reading and preferably without looking at your notes, who can tell me the three parts of the Macdonald triad that are considered to be indicative of later aggressive and violent behavior in adults?"

Emily smiled gratefully as one of her most ambitious students’ hands flew up. "Yes, Phoebe?"

"Cruelty to animals, bedwetting that persists beyond the age of twelve to fifteen, and—”

“Pyromania,” Zimmerman interrupted. “I’ve got to say, Mrs. H, those bruises look an awful lot like fingerprints.” His grin turned lecherous. “What else did you do with that furniture of yours?”

Emily turned toward him slowly. On her face was a glare, not unlike that of her husband, that had cowed many an unsub in her BAU days. “Hungover on a Wednesday, David? That’s pretty desperate, even for you, don’t you think?” The class erupted into laughter at her jab and she pointed to the door. “Get out of my class and don’t come back until you’ve sobered up.” 

His confident countenance faltered. "But—"

“The longer you waste my time and your classmates’ time, the more I’m willing to convince myself that you’re not just hungover, you’re actively drunk. Public intoxication is a Class 4 misdemeanor, you know. And that’s before taking into consideration that this is a college campus and you aren't of legal drinking age.” She clucked and re-emphasized her pointer finger. “Out.”

Checkmate.

It was quiet for a good minute; then, grumbling something under his breath about the hair of the dog, David Zimmerman gathered his belongings, rose to his feet, slung his bag over his shoulder, and exited the lecture hall, slamming the door behind him.

A beat later, Emily let a smile curve her red lips. “Moving on from our impromptu lesson on student conduct code violations: Phoebe or anyone else, what can you tell me about the link between these violent tendencies and parental neglect or abuse?”

--

"Aaron?"

"In the den," Hotch answered, looking up from a lap full of case files as Emily came padding barefoot into the room, her house keys and black pumps in hand. A smile lit up his face as she leaned over to give him a kiss in greeting, one that quickly turned into more. Emily sighed against his mouth as he swept his tongue over her cupid’s bow, opening her to him with gentle insistence. In mere seconds, her head was feeling fuzzy and warm.

They broke apart reluctantly, Hotch's hands coming to rest on her hips. Emily took her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes sparkling as she met the lust-darkened gaze of her husband. "Well, that was one hell of a greeting.”

“My wife is one hell of a woman,” he replied simply. “Especially in that dress. I couldn’t stop thinking about you at work today.”

"Yeah, well. I regret listening to you this morning.”

His brow furrowed. "How so?”

"I mean that that’s the last time my no-clean-slacks contingency plan is a dress, regardless how compelling your argument is. Even given how informal they are, jeans would have been better.”

“But you look amazing,” Hotch argued, thumbing the black crepe material.

Emily chuckled. "And I have visible bruising on my legs—bruises that vaguely resemble fingertips. Bruises that I pointed out this morning before someone ambushed me with round three,” she added, running her thumb over his bottom lip and grinning when he immediately nipped at her fingers. “You’ve sat in on my class before, you know all the wiseass boys sit in the first few rows.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he said dryly. She snorted. “Let me guess. Was it Zimmerman? And did you kick him out this time?”

“Yes and yes.”

He winced. “Do I want to know what he told you?"

"Mouthy little bastard asked about the bruises, then when I said they were from moving furniture, he asked what else we did on said furniture.” She rolled her eyes. “The sad thing is, he really is a bright kid. When he’s not still inebriated from the night before, that is. Who drinks that much on a Tuesday night?” 

Hotch pulled Emily onto his lap. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Want me to kick his ass for you?"

"No need. I think I did a fair amount of ass-kicking today."

"I don't doubt it.” Hotch slid a hand down her thigh, his fingers tracing mindless patterns into the sensitive skin around her knee. Then he smiled, coy but sweet. "Last night was good, wasn’t it?” he murmured.

Emily hummed contentedly, maneuvering in his embrace so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and rest her forehead against his. Snapshots of their evening sprang to mind in rapid succession: crawling back onto the bed, his body pressing hers into the mattress, his mouth on her chest, her hands fisting in his hair. Hotch, in a frenzy, reaching with greedy fingers to grab her legs and fold them high up against his chest before diving in. 

“Mmm. It was perfect."

“How about you get settled in," he proposed, his voice soft and low, "and I find you in our bedroom for round four?”

"That depends," Emily replied cheekily.

"On?"

She gave him a devilish smile. "On where you plan on marking me next. Nowhere too visible, please."

Hotch simply grinned. "I make no promises."

[drawing-prompt-s]

Any updates?

Not any good ones.

I didn't want to flood you guys with the Salem post and I've been a bit off since starting my new medication. I had a few doctor visits in a day that were really throwing me for the loop.

Salem is still missing and i'm reeling because it has been over 2 months now. 2 and a half.

I have gotten no new leads. The most I keep hearing from people is "Oh, someone probably picked her up and is keeping her" - which, why would people keep telling me that like it's a good thing?

Someone keeps ripping her posters down at the post office - not the workers - so I keep putting that back up.

I have been wanting to do new poster designs and put up a cash reward for a few hundred, but I am unable to do so, becuase I am already very short on rent. I don't make that much paycheck to paycheck as is and push it. So this is just - it sucks.

But I have been unable to really look for her these last two weeks. My job is based on task availability - it's how I get my hours. It is a first come, first serve kind of deal. Which is usually not an issue. But it is an issue when the job itself isn't uploading any tasks into the system for about two weeks.

I've been so focused on that because I am already barely skimming by. And right now my paycheck is about to be a couple hundreds short, so fuck me. Sorry for the language. I am looking for another job by the way, I just haven't been getting any responses to my applications.

And today is worse because apparently the WiFi got knocked out while I was taking a nap???? my phone data is not unlimited, this is not gonna last. Which means i can't work much or at all today either. Until they fix it, which likely won't be until later tonight. Because my apartments slack on everything and then still turn around and charge my $700 in rent money, that I'll barely be making a dent in.

I'm gonna reblog the cat post and link it here for any donations or just if anyone has missed what has been going on with Salem - paypal is best at this point becuase GoFundMe takes a hot minute.

-- Prompt prophet

[tigerbears]

Hello there!

You can call me TigerBear.

I’m a 20s something trans-girl who's only been on tumblr for over a year

I mostly just do reblogs, and just random stuff but I'll also post links to my fanfics so keep an eye for that! (Only been one so far, but lots of folks seem to enjoy it xD)

Expect my fics to mostly be UT and DR fics... Same with posts.... Just a lot of UT/DR related reblogs and post, but you'll also see a few posts related to other games I like or things that catch my fancy. (E.G, I've reentered the doctor who fandom after like 4-5 years)

Aiming for the blog to be SFW/Minor friendly but y'know, I'm still an adult and stuff. Might reblog stuff with swearing. May also reblog SFW posts from NSFW blogs/"Minors DNI or do not follow" blogs, but I don't usually follow these blogs and will likely not touch their risky stuff. TL;DR this blog be safe, can't guarantee the same from those I reblogged.

Guess I can talk about some things about myself.

I’m a trans-girl lesbian who goes by she/her pronouns.

I'm also neurodivergent (autistic specifically) so if I act differently/misunderstand things that's why. I'm sorry my brain just be running differently.

I’m likely suffering from chronic Asriel and Noelle brain rot. I want goat boy to get a happy ending and love the Trans Noelle head-canon. Shipper of Suselle (Susie/Noelle) and Dessriel (Dess/Asriel). (Oh and of course Alphyne (Alphys/Undyne) but I'm not obsessed with the pair like Suselle and Dessriel. Alphyne's still cute though!) Also opened asks! (but don't really know what I'll do with them, and don't expect quick responses, especially bc I’m the shy type of trans-femme. Also, keep the discourse crap away from me.)

Haven't gotten a lot of asks so I just opened the anonymous ones. (Note: This is on thin ice. I may turn off anonymous asks if I change my mind and realize it's a mistake. I already turned off messaging from people I don't follow because I kept getting incomprehensible bot messages.)

If I ever reblog something that's "WIP "a mess of the original post's tags" it means I f--ked up and forgot to remove the wip tags when the post was in my drafts. Please let me know so I can fix it.

Standard DNI: (note realize it got too long with my explanations so I put the longer ones in a separate footnote post. You can find it at the bottom of the DNI list. TL;DR the footnotes are for nuance and crap.)

DNI

I: Don't be a bigot. (E.G racist, xenophobic, Islamophobic, ableist, transphobic/a TERF, (that includes being exclusionary towards transmascs/femmes, enbys, or being some gatekeeping/invalidating transmed/truscum or whatever.) Same with aro/acephobia, intersex phobia, ect. TL:DR if you're bigoted towards a minority stay away and crap.

II: If you're a Religious fundamentalist, Militant Atheists, or anyone who can't respect other people's religious/areligious beliefs. DNI. (Its ok to criticize bigoted/harmful religious people, or parasitic and abusive cults. Just don't interact if you say stuff like "All religious people of "X" religion are mentally ill/bigots/terrible.")

III: (can't believe I have to say this) DNI if you ship "those ships." Y'know, the ones which involve some form of i*nest or p*dophilia. (E.G, Fontcest, Chasriel, Frans, Lancer/Susie,) Just generally do not interact if you ship any of those "yikes" ships. I don't want my posts to be associated with these accounts if they reblog my posts or whatever. III.1: This DNI does not cover Friskriel and Charisk, unless specific extenuating circumstances (that would make the ships i*ncestuous) are in effect (and I'll usually assume they aren't.) Kralsei also barely gets a pass until we learn why he looks like Asriel. (The explanation of this will either push the ship into the DNI, or make it weird but fine.) (For more details/nuance, look at Footnotes 01 and 02)

IV: Please tag your anti-ship or anti-character posts as anti-[shipname], or I will likely block you, especially if you just tag the ship name. When I follow the Suselle tag I'm looking for everything but Anti-Suselle posts. (Footnote 03)

If your posts look like that of a p*rn bot I'll likely block you.

DNI FOOTNOTES IN THIS POST! GO HERE FOR ELABORATION/NUANCE!

Here are the tags I use for my own stuff. " ([On Blog]=on my stylized blog.) ([On Tumblr]=Tumblr's default interface.)

#reblog [On Blog] [On Tumblr] For all the posts I reblog.

#queue [On Blog] [On Tumblr] For all the posts in my queue (which are just reblogs)

#posts from tigerbear's tumblr [On Blog] [On Tumblr] (Or) #my posts [On Blog] [On Tumblr] (Or) #tigerbears posts [On Blog] [On Tumblr] Stuff that's from me (or reblogs which have comments from me.) Pretty much "tigerbears posts" is going to be anything past the 25th or 26th of April 2024 (because I'm not going back to change all of my past tags.)

#tag that are like posts from tigerbear's tumblr [On Blog] [On Tumblr] Basically similar to posts from tiger bear except their reblogs and the new content is only in the tags. (I don't use this tag often/probably ever btw)

#Upsetting Real World Stuff [On Blog] [On Tumblr] For the very few posts/reblogs that are potentially upsetting, E.G talking about stuff like wars or LGBTQ+ rights being stripped away, general transphobic stuff, ect. (I usually come to tumblr for escapism, so if you feel the same way add it to filtered tags so you at least get the warning pop up before seeing it)

#discourse & stuff like that [On Blog] [On Tumblr]I hate discourse. But sometimes the discourse comes to me even though I don't want it. If you don't want to deal with that stupid crap on this horrible website than block this tag.

Here's my other socials! Bluesky:

Youtube:

AO3:

pronouns.page:

Anyway I hope you enjoy my blog!