#*south voice* not like maine has much to say anyway

[yorky-york-and-the-deltoids]

So Maine can get shot in the throat 9 times, hit by a car, and thrown off a bridge and all he gets is not being able to talk (and sigma), but wash gets shot once in the throat and suddenly there's real consequences??

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iv

to @mrsmando - without whom this insane story would never have happened in the first place. i love you i love you i love you thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me - it has been a blast. i hope you like where we turn out! love you guys always n forever x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're a mom. it's time to get your shit together.

warnings: bon jovi mention straight out the gate, labor/delivery [i have never given birth. those of you who have are nothing short of remarkable. please forgive if some of this is a little inaccurate or vague], use of pain medication during birth, description of pain and post-birth recovery, super emotional reader, unprotected piv, oral, alcohol consumption. DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 12k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s September twenty-third.

Well, by now, it’s probably the twenty-fourth. You’ve been a little distracted, rolling between the sheets with your next-door neighbor for the last couple hours.

The wedding’s still going strong downstairs. The same Bon Jovi song has played three times over. Tommy has called Joel to ask where he is so much that Joel’s phone is now switched off and shoved to the bottom of his bag.

You’re slouched on the toilet in a sliver of moonlight. A fistful of tissue, panties loose around your ankles. Rolling your forehead side to side along the cool tile, heartbeat hammering between your temples.

Joel Miller – Joel fucking Miller – is in your bed. Naked, sweating, cock probably still half-hard.

This morning, the very idea of the man was an eyeroll. Stood in your mirror, promising yourself that this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over with.

This time in a month, it’ll be a foggy memory.

This time in a year, it –

His voice is muffled through the bathroom door. “Did you fall in, or somethin’?”

You snort. The milky moon blurs across your vision when you pull yourself upright. You swipe between your legs and stand, flushing the toilet.

“I needed a fucking breather,” you tease, tiptoeing back across the room.

Joel’s stretched out; a worked arm draped along the headboard. Sun-kissed to the middle of his bicep, paler across his shoulder. One leg bare on the mattress, the other under the sheets. They only just cover his modesty – dark hair trailing beneath light silk just in time.

He’s so big. It’s like you never really noticed until now. He takes up half the bed, laying like this. And sure, you’re halfway to fucked, but – has he always been so handsome?

You flop down beside him with a sigh, curling up in the burrow of sheets at his side. Your eyes trail up his body – the sheen of sweat up his side, the dark, damp hair under his arm. All the parts of him you’ve never seen before, will never see again.

You gulp. Quit fucking staring.

He doesn’t notice, anyway. He’s rubbing circles into his temples, grumbling. “How many goddamn times are they gonna play It’s My Life?”

“…for Tommy and Gina…” you nudge him, “…who never backed down…”

Joel chuckles, pulling his hand down his beard. “Twenty bucks says he’s changing that to Maria.”

“Oh, for sure. I ain’t going back down to listen to it, though.”

He hums in agreement, reaching over for his beer. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks.

“You owe me, by the way. This is my room, remember? My fucking minibar.”

He pauses, the bottle against his bottom lip. His eyes linger south of your chin before he answers, “I’m paying for the damn room.”

“Then I want a drink from yours. Make it even.”

He clicks his teeth and drinks again. “It’s one beer. Call it an early birthday gift.”

You frown. “When the hell’s your birthday?”

“Tuesday.”

“Bullshit.”

“Serious. The twenty-sixth.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows; chest bare and on display. And it’s a strange feeling, how little you care. Twelve hours ago, you didn’t know how close to sit next to him at the ceremony. How many times you could accidentally bump knees or brush elbows and it not be weird.

But in the last two hours, he’s made you come more times than you can count. More times than anyone you’ve ever been with before – that’s for sure. And you’ve repaid the favor: the proof is still dribbling out of you. Still dripping between your legs, all pearlescent and warm. You’re soaked, swollen, still sore from the size of him.

It’s a fucking strange feeling, that you don’t mind at all.

“How old are you turning?” you ask.

Joel swallows. He settles the beer on his sternum, thumbing the corner of the label. Sucks in a deep breath and says, “Forty-eight.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, eyes wide.

He turns slowly, glaring at you. “Hilarious,” he drawls, bumping the bottle against your tummy.

You hiss at the sudden chill. Wiping cold droplets from your skin, you swipe it from his grasp.

Joel pushes himself from the bed with a quiet groan and pads across the room. His cock sways with each step, an arrowhead of thick hair at its base.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either.

You tip your chin back, taking a hefty swig.

The pulsing bass is heavier, guitar squeal sharper, when he cracks open the window. Cool air sweeps past the scent of sex and settles softly on your skin.

The mattress dips again as Joel settles back into bed. He pulls the sheet over himself, silk falling over the stubborn shape against his thigh.

“Well,” you pass him the bottle, “happy birthday, old man. Here’s to forty-eight.”

“Here’s to forty-eight,” Joel echoes, staring off into space, “and whatever the hell it has in store.”

1:29. 1:29. 1:30.

It’s blurring across your vision. The pain and the panic and the blinking of your fucking alarm clock.

Your stomach is still tensed in the aftermath of the contraction; an ache like the slow sway of the ocean, a wave rolling off into the distance. You’re hunched over the edge of the bed – knee bouncing, palms kneading your round belly.

“We’re okay,” you whisper, blowing into the still night. “We’re fine. Maybe it isn’t labor, right? Maybe it’s just those…Braxton…shit…Hicks.”

The cicadas laugh as your uterus swings again.

Another kick of pain; a bolt that winds you, piercing from your stomach down between your legs. So slow it feels fucking personal.

Your back curls, nails digging into the mattress. You grit your teeth until it passes, then push yourself to your feet, reaching for your phone.

You think of Joel: the flecks of gold in his eyes, the rough surface of his palms. The fresh, woodsy scent woven into every thread on his shirt, seeping from every pore on his skin.

The way he’d pull you under his arm and walk you to his truck. Play more Eagles or whatever shit he has to take your mind off the pain – tell you he knows, he knows as you whimper in agony. The way he’d hold your thigh the entire ride, loosening it only to weave his fingers through yours.

He’s in Houston, though. He’s something like three hours away. There’s nothing he could do, even if you did call – even if he did pick up. Even if he got in his truck right this second.

Shit. Shit fuck shit. How are you in labor right now, on this fucking night? All your teasing, all your taunting the universe. You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?

Yeah. They’re half you.

You’re on your own. It’s nothing new; you’ve been on your own for most of your life. You drove yourself to college, worked your ass off, and sold your graduation guest tickets to your roommate. You found a job by yourself, moved back to Austin and turned it into home by yourself.

You haven’t needed anyone or anything, since you were eighteen.

But – oh, Jesus, fuck it. This was a two-man job from the start. Some things you figure you can let slide – and having a kid seems like a pretty decent excuse.

Fuck it.

You move, hunched and hobbling, to the bathroom door. Slumped against the wooden frame, you cup a hand between your legs.

Sure enough, your underwear is soaked. The fluid trickles down the seam of your thigh, warm and thin. It glistens in the moonlight when you lift your fingers.

“Shit,” you whisper. “Goddamn it, Duck.”

Body tingling and almost numb with pain, you scroll through your contacts to J. You stumble into the bathroom, wet fingers slipping around the sink. A weight begins to pull low between your hips.

Two rings and the tone cuts, his voice instantly spilling a cool comfort down your spine.

There’s no hello, no double checking that you haven’t accidentally dialed him in your sleep. Only that trademark drawl, that flat tone you’d swear sounded bored, if it weren’t for the haste with which Joel asks, “You okay?” the second he answers.

As if he were awake anyway, just waiting for your call.

“Yeah,” you choke, rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just called at one in the morning to…to say hi.”

He sighs, the crackle of breath echoed by the tinkle of wind chimes. The creak of wood as he settles into a chair on Vanessa’s parents’ porch. “Alright, smartass. What is it?”

“I’m…I’m in labor.”

“Mhm. That sure is funny, baby. Good one.”

You groan. “No, Joel, I swear – I swear, I just went into labor.”

He pauses. The chimes titter in the background. “You’re…You ain’t kidding me?”

The sharp peak of pain swipes the air clean from your lungs. The phone hits the sink with a clatter, drowning out your cry.

This kid is beating the ever-loving shit out of you. You’d be embarrassed if you had the energy to think about it.

“Baby?” Joel yells, loud enough that the sound loops around the bowl. His voice lifts to an octave you didn’t know it could reach. “Talk to me. Please, talk to me.”

Your fingers clamp around the phone. “I’m f-fine. It’s fine. I just gotta…gotta change my fuckin’ sheets, Joel, my waters broke while I was sleeping –”

“Oh, Christ,” he growls. The door squeals as he storms back into Vanessa’s family home. “The sh…Change the goddamn sheets? You gotta get to a hospital, darlin’!”

You laugh, head tipping back. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Feels like the kid’s trying to kill me, but I can – shit, I can take ‘em.”

There’s the jangle of keys, the ruffle of a shirt being thrown over his head. “Yeah?” Joel says.“You can take childbirth, all on your own? Do me a favor and call a damn ambulance, baby.”

“An ambulance,” you repeat, laughing again.

“Yes, an ambulance. Call 9-1-1 right now. You want me to call ‘em? Let me go grab the landline –”

“Joel, do not call an ambulance –”

And if you thought you’d heard him at breaking point before – plucking your underwear from his lawn, dragging you around Home Depot, paling in your room with a pregnancy test in his hands – you know you have, now.

“You gotta get to a goddamn hospital now, baby!”

His voice trembles at its end, quivers like the pluck of a guitar string. A high-pitched echo, a nervous vibration.

Joel’s panicking.

It’s the second thing in less than five minutes that you never knew he could do.

“I can’t afford a f-fucking ambulance, Joel,” you yelp, sitting back on the edge of the bathtub.

“I will pay for it,” he pleads, “I’ll pay. Just – you gotta call them. You gotta…” He sighs again, breath wavering. “You’re in labor, and you’re alone. If anything happened to you, I –”

A hushed voice interrupts him. Follows him through the house, knotting her nightgown around her waist and twisting her dark tresses into a ponytail.

“She’s in labor,” Joel tells her. “I can’t stay. I’m going back for her.”

The porch door slams shut before Vanessa can reply, and Joel’s back outside again. Gravel crunching beneath his boots, crickets screaming in the background. “Still with me?” he asks.

“Still here,” you breathe, tracing your nails along your leg. “Duckie says hi, I guess.”

He hums. “Hi, Duckie. You little shit.”

You rock back and forth, eyes closed. Breathing between contractions, your head low between your shoulders. “How long will you be?”

The truck door creaks open. “I’m leaving right now. I’ll be…Fuck, I’ll be a couple hours, at least. I’m on my way, alright?”

Tears drip onto your bare thighs, the salt spilling into your mouth. “Joel,” you shake your head, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he says. “Are you kidding? Got us this far ‘n now you want to bail? That ain’t you, baby. Come on, now.”

“I wanna bail,” you insist. You slump to the floor, head lolling over the rim of the bathtub. Weeping like a little kid. “I’m scared, Joel. I’m so scared.”

“I know you are. Lord knows I’m scared, too – scared as hell. But –” the engine roars to life, “– I can’t wait to finally meet this kid. Our kid. Can’t wait to hold ‘em. Can’t wait to see you become a mom, and me become a dad.”

“Mom and Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.

“Mom and Dad, right? Yeah. You can do this. I know you can.”

The bathroom blurs behind your tears. You close your eyes, replacing the pale night with warmer dawn. Replacing it with images of tiny hands and feet; missing front teeth and a love-worn teddy tucked safely into bed.

Joel’s voice is softer, kinder. Calmer, now that he’s closing the hundred and fifty miles between the two of you.

“Just – don’t let the kid give you any shit, alright?”

The fear boils into determination. Something more irritating than it is terrifying. You inhale, blowing a heavy, shuddered breath to the ceiling. “Whatever, Miller.”

“Attagirl,” he says. “That’s the spirit. Now, call a damn ambulance.”

With a scoff, you push yourself to your feet, waddling towards the foot of your bed. You sway back and forth, holding your bump and listening to the hum of Joel’s truck.

And then you hear it.

Three sharp raps, from downstairs.

You wander to the hallway, squinting in the dark. “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“Are you…?”

The sound grows louder the nearer you draw. Quick knuckles against your front door.

“Am I what, darlin’?”

You lower yourself down the stairs, fist tight around the rail.

It’s August again. Sun’s encore blazing through your kitchen windows, bleeding golden through your living room. Everything shining, everything new and untouched.

Knock knock knock.

Light satin, duck egg blue; string lights and a diamond-encrusted necklace. The bones of your wardrobe propped against your porch. A rattling toolbox hanging from his fist, a positive pregnancy test in yours.

The knocking halts when you flick the porch light on. She calls your name once, old voice quivering.

Your phone is still glued to your ear as you pull the door open. “Al…?”

She squints at you and lifts a hand to shield from the light. She’s still in her pajamas – green dressing gown loose and lifting in the breeze.

Her eyes drop to the tee draped over your bump, the silver stream of fluid down the inside of your thigh. As she opens her mouth to speak, your hand slams into the doorpost.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, and Alice Brown steps straight over the threshold.

“Are you in labor? Oh, sweetie. Sit down, sit.”

She backs you towards the stairs. One bony, trembling hand around yours – squeezing as tight as you are. She rubs up and down your spine, shushing until the pain subsides.

You blink up at her glowing figure, haloed by the porch light outside. “How did you…?”

She hushes you with a finger in the air. “I’m up most nights. I heard you from the window. Have you called 9-1-1?”

You shake your head, beginning to cry again.

Alice just nods, dismissing your bullshit. “Where’s your overnight bag, sweetheart?”

You toss a thumb over your shoulder. “It’s up in the nursery. I can go grab it –”

She holds you still with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay.” Another curt nod, then, “Get your shoes, get yourself over to my car. Do you need pants? You need pants. My car, right now.”

“Alice, you really don’t have to –”

“Get in the car,” she insists, climbing past you. “I’m right behind you!”

You watch her figure dissolve into the dim upstairs, and lift the phone back to your ear. “Did you…hear all that?”

“Alice Brown,” Joel replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “What’d I tell ya? That woman doesn’t miss a goddamn thing in this neighborhood.”

“Three centimeters,” the obstetrician says, covering your legs with the sheet. “Still a little ways to go.”

The suite is hushed and still. Walls an unoffending shade of oatmeal; decorated only with oak paneling and a framed painting of some lilies.

A nurse tilts the shades, averting the twinkling city lights in the distance. She turns and smiles – the same fucking smile everyone’s been giving you since you set foot in the place. Head tilted, brows arched.

Sympathy that you want to chew up and spit back out at their feet.

You force yourself to smile in return, and she floats back out to the bustling reception.

“Will he make it?” Alice asks. She’s still in her pajamas; the floral print goes well with the interior of the room. “The father, I mean. Joel.”

The obstetrician peels the gloves from her hands. She shrugs as she drops them into a wastebin. “I don’t see why not,” she says. “Things are moving a little quickly, but I don’t see you having your baby in the next couple hours.”

“You don’t know this kid like I do,” you groan, shifting in the bed.

She lifts the cardiotocograph reading, scanning the jagged lines. “You’re doing great,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just holler if you need anything.” She strolls off, letting the door sweep shut behind her.

Alice adjusts your pillow and squeezes your shoulder. She holds out a cup of water, guiding the straw to your lips. “He’ll be here,” she whispers.

You take a sip and settle back. “I don’t think I’m that lucky. I told him I hoped he’d get a flat on the ride there. This feels like karma.”

“Well, if it’s anyone’s karma –” she wiggles her fingers, “– it’s his. Going to Houston was ridiculous in the first place. Hell, you two not being together is ridiculous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Just because we’re having a kid doesn’t mean we should be together. You shouldn’t be with someone for the sake of a baby who won’t even know any different.”

“Right, right,” Alice agrees, turning away. “You should only be with someone if you love them.”

“Exactly. And me and Joel – we’re not in love.”

She murmurs to herself. She lowers into a chair by the window, crossing her arms. “I’m seventy-three,” she says. “I’m not a damn fool.”

Something twists awkwardly between your hips. You wince, clutching your bump.

Duckie’s heartbeat pulses through the room. Muffled little bubbles of noise, popping one after the other. Strong and steady as hell – a determined little thing, the doctor said.

Don’t I fucking know it, you thought.

You reach for the silicone mask and cup it over your mouth. The gas is cold and funny when you inhale, feeling it shoot straight for the back of your skull. It does little more than dull the spiking pain, but still – you tip your head back, eyes rolling closed.

You let yourself fade from the suite – its yellow lamplight and hushed chatter outside – to somewhere warmer. Somewhere brighter.

Birdsong high overhead, and the whispering leaves on the oak trees in your yard. The sweet breeze on your skin, soothing the sting of the sun. Prickling wood on your fingertips, the gentle strum of a guitar somewhere beyond the fence.

Peering between the slats, catching glimpses of him like watching a film reel. His head nodding, his foot tapping. The concentration tight on his face; the perfect pick and pluck of his fingers on each string.

Half-hoping that he’ll spot you, scold you for spying and storm back into his house. That he might bring it up later – And another thing, while he whips his newspaper from your grasp, ignoring your cackling.

Half-hoping that he won’t. That he’ll sit there at his back door, bottle of beer at his feet, playing to his audience of sparrows.

And you’ll stand here, wishing you could ask the name of each song he hums.

The contraction splits your daydream in two.

In two hours, you dilate almost three centimeters.

You pace back and forth across the suite, pausing only when your womb clenches like a fist. The contractions are lasting longer, swinging lower, and punching harder. They’re giving you less recovery time; less of a chance to get back on your feet.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Joel’s still not here. Last you heard, he’d just hit Travis County. Twenty minutes, baby, I promise. That was half an hour ago.

It might be for the better that he hasn’t gotten here. You’ve warned Alice three times already that you might just beat the shit out of him, whenever he walks through that door.

And you know what, sweetheart? She chuckled. I bet you could beat the shit out of him, sore as you are.

“Fuck,” you cry out, collapsing onto the bed. You stretch out forward, head hanging between your shoulders, and gulp back more of the laughing gas. The ache barrels from your stomach to your hips, peaking in the very center.

Alice rubs circles into the small of your back. It’s not helping, but you let her do it anyways. Gives her something to tell the neighbors that isn’t damaging to your reputation.

“That’s it,” she coos. “A little longer, just a little…”

The door clicks open just as the tense band begins to loosen.

Your head is spinning. The mask slips from your fingers.

Alice’s hand pauses. “…a little longer…” she repeats, voice drifting. Her weight leaves your back, replaced by something heavier, stronger.

Safer.

Someone grounding, someone smelling of pine and sweet spice.

He sits on the bed at your back and curves around your body. Lips to your shoulder like the sun in your backyard. His beard scratches against your hot skin.

You blink your eyes open.

Joel’s watch face winks back at you. His hands are over yours – bigger, wider. His fists swallow yours whole. They turn, slipping beneath your palms, and your fingers lace together.

“Joel…” you breathe, face turning in to his neck.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, wiping sweat from your brow.

You fall limp against his chest. “Holy shit.”

He looks exhausted. Gray, almost translucent. Looks like he’s just driven a couple hundred miles, half asleep and wholly panicked.

But – he’s here. He made it.

The sight of him, the feel of him holding you upright, melts away any anger or resolve to fight back. For now, at least. Picking an argument can wait until there isn’t a human splitting you in two.

He’s here. You’re not doing this alone.

“Holy shit,” Joel repeats. “You okay?”

“How did you get here so –?”

“Ninety-five the entire way.”

You frown. “Only ninety-five?”

“Trunk’s a hunk a’ shit,” he admits. “Couldn’t break a hundred.”

Alice scoffs, somewhere across the room.

He cradles you, his lips to your forehead. “Where we at?” he asks, staring at the paper churning from the cardiotocograph.

“Five, almost s–shit – six centimeters.” You clamp down on his hands, your uterus winding again.

Joel holds the mask back to your lips and you suck another chemical breath in. “Six? Jesus,” he gapes at Alice, “ain’t that…ain’t that real fast? For – for your first?”

Your fingers are weak and shaky, resting on his knuckles. “Your kid has a sick sense of humor,” you mutter into the silicone.

“That ain’t from me,” he says. “That’s all you, maestro.”

You turn closer into his shirt with a groan. He’s solid as a rock, swaying you through it. He’s here.

Alice swipes her coat from a hook by the door. She shakes her head, pulling it over her shoulders. “Ninety-five, Joel? Sweet Lord.”

He rolls his eyes. His hand curves around your bump. “Had a little bit of an emergency, Alice,” he says, watching your face twist with pain.

“And what if you’d had an accident?”

“I didn’t, Alice.”

“You could’ve, goin’ that damn fast. You’re lucky you’re even here.”

Joel finally looks up. “It’s four in the mornin’,” he protests, like a teenager. “Lucky if I passed five cars.”

You give him a weak smile, lowering the mask. You won’t win, you mouth.

He presses his lips to your head. “’s too much fun,” he murmurs, and you snort.

“Oh!” Alice throws a hand up. “I’m glad you find it funny!” She buttons her coat and glares back at both of you, hands on her hips.

She’s a busybody – has been since before you even moved in. She showed up on your doorstep on your first night with a casserole in hand, and made sure to get a good look at your living room before she shuffled back to her own place.

Always watching, always listening.

You never thought you’d see the day when you’d actually be thankful for her snoopiness.

“Thank you, Alice,” you say, head tilting. “For getting me here, for holding my hand…Thank you.”

Her expression thaws, eyes gleaming. With a sniff, she composes herself – and then points to Joel. “You call me as soon as that baby arrives. I won’t sleep, Joel, until you call.”

“I’ll call,” he assures.

She looks back at you. Balls her crepe paper fists, gives them a hearty shake. “Good luck, Mom,” she says, and with one last glance, slips out of the room.

Joel turns back to you, an eyebrow raised. “Take it she was out tendin’ to her tulips again?”

“Yeah,” you snicker, “one in the morning, those fuckers had to be watered.”

He chuckles. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better now,” you tell him.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he says, shaking his head. “I should’ve been here. A goddamn idiot, headin’ off like that. So damn stupid.”

“Shh, you’re here now.” You wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I just needed you to be here.”

He nods. “I’m here, whatever you need. Tell me what I can do.”

You take a deep breath. “I need…”

Joel straightens – bracing, ready to jump at your first request.

“…I need a fucking break, Joel. I’m so tired, and this fucking kid –”

“Alright,” he sighs, shifting from behind you. “You and your goddamn jokes.”

You smirk, looking over your shoulder. “You missed me.”

“Hm,” he fixes the neckline of your gown, “I missed you. I really did.”

Born at 07:43. It’s a girl.

It’s like being broken open. Like splitting at the seams; your old self falling from you like shards of fruit. Separating, rolling apart; making way for someone older, wiser. Someone with all of the answers in the palm of her hand.

Mom.

You finally get it. She turns to you, finally glances over her shoulder. And she’s no stranger – no one you haven’t known your entire life. I know you, you whisper, nail trailing her smile lines and the pimples along her jaw.

I see you every time I look in the mirror.

Duckie is pulled from your body with a scream like bloody murder – a scream which matches the whimper you let out in shock, if not in volume.

The kid can scream. Jesus Christ, she can scream. It pierces the dull room; deafens you for a couple seconds the first time you hear it.

You’ve never heard a sound so fucking beautiful.

She wails as they lift her from your body. All curled-up, wriggling in the midwife’s arms. She wails as they slot her beneath your chin, as they wipe the blood and amniotic fluid from her.

She wails until the moment her skin meets yours, and as though it’s all you’ve ever known, you begin shushing her cries. Your arms close around her body, rocking her until she settles.

Her tiny hand grabs for something, for someone, for –

You.

Her mom.

“Joel,” you gasp, watching her tiny, pruned fingers clasp tight around just one of yours. “She’s…she’s so small…”

He sniffs in reply, lifting his hand from your shoulder to wipe his face.

You turn to look up at him.

He looks as broken open as you feel. Eyes bloodshot and soaking, tears streaming into his thick beard. A sob in his throat which chokes and silences him, until he catches your eye and he can’t help but laugh with elation.

“Look at her,” he weeps, all torn up by the little girl in your arms. He presses his lips to your forehead in a crash of a kiss: wet, soaking wet on your skin.

You beam up at him when he pulls away. “We did it,” you whisper.

Joel shakes his head. He runs a thumb across the damp print left on your head. “You did it, honey,” he mutters. “I was nothin’ but a spectator.”

“You almost missed the game,” you quip, and he laughs again.

Your body throbs; nearly numb with pain, heavy with fatigue and emotion. But as long as she’s here, this tiny tornado of a girl, you don’t feel a thing.

Clenching and then unclenching her fist around your finger – so delicate compared to the punches she was throwing at your ribs just six hours ago. She’s worth every fucking second of it.

You finally fucking get it.

She fits so perfectly in the crook of your arm. It feels as though your body was made just to hold her – the very shape of you, designed especially for the very shape of her.

You wonder whether it was the same for your mom. Whether you came along and made her feel whole, for the first time in her life.

Duckie’s eyes open – all glossy and brand new, blinking up at the both of you like she needed no introduction. She already knows you, from the inside out. Her dad’s graying beard, the threads of silver around his temples. Her mom’s tear-stained cheeks, eyes red and bleary with sleeplessness and pure love.

You’re Mom, you’re Dad.

It’s all she’s ever known.

The pillow sighs as you lean back into it. The doctor begins repairing the damage done between your legs; threading and knitting your body back together.

You’re caught between a state of bliss and shock. Your brain is doing much the same work to itself as the woman between your knees is. Patching over all the bloody parts: the screams which tore your skin, the pain which cracked your teeth.

None of it holds a candle to the weight of her in your arms. No matter how tired you are, you can’t take your eyes off her. Her puffy cheeks, the little creases between her brows. No matter how sore, you never want to let go of her.

Joel runs a finger down Duckie’s cheek. “Ain’t she the most beautiful thing in the world?”

“I love her,” you say, bubbling again. “I love her more than anything.”

An hour old, and she’s already a daddy’s girl.

Joel ambles back and forth at the foot of your bed in the recovery suite, bouncing Duck in his arms. He’s never looked so relaxed, so natural at something. He’s never seemed so content, so peaceful.

Everything he’s ever made with his hands – structures and framework and your goddamn closet – and yet this, this tiny accident, this baby girl you were so sure you’d dreamt up right up until an hour ago –

This is the thing he’s proudest of.

Morning lifts through the windows, all soft and vanilla. It floats around him, sunlight spilling across his skin and breathing life and color into him.

Sunlight – or his daughter. They’re the same thing, anyway.

You pull apart a slice of toast, watching. Just watching. Sweet strawberry jam on your tongue, the flavor of everything sharper, fresher. The colors brighter, more vivid.

The world makes more sense like this, you think. Painted in shades of honey and ochre; a room in a corner of the world where time slows to a halt. A soft lullaby from his lips, and the little coos from hers.

The ache of love and labor lingers deep inside you, and nothing has ever made more sense.

You suck the sticky sweet from your fingertips.

Joel looks up, toying with Duckie’s hand. “You want her back?” he asks, a dumb grin on his face.

You shake your head. “I like watching you.”

He scrunches his nose, nuzzling it against his daughter’s, and whispers, “I wasn’t gonna give you back, anyways.” He sways in the early light, staring down at her. “Jesus,” he mutters, swiping at his eyes again, “I didn’t…I didn’t know I could love somethin’ this much.”

“Me, either.”

He drifts over, lowering himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. He extends his elbow, still cradling the baby, and helps you pull yourself upright.

You hiss, a not-so-subtle sting between your legs.

“You, uh…you think of a name yet?” Joel asks.

“Not yet,” you reply, hooked onto his shoulder. Duck blows a bubble and you wipe it with your knuckle. “I thought we were sticking with Duckie?”

His cheeks swell. The sun kisses the edges of his beard. “I thought of one,” he says softly. “Maybe. It’s your call.”

You yawn into his shirt, the warmth of him calm and soothing. “Alright, Miller. Hit me.”

He looks down at the baby nestled in his safe hands. The smallest thing either of you have ever seen.

The name must roll around his head a few times, the way he tilts to-and-fro – looking at her from one angle, then the next. Deciding, when he pulls back, that she suits it from every direction. Like it was her name long before he or even you knew it.

You watch his lips shape the name before you hear it.

Sarah.

And for what feels like forever, you just stare at him. The syllables lingering in the air like glistening specks of dust in a sunbeam. Your eyes follow them down to your daughter, now sleeping peacefully with two hands around one of her dad’s thumbs.

“Sarah,” you repeat, remembering whose name it was, whose name it is – whose name it has always been. “Sarah Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders lift. “What do you think? She look worthy of bein’ a Sarah?”

The rustle of tissue paper. Blue and green and purple tearing between your fingers. The funny fuzz of pom poms as your hands rummaged through the bag. Her hand swimming towards you, an orange foam fish riding the waves between her fingers. Bubbly sounds erupting from her lips.

Your girlish giggle. Her silly grin. Hopscotch along the sidewalk; stopping to look for cars before she’d walk you across the street. How much do I love you, baby girl?

More than the whole world, Mama.

“I love it,” you breathe, tears running to the corners of your mouth. “Sarah fucking Miller.”

“Sarah fuckin’ Miller,” Joel echoes; two wet lines the same as yours, curving down his cheeks. He shifts her into the crook of his arm.

You’re impossibly close. Your chin rests on his shoulder, foreheads brushing when you lean in to each other. His breath is hot on your lips, closer and closer and closer until –

He tastes like salt, rich with emotion. Salt, and then sweet when your tongue meets his. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, and your fingers link around his wrist.

And you know you shouldn’t be doing it – know this isn’t your man to be kissing. But in this room, where no one else can see – where it’s just you, him, and all the best parts of yourselves shaped into someone better – he feels like yours.

Just for a moment.

Joel takes the first week of Sarah’s life off work.

He spends a good twenty minutes on the phone to the contractor, talking more about the kid than he does the job. Her eyelashes, her fingernails, the way her legs scrunch anytime he lifts her up.

He’s besotted with the entire thing. And he tells everybody so.

He moves in with you both, stays in your guestroom. It’s a week of no sleep, no peace, and a total of three showers between you. Wearing the same clothes covered in spit-up and drool until one of you has the time or energy to do laundry.

It’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. By your count, you’ve already cried three times to Joel – terrified you’re getting it all wrong.

But you’re doing it. Jesus God, you’re doing it.

You order takeout most nights. You can’t stand long enough to cook just yet, and you don’t trust Joel not to burn your fucking kitchen down – despite his protests. And it feels like, after everything your body’s given you, it deserves a greasy pizza and some chicken wings.

You rot on the couch together, watching shitty TV and arguing over reruns of Jeopardy! – until Sarah wakes and the whole thing begins again.

Joel loses the game of rock, paper, scissors tonight.

“Shh, baby girl. ‘s alright now, I gotcha,” he lulls, tucking her back in to her bassinet.

She fusses and stretches out; arms over her head, legs curled up. Her onesie is still a little too big – the socked feet all baggy, the sleeves rolled up her wrists.

He lingers for a moment as she drifts off, a hand stroking her tummy. Watching, always watching her. The rise and fall of her stomach, the puffs of breath from her nostrils, her lips still suckling away in her sleep.

“I swear I have a baby photo that looks just like her,” you say. “Same nose and everything.”

Joel clicks his teeth. “Got her looks from her mom. Lucky thing.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you snort.

He drifts back over, sinking into the couch at your side. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, and you nod.

Every muscle in your body still feels like a ton weight. Your stomach is still swollen; there are still stitches between your legs. There are moments you can’t tell if you’re crying because of hormones, exhaustion, or joy.

Every time, it’s a combination of all three.

Life before feels so long ago – and it hasn’t even been a fortnight. But then you held her for the first time, and now – your arm misses the weight of her when she’s not in it. Your house feels eerily quiet when she’s not laughing, or whimpering, or screaming the fucking roof down.

You can feel your daughter growing up already, and she’s only ten days old.

On the mantelpiece, safe in a stippled gold frame, your mom beams down over her. The photo at least twenty years old, the memory even older. Laughing, the way she always was; nothing quite so funny as a joke frozen in time.

Joel prods you with his elbow. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Your mom.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “no, she’d be like, Holy shit. This kid totally kicked your ass.”

He chuckles. “Sure she did,” he shrugs, “she’s your kid.”

The TV babbles to itself across the room. In its glow, Joel meets your eye. A tiny, pearly fleck swimming in deep honey.

It’s familiar – each shade of bronze in his eyes, each thread of silver through his hair. Like you’ve mapped each and every line on his skin, collecting them like the sleepless hours between you.

Everything about him feels so normal. Burnt toast in the morning, a spoon clinking around a mug of coffee. The rustle of the newspaper, the sizzle of eggs in the pan, the baby snoring on your chest.

Everything – and yet nothing you’ve ever known.

“I miss her,” you whisper. “I miss my mom.”

His hand finds yours instantly. “I know, baby. I know you do.”

You slouch down, leaning on his shoulder, and close your eyes. Joel presses his lips to the crown of your head, his thumb looping around your knuckles.

Sarah gurgles in her sleep. She sighs – a satisfied little sound. Nothing has ever made more sense.

His voice rumbles against your skull. “Who sent the lilies?”

Your eyes flutter open. “Hm?”

Joel flicks his finger towards the window, towards a sprawl of speckled, cream flowers. “The lilies? They weren’t there this morning.”

“Oh…” You turn to look up at him, cringing.

He sees the flicker of her behind your eyes. Her lustrous curtain of hair, her perfect almond nails.

“Really?” Joel asks, mirroring your expression.

You nod, trying not to laugh. “From her and Kate. You were upstairs with Sarah when she came by. I offered to call you down, but – she just wanted to drop ‘em and go.”

“What did she…? Did she say anything?”

Your head shakes. “She just…she said congratulations, said she hoped we were okay. Then she got in her car and she left. I kinda figured things weren’t sunshine and roses, anyway. You haven’t fuckin’ seen her since Houston.”

He snorts, fingers massaging his eyes. “I was goin’ to tell you,” he mumbles into his palms, “I just…Honey, I don’t even know what day of the week it is right now. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you mutter.

“Yes, I do,” he insists. His eyes flit over to Sarah, then back to you. “We haven’t really talked it through yet, me ‘n her. I called her a few days ago, we agreed it’s time. It – it’s past time. I shoulda called it months ago.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s brow furrows. “’course I am. I got the most beautiful baby girl in the world,” and then, rolling his eyes, “you’re here.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you clip, batting his arm. “Vanessa could do way better, anyways.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

You squeeze his fingers, softly adding, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Joel.”

He stares down at your clasped hands. He looks tired, worn out. You figure it’s not just from the newborn. But he takes a deep breath, something the color of relief dawning on his skin, and looks you dead in the eye.

“I’m not.”

­“Hey, Duckie – can you say, Happy birthday, Daddy?”

A vinyl wobbles on the turntable – some acoustic record from when Joel was a teenager. There’s wrapping paper still crumpled beneath the coffee table; four plates with more crumbs than cake left, dotted around the room.

Tommy leans in, a lopsided party hat on his head, and tickles Sarah’s chin.

She blinks at him, unamused, then scrunches her little nose and turns back into your chest.

He sighs, straightening. “She don’t like her uncle Tommy all that much,” he grumbles, sulking back over to the couch. Maria puts a consoling arm around his shoulder.

You rest your lips on Sarah’s head, breathing in her sweet scent. Swaying back and forth, you tease, “She don’t like anyone all that much, not unless they’re her daddy.”

Joel’s head lifts and he smiles, eyes glistening. He watches you and Sarah dance; laughs when you twirl her around and she tips her head back, flashing a gummy grin.

“She’ll come around to ya,” he tells Tommy, wandering over to your side. “We all learned to, eventually.”

Tommy scoffs. “Very funny, old man. Jesus.”

Joel stoops down to let Sarah run her small hands through his beard. He catches her fingertips between his lips and pretends to nibble on them.

She giggles, squirming in your arms. Her fingers find the sweeps of hair on his forehead and, taking a fistful, she tugs.

“Christ,” Joel hisses, pulling back.

“That was on you this time,” you chuckle, pointing a finger. “You know she does that, and you still fall for it.”

Maria glances down at her watch. “Is that the time?” she asks, turning to Tommy. “We should really turn in.”

“Oh – right, right.” Tommy tips the last of his beer into his mouth. “We’re takin’ Mom to brunch tomorrow. Better get some goddamn rest.”

Joel hums, still massaging his hairline. “Hey,” he whispers, elbowing you. “Maybe I should take her over. She’s getting sleepy – ain’t you, little Duck?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tommy stands and holds a hand out. “Why don’t you let Maria and I take her? We’ll tuck her in, keep an eye on her. We weren’t half bad the other day, while y’all were at work. And if she’s stayin’ at Joel’s tonight anyway…”

You glance to Joel, who shrugs. Something shaped like Sure.

“As long as you don’t mind,” you reply, bouncing the baby slowly. “Let me go grab her things.”

Joel’s hand slips across the small of your back as you pass, making for the stairs. He lingers at the bottom, watching until you turn into the nursery with Sarah in the crook of your arm.

You set her down in her crib and gather some of her favorites: a yellow blanket, a duck comforter, a rattle shaped like an elephant. She watches contentedly as you shuffle back and forth, staring when you lean over the wooden rail.

“You know how much I love you?” you whisper, curling a finger inside her fist. She squeezes, and you say, “More than the whole world.”

She grabs at the chain dangling from your neck, the letter S catching the light. Instead, she lifts your finger to her mouth. Her nails scratch light as a feather across your skin. Her gums are tiny and soft around your knuckle.

Everything about her is tiny and soft. Her sweeping eyelashes, her plushy cheeks. Her round tummy, and the squeals she lets free as you dot kisses and blow raspberries all over it. No matter how much she’s grown in three months, she’s still so tiny.

She’ll always be the smallest, sweetest thing you’ve ever known. And she’s all yours.

“Jesus, kid,” you sniff, swiping at your tears. You slip your hands around her back and prop her on your hip. “Alright, let’s go. Quit making your mom cry.”

The bag over your shoulder, you carry her out of the room and into the dark hallway. It’s quiet downstairs; nothing but the crackle of the record player, the distant chink of dishes in the kitchen.

That – and hushed voices in the living room.

“Joel,” Tommy says, over and over again. He’s trying to cut in between his brother’s rambling. Joel – listen to me. Just listen, for one second –”

You linger on the bottom step, trying to split Joel’s voice from Tommy’s. Trying to pluck the words out, over Maria’s humming from the next room.

“…and it ain’t that simple, Tommy it’s –”

“What ain’t simple about it? You have a –” Tommy says it through his teeth, “– you have a kid together, Joel. You really think she’s gonna –”

Sarah grabs the charm around your neck and shakes suddenly, rattling the chain.

You close your hand around hers, losing your balance. “Shhhhit, Duckie, you –”

Joel’s eyes snap to your figure as you step down. He clears his throat, leaning away from Tommy. “Hey – hey, darlin’.”

“Hey,” you reply. Bright. Chipper. Unclenching your fist to let your daughter shake your necklace some more.

She squeals with delight when she spots Joel across the room.

“She ready to go?” he asks, slinging a quick – telling – look at Tommy.

You look between the brothers, browns quirking. They look as guilty as each other: scratching their beards, staring at the furniture instead of you. “Uhuh,” you reply, tongue against your teeth. “Everything…everything okay?”

Tommy slaps his thighs as he stands. “Everything’s great, sweetheart. Sure as shit. Joel – you, uh…you got a key on ya?”

“Oh, yep.” Joel reaches into his pocket. He unhooks a silver key from the chain and drops it into his brother’s open palm.

Tommy calls for Maria. He sidesteps around you, face flushed and smiling.

She floats through from the kitchen, drying her palms on her jeans. “Where’s my baby duck?” she sings, reaching for Sarah.

You pass her over and she melts into her aunt’s arms, curling up into a little pink lump on her chest. “She just had a feed, like, twenty minutes ago, so – she should go down pretty well. And there are more bottles in Joel’s fridge, if you need ‘em.”

Maria nods, wrapping Sarah’s blanket around her. She lifts the bag strap from your shoulder and hands it to Tommy. “I’ll text you as soon as she’s down. Come on, Duckie, let’s get you to bed.”

Tommy leans over and squeezes your arm, winking as he follows his wife. He calls goodnight to Joel, lifting a pointed finger over his head, and closes the door behind them.

Things could not have gone smoother.

It’s suspicious as shit.

You turn when you hear Joel shifting.

“C’mon,” he utters, a pile of plates in one hand. “I ain’t leavin’ you with this mess.” He heads through to the kitchen, broad figure swaying.

The plates spill into the sink, water trickling over them. Joel hums to himself as he gets to work with a sponge in hand.

You linger in the living room.

Things have been good lately – peaceful. You’re in as much of a routine as Sarah will allow: a steady pattern of dropping her off and picking her back up, patchwork family dinners, daytrips whenever both of you can make them.

Your body is healing, pulling itself back together. You don’t have to think about being Mom anymore – she walks in stride with you. The world is painted a new shade of normal – one where you can do anything with a baby on your hip, one where love becomes your first language.

One where you swallow back the ache in your heart, for better or for worse. The only piece of you still fractured. The only wound left open.

Joel’s birthday cards lie flat on the coffee table. You pluck them up one by one – his parents’, Tommy and Maria’s, yours – and Sarah’s.

A messy splotch of a handprint, bright yellow paint smeared across half the fucking card (she hasn’t quite mastered self-control yet). A googly eye plastered to the bird’s chest; orange crayon for the beak and legs.

Sure, you took charge for most of the project – but when he opened it and saw his daughter’s little masterpiece, you caught him swiping his knuckle at the corner of his eye. He snuggled into her, perched on his lap, and whispered, Thank you, little Duckie.

You prop them along your mantelpiece, dotted around your mom’s photo. When you step back, looking from son to brother to…a good friend, you could almost pretend.

Almost pretend that they belong here, on this mantelpiece. There is no yours and his. Just one of everything; nothing doubled nor halved.

Almost pretend that he won’t collect them as he leaves, break into another teary laugh at the sight of the duck painting, and then kiss your cheek goodnight. Promise to have your daughter back in time to go swimming tomorrow morning.

Almost.

“Hey,” Joel calls, “did you, uh – did you hear Tommy talkin’ about Jackson?”

You slip into the kitchen, side by side with him at the sink. “Uh, yeah,” you reply, lifting a towel. “Moose, pine trees. Yep.”

“It sounds beautiful. You think we should take a trip up there sometime? Could be Sarah’s first vacation.”

“You mean the three of us?”

He shrugs, scrubbing a bowl in the water. “Sure. I don’t think Duckie would let one of us stay behind, do you? She’d scream the damn airport down,” he chuckles, looking back to the twinkling bubbles.

You hum. “Maybe.”

“You don’t feel like it?”

“No, I do. I just – I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

“Okay,” Joel says, nodding. “Put a pin in it.”

He passes you a dripping plate and you drag the towel over it, circling the pattern until the suds are wiped clean. And another, and another.

It feels awkward. It feels stiff. There’s something hanging between you, heavy on both your shoulders. A weight you haven’t felt around Joel in over a year.

You turn to him as he stacks the last plate on the draining board. “Is that what you were talking to Tommy about?”

Joel pauses. “You heard that, huh?”

“Only the part about having a kid. It’s none of my business, I know, I just –”

“Actually,” he clears his throat, “it’s plenty your business.”

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. A deep breath, cheeks puffing as he exhales. His grip on the dish towel whitens his knuckles.

He’s…nervous. The same shade of gray he wore the night you went into labor.

He takes another unsteady breath.

“Joel?” you ask, head tilting. “Whatever it is, you can say it. I got whiskey, if that’ll make it easier. Probably tastes like shit, but…”

His expression cracks. His eyes twinkle, and he smiles. Only a little, but enough. Enough to let the words slip through.

“You know, that night at Tommy’s wedding was one of the best nights of my life.”

Your heartbeat thuds a bassline in your ears; the rush of your blood the squealing guitar. Skin tacky, moans caught between teeth. Laughter and lust tangling together in the air.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Yeah. Lying there – talking, laughing, messin’ around. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in all my life. I could’ve stayed in that room with you forever.”

Your eyes start to sting. You look away.

“I thought I would regret it. I thought I should regret it. And I never did. But then,” he takes a deep breath, “the next day, I look out front, and my newspaper’s sittin’ on my lawn. And for two weeks straight, I kept checking – and there it was. I thought, Sure as shit, she regrets the whole thing. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You shake your head. “I wanted to see you again. I missed – I missed you. Missed pissin’ you off.”

He laughs. “I missed you pissin’ me off. Missed that annoying as hell thud on my porch.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to – you know,” you admit, and Joel nods.

“We got pretty good at avoidin’ each other,” he grumbles. “And then – with Vanessa, I thought I’d be doin’ you a favor. Letting you off light.”

“You…you took her number to do me a favor?”

“Naw,” Joel says. “I took her number ‘cause her brother in-law has a lumber company, and I had a closet to build. I was drunk, I was an idiot, and I brought it up to her at the wedding. By the time I thought it through, you ‘n I weren’t speakin’.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shakes his head. He edges closer to you. Voice low, he says, “I shouldn’t’ve gone out on that first date with her. I shouldn’t’ve done any of it. I should’ve talked to you about what I was feeling.”

“Well, maybe we both should’ve,” you mutter, wringing your hands. “I wasn’t exactly the best at it, either.”

His head tips, considering. “Can I tell you now?”

You glance over to him. “Tell me what, Miller?”

“Tell you…tell you that I love you,” he whispers.

It steals the breath from your lungs. One clean swipe.

He nods to himself, then – certain of it – and says it again. “I do, darlin’. I love you.”

Your heart begins to hammer. Tears spill over onto your cheeks, dripping from your jaw.

“And, look –” Joel takes your wrists, “– I got no right to say any of that, I know. I put you through a hell of a lot, these last few months – and that kills me. But if you’ll let me, I swear to you – I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”

You look up. His cheeks are dappled, too – glistening with tears. “Joel…” you weep.

He cups your jaw. “Listen to me. What we’ve had, the last three months – I want it all the time. I want you, and I want Duck. I want the three of us under one roof. I want to sleep in the same bed as you.”

You breathe a shuddered laugh. Your hands fall over his wrists. Keep talking, you mouth, bottom lip trembling.

“I want to get married, or not,” Joel says. “I want to show up to Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party late, ‘cause Duck couldn’t pick which shoes she wanted to wear. I want to have more kids, take ‘em on vacation.”

“Wyoming?” you sniff.

“Wyoming,” he repeats. “I want…I want all of it, baby. You ‘n me. I want you ‘n me, more than anything in the world. And if I’m too late, then you can tell me. Tell me, and I swear on my life I will never mention it again.”

Your hands curve over his. His strong knuckles, worked and weathered and worn by his years. Down to his wrists – the tatty strap on his ages-old watch, the dark hair peppered along his arms.

“I love you so much, baby. So much that it drives me insane. You drive me…fuckin’ insane.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you whisper, balling your fists against his chest.

Joel laughs, nose brushing against yours. “Yeah,” he sniffs, “I figured you’d say som’ like that.”

“I love you, too,” you mumble, linking your arms around his neck. “Shit, I love you.”

“Ain’t that a thing?” he says, and his lips are on yours.

It’s been a year. A year since the first time you felt him – lips soft as velvet, sweet with alcohol and something stronger. His tongue and yours, his teeth and yours. Every part of you clashing with every part of him.

And goddamn, you’ve missed it.

Joel follows you upstairs, pinning you to the wall by your bedroom door. White heat flooding through your veins, he kneels before you and pulls you onto his tongue.

He’s hungry.

He laps at you as though you’ll be gone in the morning. As though he won’t wake up tangled in you, breathing in your scent, lips on your skin.

Dusk seeps in at the edges of your vision; daylight draining from the sky. It’s dark, too dark to see him clearly, but you feel him fucking everywhere.

His beard grazes the inside of your thigh. He kisses where he scratches your skin. He holds your hips steady, tongue dipping in and out.

“You know how fuckin’ sweet you taste?” he growls, slipping inside again.

He looks so good between your legs. Like he was made for it – made for you. All yours, in ways you never really understood until now.

He brings you to the edge with his tongue flat against your clit. Holding your hips firm against his mouth, groaning with you as you fall.

You come with a broken moan. Hips stutter to a halt, legs fall wide open. The warmth in your belly spills over and rushes to every corner of your body.

Joel moans, tongue still lapping as your cunt pulses all over him. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he slurs, watching you come undone.

He stands, a chaste kiss to your lips, and then parts them with his tongue. “Taste good?” he mumbles, kissing you gently.

Yeah, you think, moaning against him, it tastes fucking good.

He spreads you out on your mattress and kisses what feels like every square inch of your body. You giggle at the feeling of his lips behind your ear; moan when they close around your nipple.

Your back arches; little lightning bolts as he pulls the buds to a peak. Your fingers knot through his hair; hissing at the meeting of pain and pleasure between Joel’s lips.

“I love you,” you whisper, when he settles between your legs. You don’t know that you’ve felt something so true in all your life.

He smiles. Your fingers trace the lines at his eyes.

“Come here,” he says, and pulls your hips to meet his.

You curve a hand around his neck, glancing down at your open legs. “Looks a little different to the last time you saw her.”

Joel shakes his head, licking his lips. “Beautiful, baby. She looks so goddamn beautiful.”

Each movement is careful, deliberate. He notches his tip at your hole and pauses until you’re looking at him again.

And then he pushes in.

He slips an arm under your head; the other holding your thigh on his waist. He kisses you as you stretch around him. He still tastes like salt and slick.

You gasp, teeth gritting around a hiss. “Fuck,” you whimper, turning in to his chest.

“Easy, easy,” Joel coos, voice rumbling against your temple. “Catch your breath. Doin’ so good.”

“It’s not sore,” you tell him, nodding for him to move again. “It’s…it’s just…different.”

“Tighter,” he groans, eyes on your cunt as it draws his cock in.

You agree, “Tighter.”

He catches you in another kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips. “Feel so good, sweet girl. Breathe. ‘m right here.”

It’s never felt like this before. This gentle, this tender.

You have never felt like this before. Broken open, stitched back together. Your heart split into two – whole again each time his body meets yours.

Joel catches your moans on his tongue. He steadies his pace; rocking into you over and over. Laughing against your lips; your fingers intertwined with his.

“Feel good?” he pants.

Your head rolls back. “Mhm.”

“Take it, baby. Such a tight little thing.”

“Joel,” you cry, “I’m close.”

His teeth nip at your neck. “Shit,” his hips jump, “attagirl. Just like that.” He thrusts into you harder, bleeding the color from your vision.

You pull his lips to yours, foreheads tacky. Joel’s eyes gloss over.

I love you, he breathes.

And the world whitens.

He pulls you against his chest when you come back around. Shifts up the headboard, skin all sticky and warm. He kisses your temples, kisses your shoulders, kisses your knuckles.

You melt into his grasp, turning to look up at him. You run your fingers over his lips, through his damp hair. Just staring. Drinking him all in.

“You were right next door, the entire time,” you whisper.

He runs a thumb across your cheek. “Yep.”

“Do you think we wasted too much time?”

Joel’s lip turns. “Nah,” he says. “We found our way.”

“Needed a little help, though.”

He scoffs, tongue between his teeth. “I’m sure she’ll hold it against us forever.”

You think of that evening in August. The last bow of the sun before your world changed forever. Of deals struck and promises made. Of satin on your fingertips – newspaper ink and duck egg silk.

You think of that photograph on your mantelpiece. Bright eyes watching every second of it. A smile on her face the entire time.

You laugh to yourself. Joel looks down and kisses your swollen cheek.

“We should go,” he taps your thigh, “got a little duck who’ll be wonderin’ where her mama and daddy are.”

The church tower rings out twice as the truck purrs between graves.

Joel pulls up under the shade of a sycamore, tires rolling to a halt. Sarah kicks her feet, her heels thudding against her car seat.

“Mama,” she presses a sticky finger to the back window, “flowers.”

“Yeah, baby,” you call over your shoulder, hugging your own graveside gift a little tighter in your arms. “Lots of ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah,” your daughter quietly considers, then kicks her seat again.

Joel waits patiently for you to give him the go ahead. He slips a hand around your knee, looking ahead at the rows of headstones. So patient, so gentle.

Your chest swells, a deep breath filling your lungs, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Sure?” he asks. “Take as long as you want, darlin’.”

But if you wait any longer, you’ll never leave. The paper wrap crinkles in your arms. “You take Duck,” you reply, “I’ll take…”

Joel lifts your hand, placing a soft kiss between your knuckles. “You got it. We’ll walk on.”

He leaves you in the truck to collect yourself. He unbuckles Sarah and sets her loose, following her across the grass with his hands in his pockets.

Her light-up sneakers flash as she sprints; head tossed back, toothless smile pointed to the sun. She turns back to her dad, her little hand fitting perfectly into his.

Made for each other.

You hook your fingers around the handle and leave the truck.

Their grave is a short walk down a grassy slope, sheltered by another towering tree. Its leaves flutter down around you as you near the stone; stray petals which catch in the breeze and lead the way.

You kneel down, the grass dry and prickly through your jeans. “Hi, Mom,” you whisper, sweeping some dust from the base of the grave. “Hi, Dad.”

Your grandma picked this spot. She’s long gone – laid to rest elsewhere with a grandfather you never met – so you try to visit as often as you can. Freshen the flowers, brighten up the stone.

It fucking sucks, but someone’s gotta do it.

You peel the brown paper from the bouquet, exposing the soft colors Sarah picked back in the florist. They fit perfectly on the stone, right beneath the words Devoted parents.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a feeling that wraps itself around your throat and steals any other words – until a flash of pink catches your attention.

“Duckie,” Joel calls, following her between graves. “Hey. This is a cem…Hey, Duck, listen – this is a cemetery, we gotta be – Sarah!”

You stifle a laugh, watching him jog after the hoodie tied around her waist. He swipes for her hand and she dodges him, ducking between graves faster than his mid-fifties joints can turn him.

There’s no one else here – it’s only you. And it’s a quiet enough place as it is, so – you let her laugh. Let him chase her, and let her sneakers light the place in pink. What else is there to do?

“Sorry it’s been a little while,” you tell your parents, eyes still on your man.

He’s kneeling now, Sarah on his thigh, in front of a tall, cross-shaped stone. They’re pointing at the words on the stone, her inquisitive eyes studying each one.

“I know I said I’d come visit for Dad’s birthday, but I guess things got busy – what with the move and all. We’re still living out of boxes. But the girls’ rooms are almost done – we just gotta paint ‘em.”

You look back down to the stone. Your mom’s name carved deep into spotted marble, your dad’s underneath. One awful date to tie them both together.

Dad probably heard Duck’s first squeal and turned away; gone back to whatever boring activity he might get up to in the afterlife. But your mom, you know for certain, is sat with her chin on the heel of her palm. Watching her mini-me trace the shapes of words, squirming when Joel presses his lips to her temple and whispers hints to her.

She’s probably smiling, making some comment about how big Sarah’s getting. How smart she is, how funny. How she must keep you and Joel on your toes – and goddamn, she’s right.

“Joel’s been working on the kitchen,” you continue. “I left my phone in the truck, but you should see it, Mom. He got these marble countertops, these little brushed-gold handles. He wrote our names on the wall before he tiled it, so whoever remodels after we’re gone will find that. The four of us.”

“M-meh-mem-orr-mem-or-ree?” Sarah tilts her head.

Joel nods. “Memory, yeah. Good job, Duck.”

“Duckie’s good,” you tell your mom. “She’s top of her class in – well, everything. Really wiping the floor with all the other first-graders. She’d have been your favorite – I know that much. And you’d have been hers.

“She’s gonna be some kind of lawyer, we think. Social justice and all that. She likes to be a woman of the people. Always talkin’ back to Joel – she hardly cuts him any slack, these days,” you laugh.

“He’s good, too – Joel. Working hard, as usual. Tommy and Maria visited last week – they brought Buckley, and now Duck won’t stop goin’ on about us getting a dog.”

You chance a glance over the stone, making sure the pair are out of earshot when you add, “Don’t tell her, but we called the pound last night. We’re heading there tomorrow while she’s at school to pick one out for her birthday. Joel’s giddier than I think Sarah’s gonna be.”

Joel’s carrying Duck now, wandering down a wobbly row of graves.

She halts him by pointing to one. “N-eh-v-eh-never…fff-or-g-for–”

He stares at her, a grin breaking across his lips. “Sound it out, that’s it. ‘s a big word, baby girl. You got it.”

The world seems to blur around them. The birds sing, a light melody from overhead. The green trees sway across the blue of the sky; the straight soar of cars on the highway. It all fades into the background, behind the two of them – wandering from shade into brilliant sun.

Your family. Your man, your blood – and everything in between. The little girl who brought it all together in the end – leading her dad by hand over knolls and broken stone, chasing butterflies, and asking what eh-teh-err-nal means.

“Means forever,” Joel says, kneeling beside her. “’s how long I’m gonna love you for.”

“And Nel?”

“And Nel.”

“And Mama?”

“And Mama.”

Sarah runs her hands through his beard, swaying side to side. “But me the most,” she concludes, nodding.

Joel hms, biting back a laugh. He lifts his chin, asks the little girl whether or not he’s going gray.

She has the same ridiculous laugh you do. The same snort you used to find so embarrassing, until you heard it come from her.

Just watching them stokes the already burning fire in your ribcage – the warmth flooding around your heart. He’s so good at it – being a dad.

Was he ever anything else, before he was a father? You can’t remember a time you didn’t wake up next to him, wrapped up in his arms, or with one of his kids burrowed between your bodies. It all feels so long ago, now.

He wanted to do everything. He’d lie with you between his legs, holding your half-sleeping form upright while you fed her. He’d race home after work specially to bathe her. He picked up any and every single duck-themed thing that he came across.

And what were you? Mom felt like such a fucking longshot. So out of your reach that you couldn’t understand the meaning of the word.

But there are days when she says it – Sarah, looking up at you with Joel’s twinkling eyes and a smirk which matches yours – and it’s like you’ve been waiting your whole life to hear it. Like you’ve been waiting your whole life for her.

Well. Her, and her little sister.

“And, uh – another thing,” you say, reaching for the plastic handle of a car seat. “I brought somebody for you to meet.”

A clumsy fist shoots up to shake a speckled dinosaur toy – the brown spheres of its eyes catching the sunlight. She squeals with delight when you unbuckle her, kicks her legs the same way her sister always did.

“She’s a little nervous, ain’t you, Nel?” you whisper, laughing at her gummy smile and tiny, socked feet. “She spit up on herself on the way here, but – I think you’re gonna love her.”

You perch the baby on your thigh, same as Joel did with Sarah, and she wraps her fingers around one of yours. You wiggle it – waving to your mom’s name, to the petals gently fluttering in the breeze.

“Mom,” you sniff, “this is Ellie.”

[mingsolo]

yeosang x reader (f) / g: crime au, arranged marriage, angst, smut / wc: 6.5k / warnings: guns, blood mentions, descriptions of violence, minor character death, general 'mafia' and crime references, language, sexual content / r: 18+

another fic for another now defunct collab that i decided to write anyways! ps. sorry for the banner, i had a free editor and a dream :')

It's a beautiful Saturday. 

The bushes and trees glow with that yellowish green shade proper to late summer. The sun is warm and it makes everything shine with a golden hue. You glance quickly towards your mother, she really knows how to choose the right date for the right parties.

As you bring your champagne glass closer to your lips, not sipping on it yet, the sight of the handsome man coming down the patio stairs behind your mom grabs your attention. He’s greeting and smiling warmly to everyone who gets closer to congratulate him. 

Kang Yeosang, son of your father’s biggest and longest associate; soon to be one, if not— the most influential name of crime in South Korea.

And now, your husband.

“You can’t deny he knows how to look happy,” the voice of your younger brother interrupts your thoughts as he slides beside you, taking a champagne glass for himself from the waiter's tray as they pass by. “But you still think he is too...” Chan makes a pause reflecting on his words, “Soft?.” 

You remain silent, your upper lip still slightly pressed into your glass. Your eyes don't leave your husband for a moment. Now he’s talking amusedly with your, barely older than you — stepmother, smiling and petting the two pomeranians she refused to leave at home for the wedding. He carries them like babies, smiles at them as your father’s wife shamelessly strokes his shoulder and smiles widely at the act. He puts the little dogs back in the ground and the furry things sprint around his feet as if he was their owner. He laughs heartily at the cute scene and it can be heard through the whole party. His laugh was low but gentle, warm and contagious. 

“He does seem, maybe too nice...” Chan adds, before getting distracted by the giggles of his new girlfriend coming from a few feet away. “Shit.” He says and sprints away to her. You glance over the scene, the barely overage girl drunk as a skunk hovering over one of your cousins. You chuckle as Chan disappears into the main house draggin the girl away from your cousin. Immediately your eyes go back to Yeosang. 

The more you stare at him the more he seems a stranger to the life you were used to living. He acts and looks softer and purer than every man in the room. You can hardly believe he has seen the surface of what this kind of life has to offer. But again, his father was one of the most ruthless men of the country, it was equally hard to believe he hadn't.

Barely a month ago, when your father gave you the ultimatum to marry someone powerful in the city, you had thought of Jeong Yunho first. Yunho, son of the chief of security of the capital, and an agent of the government himself. Both of them are corrupted and dirty even more than your own family, and half the “criminals” they swore to catch everyday. 

Yunho was also your classmate back at law school, your party sidekick and your tennis partner, one with an incredible hit. You both had a long relationship of business and pleasure. Sadly, he was already engaged to the Governor's god-daughter. Everyone knew your family and he had a long history of running dirty business under the table, but marrying? That would be too much for Yunho’s bosses at the government to turn a blind eye to.

So after a short thought, all cards fall back into the Kang family, the only family beside yours with enough influence and power in Seoul. When you were told the son of Boss Kang was back in Korea after spending most of his twenties overseas, you had no chance but to accept he was the one. 

It was a little troublesome, not knowing what to expect from him. But you would find out soon enough, or so you thought. 

You didn’t meet Yeosang until a week before the wedding, at a rushed dinner arranged by both families. 

The first time you laid eyes on him, all you could see was sincerity. He was polite, bright, witty and surprisingly fun. He had deep brown eyes and fine lips. On the left side of his face, he spotted a rather big beauty mark of peculiar shape. Beauty marks of that kind are usually unwanted and something to keep hidden, worse than scars, but the ones on his face framed it gracefully, like a fine accessory.

On him, there was none of the somber demeanor the people who have seen it all in this lifestyle usually had. At one moment he turned to you and smiled, understanding you might be cautious around him, and that confused you. You weren’t used to having emphatic men around you. 

“Here’s to an union that brings out the best for both our families.” He had said with a toast, and for a moment when he smiled softly at you, it seemed like the life you were about to have by his side was a normal, risk free kind of one. 

That was the first time you saw your now husband. This day, the wedding, was the second. 

“Lovely wedding,” a soft voice came from behind you. You recognized it instantly, looking over your shoulder to see the tall frame of Yunho getting closer. “You look so beautiful as a bride”. He raised his glass and both made a silent toast, still looking ahead to the patio. “I heard you are going to Greece for your honeymoon?.” he pouted slightly. “Very romantic.” 

“Now, who told you that?.” your eyes roll at him. You took the chance to glance at the expensive tuxedo he was wearing and how it looked maybe too good on him. It was really a shame you weren’t marrying Yunho instead, that trip to Greece probably wouldn’t have to go to waste.

“Chan did, but you knew that.” He smiled.

You glanced at your brother, who was now dragging his girlfriend back to the party, saying a few curses to your cousin as they passed by him. “Didn’t see you at the ceremony.” you turned to Yunho, who was shamelessly eyeing your cleavage. 

“Oh I just came to the party,” He licks his bottom lip “I couldn’t bear seeing you swore true love to another man, tears are not a good look on me.” 

You scoffed. “Doubt so.” 

He smiled, biting his bottom lip. “So, have you had time to get to know more about him?.” 

The sudden question made you arch your eyebrows. “Well, he is Kang Yeosang, soon leader of the entire Kang clan, owner of half of the dirty business in South Korea, what am I missing?.” 

“I guess there’s nothing else worth knowing?.”

You look back at your now husband, pursing your lips when you find him staring directly at you. He was a few feet away but you could feel his eyes on yours, it was just a second but it sent shivers down your spine. He then immediately turned his attention to his father beside him. 

“You alright?.” Yunho asks, raising his voice lightly as you zoned out for a moment.

You shook your head, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“When are you coming back from Greece?.” Yunho knows better than to try to push an answer out of you.

“Uh, we both need to get back quickly, so a week or so.”

Yunho hummed. “Will you call me when you get back?.” He said sipping on his drink without taking his eyes from you. You shook the sensation from before and chuckled. Men were really like kids. “Please?.” he added with a pout. 

“You got balls huh? You really don’t care, I'm married to a Kang now?.” 

Yunho turned to see Yeosang, now leaning attentively, as his father spoke to him closely. “Not really, should I?.” 

“No, I don’t think so.” you turned to your husband again, not really believing he was entirely harmless. His kind laugh resonated again. Comforting, contagious, and you smiled.

.

.

.

That same night you and your husband flew to Greece. You got there together, to the mansion owned by Yeosang’s father, a house big enough to fit a couple of families without a chance for them to cross paths for a few days. 

Yeosang gave you a brief tour of the mansion and said that every person there was your disposition for everything you needed. The only rule was not to get out to the city alone. He had business to attend to, of course, so after showing you around he left you and told you he would be back late that night.

He never did. So you spent the night getting familiar with the place, didn’t even bother to unpack except for your bathing suit and some toiletries as you knew you would spend all the time at the pool or sunbathing at the private beach, with your body guards close by all the time.

You got mad at first, as you too had matters to attend back home and decided to put them on pause for the trip. If he had stayed at least you could get to know him better, get an idea of who he was as a person, but he didn't show up for the next two days. 

You planned to return back to Seoul alone on a tantrum, but decided to just stay and enjoy the comfort of the mansion and the sea. Whatever the case, you needed a week of relaxation before going back to normal business. Yeosang or not, you knew people in the city and you could go out to the club or something. You had an arsenal of armed bodyguards to feel safe despite what Yeosang had warned you about.

On top of that, the thought of calling Yunho once you were back home ringed in the back of your head, so the wait was worth enduring. 

By the end of the week, after daily sunbathing and catching up with a few books, you decided it was time to have at least a night of real fun. You called a couple of friends, letting them know you were in the city and were in need for a night out. 

The night finally came, only a few minutes past nine.  Your shiniest and shortest dress is waiting for you lying on the bed. Right now in just your silk nightgown you were finishing with your makeup, when a sudden loud blast made you roll the tip of the lip gloss applicator over your cheek. Reflexes abruptly make you take out your revolver from the nightstand, walking slowly to the door paying attention to any noise. 

You glance outside through the glass windows, the garden lights illuminating the roundabout at the entrance of the mansion. There you spot the men guarding the entrance getting in an alert position, running towards the door. 

A couple of loud blasts more and you see two of them dropping on the ground. Quickly you turn the lights off and hide in the back of the room, the moonlight giving you enough vision to see if someone gets inside, your gun closer to your face pointing ahead.

Alerted, you hear steps getting closer. “Mrs. Kang, are you hurt?!”. A voice you couldn’t recognize shouted. Yeosang’s men were still pretty unfamiliar to you and this was definitely not one of your guards. 

You cautiously got closer to the door, gun still ready to shoot. “I’m fine.” you said. The handle of the door twisted as the man outside tried to get it open. “Tell me what is happening.” 

“Someone tried to get into the house, they are probably looking for you or the boss, they got the ones at the entrance.” 

You recalled one of your guards dropping on the ground a few moments back at the roundabout, and you sighed. “How many inside?.”

“A lot ma'am, we need to move quickly, please come out.” you could sense the man’s hurried tone on his voice.

“Where is my husband?.” 

The man got silent for a moment before shouting. “He’s on his way, but right now we need to take you to a safer place, they are probably after you as well.” 

Suddenly your cell phone began vibrating, it was over your bed, so you went to pick it up quickly. It was Yeosang calling. 

“Mrs. Kang?!” the man shouted.

You tapped to answer the call. “Don’t open the door. I’m close.” your husband's voice was calm and clear, you didn’t respond and he hung up.

The man kept calling you as he knocked on the door. Desperation showing with the force and pacing with each knock. You hid inside the back of the room pointing out again. After a few seconds of silence you got startled by the man kicking the door, opening it widely. You pointed at him silently, thinking the dim lights were hiding you and giving you time to have the upper hand.

“Gotcha.”

The man jumped at you, having seen your reflection by the wall mirror against where you were hiding. You shooted and missed, he took the chance to tackle you down. He roughly rolls your body facing the ground, hands at your back, gun point to your head. 

“You should have just opened.” he whispered to your ear, making you grin in disgust. 

“You better let go of me.” you glared at him, as he made you stand up and guided you to the door with so much force your arm was getting numb. 

“Or what?,” he chuckled, pressing the gun to your temple, hurting you. 

“Or I will blow your brains out”. 

Both the man and you looked up, the shape of Yeosang entering the room from the door frame, gun pointed at the latter. Two of his men behind him.

In the background, the shooting had ceased, apparently this man holding you was the last of the ones that had entered the house. 

“There’s none of your friends left here,” Yeosang said, confirming your suspicions. The man tensed against you, now practically choking you by having his arm on your neck. “Let her go. I won’t repeat myself.”

“Fuck you Kang, here’s a little message from-” 

The man’s last words were interrupted by Yeosang shooting his gun to his head, just a couple inches from your own. The loud noise made your ears ring, as the sudden force the man was applying to your neck vanished completely as he dropped dead. Blood and brain matter covered the top of your head. The cheek you had ruined with your lip gloss now covered in red. 

For a moment you groaned in disgust, falling on your knees trying to breathe normally again, soothing your neck from where the dead man was choking you.

“Get up. We need to go.” Yeosang gave you his hand and helped you up. The blood dripping down your neck made you nauseous and you couldn’t hold it any more. The last thing you saw before fainting was Yeosang’s eyes on yours, your name sounding muffled as you closed your eyes on him. 

.

.

.

When you woke up, you couldn’t recognize the room you were in. It was almost the same as the room you were in before. Big glass windows that reached the ceiling, greek decor and furniture. The light coming through the white curtains blinded you for a moment. When your eyes adjust to the sunlight, you look out, the Greece sea reflecting the sun rays back at it. 

Your head was spinning. Instinctively you caressed your neck. Carefully you got up towards the big vanity mirror placed in front of the bed you were laying on. No trace of blood or the rest of that ashole’s brain over you, yet remembering how it felt made you nauseous again. A few faded yellow and purple bruises painted on your neck. 

“You should go and take a proper shower.” 

Yeosang’s voice came from the door frame, where he was leaning on. He walked slowly inside the room, passing you by and looking outside through the window glass.

“Who cleaned me?.” was the first thing you asked.

“The maids.” He said calmly. “How are you feeling?.”

“My head is killing me. And now I have these ugly bruises all over my neck, definitely not the good kind.” 

Yeosang hummed, arching his eyebrows slightly. “How many times have you been in that kind of situation?.”

“A few.”

He remained silent, looking at you as you poured water into a tall glass. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, getting closer. “One of your guys from Korea told them where we were, I should have been there.” 

“What?.” 

“Jung Taein?.”

“Jung? No fucking way.” you chuckled bitterly.

“It’s my fault. You alone at the house made you an easy target.” He said ashamed, looking away. “It won’t happen again.” 

“Do you know who sent them?.” 

“Yes.”

“Would you take care of that?.”

“It’s done.” 

“Alright.” you added, finishing the water. 

“Let me know when you are ready. We are flying back to Seoul as soon as you are.” 

With that, Yeosang left the room, leaving you for the time being. 

The flight back was a silent one. Yeosang spent the whole time on the phone -yours was turned off. That was for the better. Your parents must be calling you non stop all morning. You took the chance to sleep more, since you were still a little shaken by the attack. 

As soon as you put foot at home, the whole day was turbulent. Both your mother and Chan were already waiting for you in the living room of your new mansion. They asked all kinds of questions again and again, making you dizzy. They both questioned Yeosang as well, making him swear that the guy who had planned the attack was more than dead. 

Your father showed up later that evening, and the whole thing repeated itself. He spent most of the time in Yeosang’s office, briefly asking if you were okay when he arrived. When he was ready to leave he stroked your head saying “The pig is dead, your husband took care of that himself.”

That night, laying alone in your new bed, feeling cold and anxious more than ever, you replayed the scene in your head over and over. 

“These mercenaries and their speeches, always thinking of themselves as movie villains.” Your father had said to you once when you were little. “Once they start talking, you have to shoot them.” 

As you remembered this, you felt like smiling. 

The next morning you got downstairs to have breakfast, surprisingly finding Yeosang at the table.

“Good morning.” He greets.

“Morning, oh what do we have here?.” you yawn, siting and finding a plate of pancakes and fresh fruit already served.

“You need energy.” 

“Mmh,” you giggle cutely, catching a glimpse of Yeosang's smile. He notices you noticed the gesture and he quickly goes back to his breakfast. “How are you feeling?. ' he adds, eyeing his plate.

“Way better.” you said, shoving a big piece of pancake on your mouth, “I need to get ready to go to my office.” 

Yoesang clears his throat, pensive. “I think you should lay low for a while.” 

“Isn’t the guy that attacked me dead now?.” you asked, stuffing a strawberry on your mouth as one of the maids poured orange juice on a tall glass for you.

“Yes.” Yeosang pressed his back against his chair. “But there’s other guys.” 

“What about you? Are you going to stay home as well?” your voice sounds annoyed but you don’t care. Yeosang looks briefly at you and then away. “So what should I do then? Stay hidden for the rest of the year here?.” 

“Just a few weeks, until we are sure no one else is onto us anymore.” He said standing up.

“You know, there will always be someone “onto us”.” you huff, rolling your eyes at him. 

“Let me know if you need something.” he said, giving you a nod and walking away.

“Seems like it's going to be you and me, girls.” you said to the two maids when he disappeared from the room. The women gave you a polite smile and you sigh.

That morning was the last time you saw him in almost four weeks.

Handling work stuff from the house was mad boring, and you started to feel claustrophobic. Rounded by security, you only had visits from your mom and Chan, sometimes your father or your new in-laws. The house was full of people all the time yet you felt completely alone in it. Suddenly you missed your office, your old apartment, your friends, anything but that strange house who you could barely call yours. 

But oddly and mostly, you were desperate to get laid. It was a bothersome sensation inside you, not being able to release the stress from everything that had happened within the last month from being recently married to a stranger to almost being killed on your supposed honeymoon.

So you did what you planned to do in the first place as soon as you were back, the only thing that would make you release the stress and clear your mind. 

Yunho called first, a few days after you arrived back at Seoul. The conversation was brief but he let you know he was available for whenever you wanted to see him. A month ago it seemed too recent to meet with him, but now it felt just about right. 

Finally tonight, after having spent a full month trapped inside your house, you and your friend decide to meet up.

Both knew you needed to be cautious; you are a recently married woman —and he, an engaged man. 

You decided to meet up downtown. You had an apartment there in one of the biggest hotels at the center of a prestigious but quiet district. You used it mostly to crash on when you partied regularly, so it was a familiar place to your guards. Yunho let you know he already booked one of the suits for the night, so he could just knock on your door without any trouble. 

Yeosang hadn’t called for a few nights, apparently he was attending some business in Tokyo with both your father and his. It was the perfect timing.

The night arrived and you finally went out. As you got ready in front of the mirror in the bedroom, anticipation started to build as you waited for Yunho.

You changed into a casual dress, and your favorite jewelry; a long pearl necklace that ended up in the right place at your cleavage. Hair styled in a messy bun, the best hairstyle to try when you knew it was going to end up disheveled — a trick you learned from your mother’s long sessions in front of the mirror when you were maybe too young to even understand the tip. 

You sprayed your favorite perfume on the right spots and poured a few drinks, preparing yourself to loosen up to finally enjoy a good night since you married, even if it wasn’t with your own husband. 

Midnight, and Yunho hadn’t shown up. You started to get annoyed. Sending him a couple of texts like; ‘Where the fuck are you?.’ and ‘Are you serious right now?.’ 

You were growing impatient, desperate. He had said late night but this was just too much. And why wasn’t he answering your texts?. 

You blew raspberries, lying back on the bed. Incorporating a little, you saw yourself in the tall mirror at the corner of the room. Your backless dress, makeup… you looked so good and now it was going to get to waste.

It was ridiculous that with all the power, money, a damn husband and a friend like Yunho, you were really struggling this much to get laid. 

Being almost killed —again, having your family on your neck all the time, the pressure of the business and people — had to deal with, and an absent husband you barely knew on top of that was starting to get to you for good.

Grabbing your phone ready to call Yunho, something you would never do being in your right senses, you hear a knock on your door. 

You sit on the bed automatically, fixing the wrinkles of your dress. “Fucking finally.” 

Walking towards the door, you looked through the peephole, immediately taking a few steps back. The man at the door wasn’t Yunho.

“What is he doing here?,” you muttered to yourself. 

“Are you going to open?.” Yeosang’s voice coming from outside made you come to your senses, he sounded different from the other times you two had spoken. Hesitating, you opened the door. His hair was down and parted in the middle, wavy strands falling at the sides of his ears. He was dressed casually, not in the usual business attire you have seen him in so far. 

Yeosang walked in, closing the door behind him. You looked nervously around, feeling suddenly exposed by your little outfit, and he seemingly read your mind, as he took his sweet time looking at your clothes, or the lack of them.

“What are you doing here?.” you ask, trying to sound casual. Suddenly the thought of Yunho knocking on the door any moment made your stomach turn upside down. “Weren’t you in Tokyo?.”

“I remember telling you no to go out yet, so the question is what are you doing here?.” 

You shrugged, feeling his gaze all over you. “I- was, going out…”

“If you wanted to fuck, you just had to ask,” he looked at you with a dark shine on his eyes. “I never told you you were allowed to be playing whore with other men, did I?”.

Your chest started to thump. This wasn’t the Yeosang you have known so far. He spoke harshly, but with a slight hurt pride that confused you.

“The fuck that’s supposed to mean?.” you glared back at him. “You haven’t talked to me properly since we married, you don’t even sleep at home.” you said, mimicking quoting the last word with your fingers. He glared at you too, walking towards you and hovering you against the wall. “Seriously, you won't even allow me one normal dinner and you think you have the right to tell me what to do?.” 

“I'm your husband.” he said dryly, “That should be enough.”

“A husband who hasn’t even fucked his wife once.” 

Yeosang scoffed. He looked at you with big eyes, deep brown eyes that shone differently from back when you saw them at the wedding. You were tense, that wasn’t what you wanted to reproach him for, but your brain was letting the words come out from your mouth without a second thought. “Were you waiting for that Jeong bastard to come here and fuck you? Are you that desperate?.” 

“Yes. Maybe I fucking am.” 

Just then, Yeosang tugged your chin with his hand, brushing the hem of your skirt with his fingers, slowly getting them underneath. His breath was hot and it burned against your neck. He leaned forward, brushing your throat with his lips, and then the tip of his tongue. 

“Well look at you, being all eager.” He whispered with a voice so dark you couldn’t recognize it belonged to him. 

His hand was now fully under your skirt, and his thumb brushed softly where you needed him the most. Your hips start rolling towards the contact, desperate for more friction. You pressed your lips together, restraining yourself from giving in so easily, but the truth was that you needed to be touched. Yeosang rolled his thumb over your damped spot, his gaze got cloudy, tongue resting on his bottom lip as he rubbed in circles on your clothed clit. He slides the lacy fabric to the side, gently pressing two fingers inside you. 

You let out a whimper, biting your bottom lip. Surprised at how he knows exactly how to curl his fingers upward, his fingers caress your center so sweetly, feeling as familiar as your own.

“You feel just like I imagined.” He brushes his words over your lips, kissing you softly. His tongue finally lands against yours, sending tingles all the way to your lower stomach. 

“You imagined?.” you moan against his mouth, and he slowly wraps his hand on your neck, making just the right pressure to make your closed eyes roll to the back of your head. 

“Mmhh.” his voice vibrates over your lips, while he kisses you roughly and sloppily. He’s now adding a third finger deep inside you. You throw your arms at his neck and lift your leg onto his hip to give him more access. He grabs your leg with the hand that isn’t inside you, and continues fingering you with faster pace without stopping kissing you.

“Oh my god…” you cry when he begins scissoring and curling his fingers inside you. You let out a loud moan knowing you are done for and he stops kissing to see you as you come. His fingers keep going, gaze fixated on you as you shut your eyes and roll your hips making his fingers touch you even deeper. “Fuck, oh fuck!.” you whimper when he doesn’t stop and you start squirting all over his fingers. He looks down cheekily, seeing how you coat his fingers with your arousal.

Yeosang smiles, removing his fingers from inside you and making you open your mouth so you can taste yourself on them, when you finish he goes back to your lips, kissing you again. “So sweet.” he whispers, lowering your leg and helping you walk to the bed. 

He makes you lay on your back, taking your panties off and throwing them aside. He lifts the skirt of your dress and places himself between your legs. “Let me taste more of that.” He says, licking your entrance with one strip, as he starts devouring you entirely until there’s no trace of your release but the sweet sensation inside you.

“Fuck, Yeosang.” you moan, feeling the familiar knot yet again. He keeps sucking on you, your hand tugging his hair from the overstimulation. 

“Are you going to come again?.” 

“Yes!.” you cry, but whine immediately after when he stops eating you up. 

“Not like that.” He helps you get up, walking backwards as he sits on the armless chair next to your vanity, taking his belt off and opening the zipper on his jeans. He helps you sit on his lap, always looking at you as he does. Your heavy lids fall on him, admiring just how beautiful he is, and you wonder for a second if you have had a man like that before him. 

Your mind is still foggy, you feel breathless but you indulge in his instructions, glad he’s telling you what to do next. 

Yeosang guides you on top of him, and you observe patiently how he takes out his length and strokes himself a few times, making sure you look. He then tugs your dress down to expose your tits. He licks his bottom lip and goes to kiss one of them sweetly, one hand stroking himself and the other squeezing and licking your nips. You hear his quiet moans and whimpers, giving each of your breasts delicate attention. When he’s had enough, he aligns you on him and slowly pushes you until he has bottomed inside you.

“You really needed this huh?,” He chuckles darkly. “Such a tiny cunt.”

You whine at first, feeling stretched so deliciously for the first time in so long. You lean and kiss him, both your tongues tasting and savoring each other. The pearls of your necklace hang over his chest, the silver of your rings shine between his hair as you dishevel it. Yeosang squeeze and massage your nips with his palm as you take the time adjusting to his length inside you.

He stops kissing your nipple and signals you to look to the side, where you find both your reflections in the big mirror of your vanity, seeing your almost naked form sitting on his lap makes the sensation on your lower abdomen intensify. Yeosang slips your dress over your head, and you remove his jacket and unbutton his shirt hastily. 

“Show me,” his tone is low, hoarse. He cups your chin with force, so you are now looking straight at him. You flutter your eyelashes confused. “What were you planning to do with him?.” he asks, heavy lids eying your bottom lip. 

You bit your lip with force, somehow embarrassed that you already forgot you were supposed to be on top of Yunho. Yeosang smirks slightly, and even if the lights in the room are dim you catch that smile and it drives you mad how confident he is, but also makes you eager to show him. 

“Yeosang, please” you whisper breathlessly, kissing him again. A big open kiss on the mouth first, then going down to his neck, his shoulder blades. You were marking every inch of skin your lips could reach in your position. It felt as if he could suddenly evaporate if you didn’t. 

You start rolling your hips back and forth on top of him, moaning everytime the tip of his cock hits your sweet spot. Yeosang had both hands on your waist, keeping you in place as you rocked your hips at a slow but steady pace, not wanting to come too fast and just enjoy the sensation of having him buried deep inside you.

Yeosang’s whimpers quietly, but intensely. He lets a dry chuckle every time you remove yourself almost completely from him only to go down in one motion over and over. Your hands are on his hair, pulling the strands everytime the pleasure was too much.

He grabs your face and kisses you, biting your bottom lip and coating your entire mouth with his tongue, desperate to fill you connected to him in every way. He groans when you bite back, enjoying every little cry and whimper you let out. “All of this for him?,” he tugs your hair making you face him. 

“Right now I’m fucking you and you only.” you tell him, eyes falling down on you unable to keep them open. “You fill me up so well.”

Yeosang smiled cockily, going to your clit and rubbing his thumb in circles again, making you bury your head on his neck. “Like that? Is that what you wanted?.” 

“Yes!” you cried out loud, not caring at all if the guards outside could hear. His thumb and cock both send incredible sensations through your body, your release building up again ready to break out at any second. “Don’t stop please, I’m gonna-” 

You couldn't finish, feeling the knot in your lower abdomen explode inside you. Yeosang was quick to grab your hips so you stayed in place, and he helped you rock them faster, chasing his own. He looked at your reflection in the mirror. Head thrown back, nails digging on his shoulders, eyes closed and mouth full of whimpers and heavy breathing. You came and Yeosang followed right behind you, letting out the loudest moan since you started. His hands were now on your ass as you wrapped your arms around his neck, having come from your high. He bit your shoulder as he painted your walls with his load. Yeosang cursed under his breath, finally stopping until he finished inside you. 

“Yeosang,” you phanted, caressing his face and making him look at you. His eyelids were heavy, long strands of wavy black hair falling on his face, lips half open trying to catch his breath. “I needed that, fuck.” You waited until he was breathing regularly and kissed him roughly again, taking his breath away once more. 

Yeosang smiled widely and you recognized the sweet man that you married a month ago. The same soft and cute eye smile and seemingly innocent aura came back, transforming from the one that was guiding your hips as you rode him to oblivion mere seconds before.

“I've wanted to have you on top of me since I saw you at the dinner,” He said sweetly, brushing his nose against yours. “Wanted to have you cry my name and brush away that condescending look you gave me at the wedding.” 

You chuckled. “I didn’t know what to expect from you,” you paused, choosing your words carefully. “You seemed too nice for this kind of life, too pure.” 

Yeosang chuckled lightly, helping you stand up, finally removing himself from you. “Seemed?” He kissed your chin gently. “Not anymore?.” 

“Someone who fucks like this?, no way.” 

He lets out a loud laugh, hand covering his mouth. “Y/n, you should know no man is pure. Crime life or not.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

You stood up from his lap, looking around for your panties on the floor, but Yeosang pulled you against him, wrapping his hands on your waist, hiding his face in the space between your shoulders and neck. He kissed the skin there and you hummed, content and relaxed feeling the warmth of his lips. 

He guided you to the bed, laying beside you and leaning over you. 

“Why didn't you want to spend time with me until now?.” you asked, his big eyes shone brightly. “I thought you were avoiding me on purpose, no one is that busy.” 

Yeosang laughed. “Oh but I am. And soon you will be too, as my wife and associate, you will have to deal with a lot.” He lowered his eyes for a second. “I’m sorry I didn’t pay attention to you, I wanted to, but after what happened in Greece I needed to make sure you were always protected.” 

“Did my father intervene?”

“I almost let his only daughter get killed mere days after our wedding, how does that make me look in front of him, of everyone?.”

You hummed but remained silent. You knew your father had already told him everything he needed to hear. “So I’ve been under surveillance all this time?.” You arch your brows, realizing that’s how he knew about your meeting with Yunho tonight. “Shit! Yunho… is he…?.” 

Yeosang chuckled again and this time it was an amused one. “He’s not dead, I still need eyes and ears close to the police,” His lips turned upwards into a mischievous smile. “But he won’t dare to come close to you with certain intentions, ever again.”

“Oh.” you said, pouting. “But he’s an excellent tennis partner though.” 

“I can be your new tennis partner, I can be everything you need me to be.” 

Yeosang kissed you softly, thumb caressing your ear. Your hands traveled over his chest, throwing a leg over his waist and you smiled on the kiss. He let out a soft “Oh” like a shy boy getting his first kiss and it made your heart incredibly warm.

“Who would thought we only needed to fuck each other dumb to break the ice huh?”. You joked, letting him keep kissing your neck and start all over again.

.

.

.

©mingsolo / please do not edit, repost, translate

[hantenguclonesimp-minuszoha]

Request: what if the hantengu clones (+ the main body and zohakuten ofc) found their wife murdered‼️

The backstory: The demon slayer corps found out that one of the twelve Kizuki (Uppermoon 4) had a wife and decided to kill her.

𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓷...

Hantengu x Fem!Reader [Angst]

Synopsis: He has a feeling that she should be moved. It's a tactic he always used if he's been in one place for too long since it would get on the Demon Slayers' radar. Oh well... Is that what the humans call 'gut feeling'?

Warnings: Blood, Corruption, surprisingly short?

Note: This has been on my mind for a while, you vile person. But, I love me some good angst also since it's been a good long while. Anyways, enjoy, babe. ♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠)

"D-Darling, I believe it's best if we move...!" Hantengu tried to coax her into joining him on his travel before he leaves for his mission. "Nonsense! Look at how long it's been and not a single slayer or demon has found me!" But she was too stubborn to go, likely because she enjoyed this area and because it was closest to home. She, like many other humans, tend to wave things off because she's either too caught up with her feelings or has gotten used the feeling of safety. Nevertheless, something in his mind told him this place wasn't safe for him or his wife anymore. Especially her. "Go, you're just a little paranoid today. The mission will be fine. I will be fine." She assured him, taking his hand and placing a kiss on his temple. "Go now, those slayers will quite literally not kill themselves, you know?" Perhaps she's right. Maybe he's being too paranoid and it's just him worrying too much. She seemed to be perfectly fine like usual and it isn't the first time he's worried about staying in one place too long yet remained because he had no other option or had to by order of Muzan. The short demon whimpered quietly, having concluded that it was just him overthinking things before he then left for his mission.

He'd return hours before sunrise, that much is certain. He can't keep his lady waiting now, can he? And besides, he's had little to no time to spend with her, a date night would do him some good and would make her quite happy! The demon went off towards the south where he the Demon Slayers are currently travelling.

"I say we execute her! She's a traitor to humanity for keeping a demon in her household much less being married to it!" A bold and brazen voice yelled out in anger. How could a human peer live happily with a demon? The bane of humanity's existence? How dare she! "We mustn't act irrationally. Who knows why she's still with him? She could potentially be under some spell." A softer more compassionate voice countered. The thought of executing a human, one of the very things they the slayers protect is revolting. "She's been married to that thing for nearly five years and is well-aware of the crimes he commits!" The brazen one persists. He believes that someone such as herself is no longer apart of humanity as she's committed the greatest sin one can commit and that is aid a demon. "Oyakata-sama himself said—" "I don't give a damn! He's a fool if he can't see that she's a traitor to us all and if you won't help me, I'll do it myself!" His peers tried to stop, tried to reason with him that killing the woman will get him executed and possibly hunted down by the Kizuki she's married to which result in death and death only. It's an Upper Rank demon for crying out loud, is he stupid?

It appears so... His peers tried to stop him from committing a mistake that would get him killed but it was futile, he had gone for the poor woman. They weren't going to stop him, it was too late and they were too scared. The slayers feed back to the Corps while the rogue went his own path – the path towards his grave.

"Urogi!!!" Sekido yelled, commanding Urogi to be rid of the group of slayers trying to ambush him while he focuses on the main threat. A hashira. And to think such a young boy, no older than fifteen, is able to take them on so well. It's infuriating. Urogi did as he was told and killed the pests with little effort as they then focused on their main target. It was difficult and Zohakuten had to get involved, though from there on out was smooth sailing and as expected, they finished the mission hours before sunrise. Zohakuten took Hantengu and used his dragons to get back as fast as he could. Like Hantengu, he had a feeling that he needed to get there, as if somebody was trying to hurt her, but then, thought back to her words and tried to brush it off as him being paranoid. He travelled stealthily, using the forest as his camouflage until he reached the populated town, where he would have to travel by foot.

Once he arrived at his destination, he swiftly entered his home through the back though the instant he stepped foot into the house, he knew that something was not right. "Y/N?!" He called to his beloved wife, quickly searching the house with his eyeblinking speed. "Y/N!!!" At this point, Urami was out, searching for their shared wife as well. He had gone upstairs to check if she were hiding in one of the rooms, having taken note at some of the wrecked furniture, breaking down doors and flipping things upside-down. Zohakuten was downstairs, trailing the scent of blood... her blood... He knew where it was coming from. He could feel where she was and yet he refused to look, as if in denial of what could—is. Just then, the clone felt true fear for the first time. He entered the spacious kitchen, peeking his head around the counter before his eyes landed on a pair of legs. Her legs. Despite his monstrous strength and lighting fast speed, in that moment, Zohakuten found himself barely able to move at the sight, only taking small steps at the pace of a snail.

"Zohakuten! Did you find—" Urami froze instantly, not only at the smell, but also at the sight. He pushed past Zohakuten towards the corpse he saw and to his despair, it was was the one human he cherished so. He picked up the corpse which finally revealed to Zohakuten that corpse was his wife. It was silent. Blood dripped from her mouth, her eyes were open, and her injuries were... too severe for a human to handle. Slit throat, cut tongue, stabbed in the solar plexus... Their poor, poor wife. She was killed brutally and unjustly, afraid and alone as she choked on her own blood, likely hoping and praying her husband would save her, and yet, nobody came. What did she do to deserve this? What did his innocent and kind wife do to deserve this? After a few long and quiet moments, Zohakuten immediately snapped out of his stunned state and tried to check the room for any hints whatsoever on who might have committed such an unforgivable crime. And then, they saw it. The kanji "Destroy", painted with her own blood. The very same kanji they see on the humans that pester them and likely her last sign for him before she died.

"Those repugnant scum..." Zohakuten hissed softly, pupils constricting at the mere sight of the kanji and his hatred flaring to a level even he has never felt before. Urami stood there, wide-eyed as his large hand rested on his poor wife's face before, trying to thoroughly process that the Demon Slayers were the ones who had committed this crime. Demon Slayers... Aren't they the ones who boast about the fact that they do not eat or harm humans in anyway? That they defend them with their lives from "evil demons" like himself? As the realisation lingered in the air, he too began to feel strong levels of resentment that he has but unlike Zohakuten, his expression remained unchanging. That was until he felt her slip away from his touch. He immediately turned to see who it was that dared to take the only thing he has left of her only to be met with his silently sobbing, sorrowful counterpart. "My d-darling..." The other three were present as well. Sekido was speechless and so were the other two. They could take no pleasure or joy out of this... Their wife was dead. Aizetsu was the only one who properly displayed what Hantengu felt the most in this situation as his crying became more apparent and his tears stained her face.

"I should not have left you..." Aizetsu continued his hopeless muttering as he embraced her corpse while the others stared in silence. To Aizetsu, everything was gone. Everything that he as a demon could ever cherish was ripped away from his ever depressing grasp, that being the one true thing that made his everlasting sorrow a bit more bearable. His darling, his love, his better half...

My wife...

The tears of his still and broken heart rushed out like a raging ocean. His sobs increased in volume as his shaking hand caressed her still beautiful face, streaming down from his face to hears. "M.. My love... M-My beautiful.. No..." He couldn't stop his choked sobs and constant hiccups even if he tried, simply burying his face into her now pale and cold, dead neck. She who was once so warm and radiant, now nothing more than the average corpse he had seen of both humans and slayers. "C-Come back to me..." But the demon was no fool. He knew she would not ever be brought back to life.

"We can... We can turn her into one of us... right?" Urogi tried to ask but was quickly shut up by a blank stare from Sekido, which answered his question. "But how? She'll be able to resist it! Even now! Who knows how long it's been?! We can't leave her!" "The blood is almost an hour old... With what system will she fight back?" Sekido can understand why Karaku and Urogi are in denial but coming up with worthless solutions will most certainly flare his anger. It quickly died down when the scent of her corpse entered his nose as the realisation that his wife is dead would sink in once more. She was gone. Stolen from their loving arms and for what...? For what? FOR. WHAT. Taken by those slayer scum who pride themselves in protecting their human peers! Yet, look now! His wife was human too! Was she the exception because she was married to a demon?! Was that to them a way of betrayal?! Now, it was his turn for his anger to flare in overwhelming levels. "Let her go." He stated firmly, as if he was over her death just like that.

"What?" "No!" Aizetsu was first to refuse only hugging her corpse tighter while the others stared at him in shock, as if he had grown another head. "Let. Her. Go." Everybody had to object against that decision and ask why, especially Urami. He did not bend as easily to Sekido's will as the others and would refuse until he got an answer. "Standing here and feeling sorry for not having been there to save her will do nothing." Sekido states coldly, gripping his khakkhara tighter, giving Urami and the others his coldest, most brutal glares. "She was our wife—" "And she's dead." The others were absolutely in shock at his near merciless behaviour until they realised why he was acting like this. Revenge. "This entire town and the next will pay for it." Sekido announced with not an once of mercy present in his voice. No men, women or children will be spared and a point will be made. These Demon Slayers are as evil as Hantengu had said them to be, as their Lord Muzan had painted them to be and he intends on getting justice for his beloved wife.

After much struggle, Aizetsu eventually let up, closing her eyes and embracing her body one last time, muttering a soft apology and a declaration of his love for her – however his brain allows him to feel that which he is not. They had not intended on burying her just yet, though. Sekido had cleaned her up, washed every ounce of her blood off of her body, bandaged the stab wounds and stitched her slit throat closed before he dressed her in her favourite kimono. After he finished cleaning and dressing her, he took her hand and brought the back of her palm to his mouth, gently pressing his lips against it. "Wait for us, my bride. No matter how long it takes. Please wait for us." That was the only time Sekido had ever allowed such a vulnerable part of himself to be free as in that moment, his anger was almost non-existent. He felt only a dull and heavy feeling all over his body but especially in his chest. A sort of pressure. He didn't know what it was.

He left her in her bedroom and joined the others. The only one who wasn't there was the main body. He had been waiting for Sekido to leave so he could be alone with his wife, this moment being on of the few times he isn't hiding within Urami and simply remains out in his normal size, clutching his deceased wife's hand. "I-I-I'll... k-kill them.. for you..." That was his promise to her before he broke out into never-ending sobs, clutching her hand and hoping she would miraculously wake up despite her fatal injuries. He, Aizetsu, and Zohakuten were in denial the most...

That very same night, the entire town was slaughtered mercilessly within a singular hour. No men, women, or children were spared. Not even the animals. And the town after, and the town after. That night, the true unfiltered power of an Upper Moon demon was shown. Neither of the nine current Hashiras would ever defeat the once madly in love demon now scorned. Not the period before, or the one before that. Any slayers and Hashira that were sent to deal with the Upper Four were killed in mere minutes and devoured like a delicacy. Lord Muzan himself caught onto to the reckless behaviour of Upper Four, but allowed him to do so simply because he eyed his power.

From that day on, he never spoke of her again. Even thinking about her was far too painful and the image of her discovered by Zohakuten and Urami even more. He was back to serving his Lord Muzan mindlessly...

Note: You, person, are responsible for the absolute outrage that will happen.

Taglist:

@hawnkoii @fallstreakfeathers @dreamcorechild @lumitylovepill @hantengus-fuckass-clones @sunbrokenswords @georgette-mademoiselle @hearts4mitsuri @star-dust-wanderer @shytastemakerthing

[jewbeloved]

hihihiiii!!!!

can I request the main 4 with an fem s/o who is a actor in a famous tv show? I love ur work SM!!!

Team Stan with an s/o who is an actor in a TV show📺🎬🎬

Warnings: None

Gender: Female

💙 Stan Marsh 🌀

This boy probably never knew you were an actor of a TV show until he was watching Terrence and Phillip and an ad of the show you're acting for came up on the TV.

He was a little annoyed at first because this random TV show out of nowhere interrupted his session of watching Terrance and Phillip.

He was about to change the channel back to Terrence and Phillip until he saw an actress come up to the front of the stage and announce the next episodes they're going to be playing in.

Stan immediately without another second recognized you by your voice as soon as you started talking.

You're an actor of a TV show? Why didn't you tell him? How is this even possible?

When he met up with his friends at school, they told him about this famous TV show that is going around in south park and it's the one that had you as an actor in it.

And that's when Stan saw you organizing your locker for your next class, mostly everyone in the school didn't know you were the same actress that was on TV.

You had no idea how much Stan enjoys watching the show, he mostly only watches the episodes that features you in it.

Stan wonders if he should or should not confront you now that he knows you're an actor.

He will confront later, for now he just wants to enjoy your presence and hearing your voice in this TV show that he's now going to get addicted to watching to.💙💙💙💙💙💙

💚 Kyle Broflovski 🌲

When his mom heard this new TV show that has gotten really popular recently, she had to check out it before she lets her son watch it.

And let's pray that she doesn't find anything wrong with it or else she probably might complain and start a war with the state or country that owns this TV show you're performing for 😭😭😭😭

But anyways, just like Stan. Kyle never knew you were a famous actress for the TV show that has gotten popular.

That was until he saw everybody in school crowding you and talking about how they saw you in the TV show they watched.

Of course Kyle didn't believe it but went to go check it out for himself to see if everyone was lying.

He was actually surprised when he saw you acting as a character in one of the episodes, I guess everyone was telling the truth after all but why did you never tell him about this?

But he brushed it off since you probably weren't comfortable enough to tell him so he won't hold you accountable for that. But he is still curious.

Even if you didn't tell him you were an actress of the TV show, he didn't mind it either way.

This TV show probably might be even better then Terrance and Phillip 💚💚💚💚💚

❤️ Eric Cartman 🍔

Okay kewl.

You actually told him about it yourself and he responded with his normal 'kewl'. It may seem like Cartman doesn't care but he actually watched the TV show you're an actress for.

If the company that owns the TV show is holding an intermission standby where fans of the show can come in and meet the actresses. He's definitely going to go to it so he can see you.

You were actually surprised to see that Cartman came. You don't know how big of a fan he is of the TV show.

If his friends find out they'll probably tease him about it with Cartman also denying and saying that he thinks the TV show is shit and whatnot.

Even if you talk to Cartman about it, he'll still be in denial but you know your boyfriend's ways, he definitely likes it.❤️❤️❤️❤️🏵️

🧡 Kenny Mccormick 🐁

You indeed also told Kenny about it, but he probably won't be able to watch it since the television he has is really old and rusty and it doesn't always work.

But he is also amazed to see you actually being an actress of a show that has gotten popular in his school even his friends are also talking about it.

Kenny probably begs Cartman to let him use his TV so he can watch the episode that has recently aired that involves you in it.

Cartman of course has to be an ass about it so his mom gladly allowed Kenny to use the TV.

And when Kenny is watching the episodes, he barely even sleeps because he doesn't want to miss a single moment when you are on screen. The mf needs some sleep 😭😭

So you decided to step in and help Kenny get some sleep.🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

[actuallysaiyan]

I Think You're Holding The Heart Of Mine(Part Five)

warnings: angst, mentions of Reader and Nanami's past, cliffhanger of sorts word count: 1.9k pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: you return to JJT and already there are way too many rumours going around for your liking... taglist: @beneathstarryskies a/n: You guys are going to hate me for this part, but please enjoy this cliffhanger!

Masterlist

Returning to the school made you long for just a few more days in the countryside with Kento. He’s softer when he’s with you. He cracks jokes and smiles much more. It’s such a nice side for you to be able to see. You feel like it’s only for you and you alone. The train ride home was nice, but it made you feel a bittersweet sensation inside your heart. Even if he promised to take you out on a proper date, you worried that work would get in the way once more.

Once back at Jujutsu Tech, you and Nanami part ways. He tells you that he’s going to check up on Itadori, and you promise to file the report of your mission in the office. You bump into Ijichi on the way there, who is way too invested in what happened during your mission. He’s asking a lot of questions about the mission, though it’s not really regarding what happened with the curse you fought.

“How was it? I’ve heard that the inn is very relaxing.”

You cock an eyebrow, “How did you know I was in that village?”

Ijichi blushes, “Oh uh, Satoru-san mentioned it.”

You feel like there’s more at play here, but you decide to let it slide for now. You know that there are lots of rumors going around anyway. So you make your way into Nanami’s office, sitting down in his plush chair. It’s cozy here, and you love that it always smells like him anyway. It makes you feel like a cozy blanket has been draped over your shoulders.

The clock ticks in the background as you begin typing up the report. It wasn’t like it was a big deal in terms of a curse, but you know it was causing lots of trouble for the village inhabitants. One of the main reasons you worked hard to become a Grade One sorcerer was to help people who didn’t have the ability to exorcize curses. All you ever wanted to do was make sure people were safe. It’s always been your main priority.

Your mind drifts to the mission and how things went while out in the countryside when you hear some voices outside your door. They sound like they are coming from Ijichi and Shoko. You didn’t think those two would stoop so low and gossip, but you can’t help but be a little curious about what people are saying about you and Nanami now.

“I don’t know if she knows about this,” Ijichi mentions. “But if she does, I think it could go south really fast.”

Shoko hums, “Perhaps. I didn’t think it would get to this point, but I suppose it was bound to happen.”

“Do you think…she knows?”

You aren’t quite sure what they are talking about, but you’re guessing it has to do with you and Kento. You bite on your lower lip nervously. What did they mean when they said it could go south really fast? Would you and Nanami no longer have this sort of relationship? You listen a bit more, a frown on your face.

“I heard that… was looking for him.” Ijichi starts up again, but you can’t quite pick up the name he said.

“Yup, she was. I think that has to do with his past.”

You sit back against the chair, wondering who they are talking about. Part of you doesn’t want to keep listening, considering you think this is now involving a third person. And more than likely, it’s a woman. Slowly, Shoko and Ijichi move away from Nanami’s office, leaving you in peace. You’re about to get back to filing the report when Kugisaki comes crashing into the office.

“Sensei! Oh you’re back!” She squeals excitedly, a smirk on her face.

“Yes, I am. I just arrived about an hour ago. How have you been since I was gone?” You look up from the laptop.

Kugisaki looks like she’s about to burst with excitement. “I’ve been good. Did the mission with Nanami-sensei go well?”

You sigh as you realize everyone’s going to be up your ass about this. So as a way to keep her off your case, you explain in great detail how gross the slimeball curse was. You mention how uneasy you had been when you saw it only had a mouth as a face. She isn’t very happy you aren’t sharing the details about your night at the inn, but nobody really needs to know about this.

“And that’s pretty much it,” you explain to her before getting back to finishing up the report.

She leans against Nanami’s desk, a frown playing on her lips. You know she wants you to tell her about what happened at the inn. She needs to know that you and Nanami are really a couple, but it’s just not something that even you can conclude. Were you actually a couple just because you made out a little and he promised to take you out on a real date? Or was he just being polite and trying not to reject you outright?

“Kugisaki-chan, I don’t really know what else to say. Me and Nanami…It’s more than complicated.” You finally confess. You close the laptop once you’re done with the report.

Then you get up and come over to the young woman. You wrap an arm around her shoulder and you begin leading her out of the office. But as you open the door, you spot Kento just outside his own office. He’s pacing the floor, talking to someone on the phone. It doesn’t sound great, but you’re doing your best not to be nosy.

“Let’s give Nanami-sensei some space, yeah?”

Kugisaki nods her head, “Yeah, okay. Let’s go train.”

And with that, you lead her out onto the training grounds. You aren’t sure who Nanami was speaking to, but you could tell that things had gotten tense. Whoever Shoko and Ijichi had been referring to earlier when talking about his past, you knew it was bound to get ugly.

���ꨄ︎𓆪

“Penny for your thoughts?” Satoru says as he sits next to you. 

You shake out of your deep thinking. It’s been a few days since you and Kento had returned from your trip, and he had been avoiding you. Or you had yourself convinced that he was avoiding you. You sigh as you run a hand through your hair. This was all becoming way too complicated for your own liking, and you wondered if maybe things were better when you and Nanami were just a couple of best friends and work spouses.

“Satoru,” you start as you turn to face him. “How much did you keep in touch with Kento when he was in the business world?”

Satoru smirks, “Hmmmm I dunno. Why?”

You sigh as you realize getting advice from Satoru wasn’t always the best option. But you’ve known him for so long, pretty much as long as you’ve known Kento. And he’s known Kento just as long as you, so you figure it can’t hurt to ask him what might be going on with your best friend.

“Do you think he was a womanizer?”

This makes Satoru laugh out loud. He’s holding his stomach, almost in tears and you can tell even through his blindfold. He can’t stop laughing, clutching at his sides. You roll your eyes and groan, knowing you should have never asked such a ridiculous question.

“Oh you crack me up,” Gojo finally spits out as he’s wiping his ethereally beautiful eyes. “Nanamin? A womanizer? No way!” You frown, “It’s just I heard someone talking and I wonder if there is someone special in his life.”

This makes Satoru stop and consider exactly the situation at hand. He scratches his chin as he ponders your second question. Nanamin has been pretty private about these sorts of things, but even Gojo has been able to pick up on how his two kohai have always had a thing for one another.

“Listen to me,” Gojo says as he wraps his arm around you and pulls you in closer. “Nanamin has only really loved one person and I don’t think I need to tell you who that person is.”

Your cheeks burn at the implication. There was absolutely no way you could believe that Nanami would be in love with you. There had been so much time between when he left the school and then came back to take good care of young Itadori. You had never really reached out to him then, but you felt guilty about it for years. The issue at hand had been you trying to discover yourself as well, before you came back to teach a few years before Nanami came back.

“N-no, there’s no way that’s—”

You’re both interrupted by Kugisaki, Fushiguro and Itadori rushing over to you. Gojo looks up and smirks, knowing this has to be some juicy gossip for all three of them to come rushing over like this.

“Gojo-sensei!!! NANAMIN HAS A WIFE!!”

Your heart drops when you hear this. You do your best to keep a straight face, but you are desperately hanging on and doing all you can not to freak out because of what Itadori has just shouted.

“Nanamin? No, can’t be him.” Gojo tries to correct, but the pink-haired first year shakes his head.

“I thought it couldn’t be true because I thought he was already married to sensei,” Yuji points to you, making you blush.

“But we just saw him talking to his wife in the main entrance! She’s got red hair and she’s wearing a wedding ring! She greeted us like she knew us already!” Kugisaki chimes in, throwing an apologetic glance in your direction.

You don’t bother getting up, allowing the three first years(mostly Kugisaki and Itadori) to grab Gojo and lead him towards the main entrance where Nanami’s supposed wife is. You wonder if you should even go see for yourself. You’d be breaking your own heart if you did.

So instead, you make your way into your own office and you pack up your stuff for the day. If you left a few minutes ahead of schedule, nobody would really notice. Not when there’s such hot gossip going around. You keep praying and hoping it was all just a big misunderstanding. Especially considering Kento had kissed you and promised you a proper date.

The thought of him two-timing just didn’t sit right with you, but you know it could be possible. You just can’t believe it. It’s not really something that Kento would do. You’ve known him for years. He’s always been so loyal, kind and patient. He’s a good man, and you know it. You’ve been with him through all these trials and tribulations: finding out you’re sorcerers, the death of Haibara, Geto defection from the school and abandoning Gojo…

And when Kento had been the first to leave between you two, you had been so heartbroken. You tried to understand, and really you did because you went and did the same thing just a few months after him…but things hadn’t been so great in those days. You found yourself mixing in with the wrong crowds and doing the worst odd jobs until you contacted Gojo years later.

Having Kento in your life again was supposed to be the comfort and solace you needed. You clung to him like glue when he first came back to teach. So you falling into the role of his work wife was just so easy for you. You had been in denial about your deep affections for him for years, and you figured this could be the easiest way to cope.

But now…

Now that is all over.

[pompomqt]

Journey to the West Chapter 50

This chapter of Journey to the West with @journeythroughjourneytothewest marks the end of book 2, and is the midway point of the entire story. We're halfway there everyone, so let's get into it shall we?

So the gang are walking along, and since we've had to many river adventures lately, it's time for another mountain one. Tripitaka as usual expresses his worry over wolves and tigers, and Monkey once again assures him that he has nothing to worry about since he has them. Anyways so they walk along the mountain for a while before Tripitaka starts getting hungry, and just in time to since he spots some lights in the distance that must be a village or something they can stay at.

However once Monkey takes a look at the place he goes 'Nope. Can't do it. It's demon infested.' Luckily Tripitaka is willing to take his word for it, at least for the moment, but the problem that he is still hungry remains. So Monkey has Tripitaka dismount so he can rest while Monkey goes to fetch him some food from somewhere. He gives Sandy the reins to the horse an tells him to just wait here and guard master until he comes back. With that settled, Monkey is about to leave but seems to think better of it with Tripitaka's track record of summoning man eating demons by just breathing. So he uses his staff to draw a protection circle around them. He tells them not to leave the circle because it will be able to protect them, when Tripitaka agrees and settles in, Monkey finally feels secure enough to leave him for the time being.

So Monkey finds some random village 1000 miles due south from them, and goes to beg for some food. The random village person he asks is surprised to see him, and says if he wants to head west he's probably better off trying to find the main road then beg for food here. Monkey tells him that's not a problem, and that his master is waiting for him there now. When the villager questions if Tripitaka won't starve to death by the seven days it should take Monkey to travel that far, Monkey assures him that such a journey will only take him a few minutes at most. The villager decides that, that is a major red flag, and he'd really rather not deal with something like Monkey, who must be a ghost or something and tries to turn him down.

The man tries to tell him to just go somewhere else, after all, their dinner isn't even ready yet, but Monkey insists that he can wait. The man tries whacking Monkey with his staff to get him to go away, and Monkey just kind of lets him to get it out of his system. He says the man can hit him as much as he wants, but each hit will cost him one pint of rice. Hearing this the man slams his door shut and runs into his house screaming about ghosts and whatever. Since the man said that they were currently in the process of cooking dinner, Monkey decides to just go to the kitchens to serve himself, so he turns himself invisible and waltzes right in. Seeing the cooked rice he fills his alms bowl before taking off to return to Tripitaka.

Meanwhile Tripitaka is getting bored of waiting for Monkey, and Pigsy, the voice of unreason, agrees. He says that Monkey is probably just playing around while leaving them imprisoned here at the mercy of the tigers and demons, after all, how can a circle possibly protect them? They should just go to that village they saw before and get some food and shelter there, Monkey is fast anyways, he'll be able to catch up no problem. Thoroughly persuaded by this plan, Tripitaka leaves the circle and the four of them head towards the demon infested buildings. Dang it Sandy, Monkey left you in charge to be the voice of common sense!

They make their way to a fancy manor, and since no one is outside to greet them, Pigsy says he'll go in and talk to them. Which is not the usual plan of Tripitaka using his pretty privilege to let them get their way, but he agrees to it anyway, and just tells Pigsy not to offend anyone. Pigsy say's he'll be fine since he's acquired some manners since becoming a bhuddist, so he walks inside in a civil manner. Before abandoning all civility when he goes to the second floor to find a large skeleton, and three silk vests, which he of course immediately takes. In Pigsy's defense he does spare a few tears and words for the skeleton before stealing from his house, so I guess he really has learned some manners.

Pigsy comes back outside and tells them about the skeleton and the three vests he found. He encourages Tripitaka to wear one of them to get warm. Tripitaka however is horrified, and reprimands Pigsy for stealing, and tells him to put it back. Pigsy however says that it's not stealing if there are no witnesses around and puts a vest on anyways, with Sandy following suit. As soon as they put them on however, the vests immediately constrict turning themselves into straitjackets and binding them. Whaaaaat? A trap? What a turn of events! Who could have seen this coming? Tripitaka makes sure to yell at them loudly enough to wake the whole demon town while he tries to untie them. And sure enough the whole group is then captured.

So Tripitaka is forced to kneel to the demon of the week, and try and explain why they were stealing their garments. Tripitaka of course tearfully explains the story and says that they were of course going to return the vest, and begs the demon to spare their lives. The Demon of course has no intention of sparing them, especially not since Tripitaka is the delicious golden cicada he has heard so much about. Luckily before he can go to far into making his dinner plans, Pigsy chimes in that their other disciple is the Great Sun Wukong who caused great havoc in heaven five hundred years ago. As usual this gives the demon pause, so he decides to just tie them up and wait until he's captured Sun Wukong so he can kill and eat them all together.

Meanwhile, Sun Wukong has returned to where he left them, only to find his protection circle empty, and not only that the demon village from earlier is also gone. So Monkey starts dejectedly following the horse tracks to try and find his wayward master, when suddenly he comes across two travels, an old and young man. Monkey decides to ask them if they have seen his companions, and the old man answers that he saw them get kidnapped by the Great King One-Horned Buffalo, who is a rather powerful demon apparently. Monkey isn't fussed about the possible danger, and is about to offer the old man the rice he got as thanks, when suddenly the two reveal themselves to be the local mountain gods. They offer to preserve the rice for him to give to Tripitaka later, Monkey is pissed at the subterfuge, but allows them to take the rice anyways.

So Monkey finds his way to the demon's lair, and tells the minion demon's that are guarding the door to go tell their master to release his master. So the minions tell the Buffalo demon that Wukong is here to pick a fight, which the demon is hyped about, after all he's been looking for a good fight. So the demon gets dressed in his armor and grabs his spear and goes out looking for a fight along with his minion army. So Monkey once again repeats that the demon should give him back his Master, but the demon replies that, he only captured Tripitaka because he was stealing from him. Monkey says that Tripitaka would never do that! Which is right, but unfortunately Pigsy would do that, so the two begin to fight.

The two fight for a while and the Demon is very impressed by Wukong's abilities, saying his abilities really are worthy of someone who caused so much trouble in heaven. Eventually though, the Demon orders his demons to attack- which is never really a problem for Sun Wukong. And indeed Wukong throws his staff into the air to duplicate it and take out all the minions at once. Turns out this is what the demon was waiting for however, since the demon then tosses up a shiny fillet and tosses it into the air and sucks up Monkey's staff. Monkey now unarmed, flee's the battle to re-evaluate his life choices.

Current Sun Wukong Stats: Names/Titles: Monkey, The Stone Monkey, The Handsome Monkey King, Sun Wukong (Monkey awakened to the void), Bimawen (Banhorseplague), The Great Sage Equal To Heaven and Pilgrim Sun. Immortality: 5 + 94,000 years Weapon: The Compliant Golden Hooped Rod (Sucked into a fillet) Abilities: 72 Transformations, Cloud-Somersault, Ability to transform his individual hairs, super strength, Ability to Summon Wind, Water restriction charm, and the ability to change into a huge war form, ability to duplicate his staff, ability to immobilize others, the ability to put others to sleep, and the Fiery eyes and Diamond Pupils, intimidating horses, churning large bodies of water, sleeplessness, seizing the wind, enhanced smell, discerning good and evil within a thousand miles, Spirit Summoning, lock picking, object transformation, distance reduction, vanishing in a flash of light, super healing, transforming others, and invisibility Demon Kill Count: 9+ Unknown Number of Minions Human Kill Count: 1009 God's Defeated: 22 + Unknown number Defeats: 6 Crime List: Robbery, Murder, Mass Murder, Arson, Theft, Coercion, Threatening a Government Official, Resisting Arrest, Assault, Forgery, Employee Theft, False Imprisonment, Impersonating a Government Official, Treason, attempted murder, failure to control or report a dangerous fire, desecrating a corpse, breaking and entering, trespassing, violating Tree Law, looting corpses, trading counterfeit goods, criminal threat, animal abuse, Assisting or Instigating Escape, Damage to Religious Property, contaminating a substance for human consumption and Identity Fraud. Cry Count: 7 + 3 fake cries Mountains Trapped Under: 4

Current Tang Sanzang stats: Names/Titles: River Float, Xuanzang, Tang Sanzang, Tripitaka and the Tang Monk Abilities: Curing Blindness, making branches point a certain direction (allegedly), reciting sutras, pretty privilege, memorization, Heart Sutra and Meditation. Cry Count: 26 Tight Fillet Spell Uses: 31 Paralyzed by fear: 5 Bandit Problems: 2 Kidnapped by demons: 8 Falling Off Horses: 8

Current Bai Long Ma Stats: Names/Titles: Bai Long Ma (White Dragon Horse), Prince of the Western Ocean, and third prince jade dragon of the dragon king Aorun Abilities: Transforming into a human, a water snake, and a horse, eating a horse in one bite, flight, Magic of Water Restriction, Singing, and Sword Dancing. Cry Count: 1 Crime List: Arson, and Grave Disobedience. Contributions to the plot: 2 Kidnapped by demons: 1

Current Zhu Wuneng Stats: Names/Titles: The Marshal of the Heavenly Reeds, Zhu Wuneng (Pig who is aware of ability), Zhu Ganglie, Pigsy, Idiot and Eight Rules. Weapon: Rake Abilities: 36 Transformations, parting water, fighting underwater, cloud soaring, size enhancement and CPR Demon Kill Count/Kill steals: 2 Kidnapped by Demons: 4 Human Kill Count: 1 Failed Flirtation/romances Attempts: 3 Cry Count: 2 Crime List: Sexual Harassment, Murder, Kidnapping, arson, defamation, Damage to Religious Property, contaminating a substance for human consumption, Identity Fraud and Theft

Current Sha Wujing Stats: Names/Titles: The Curtain-Raising General, Sha Wujing (Sand Aware of Purity), Sandy and Sha Monk Weapon: Monster Taming Staff Abilities: Fighting underwater and Cloud soaring. Demon Kill Count: Unknown number of minions. Kidnapped by Demons: 3 Human Kill Count: 1 Crime List: Breaking a Crystal Cup, murder, desecration of a human corpse, Damage to Religious Property and contaminating a substance for human consumption

[ronearoundblindly]

A, D, E for jimothy please? 🥺💕

Prompts from this dirty ask game, and since I am not able to make a story canonically accurate to time period or the location of The Loss of a Teardrop Diamond (plus I grew up in the South *gag* and don't want to relive it), this is for the Common Education, a modern AU, where Jimmy is finally taking advantage of his scholarship to NYU (not Ole Miss b/c *more gagging* sorry).

These asks do contain explicit description, so MINORS DNI.

A - Alone Time

I don't even care if this is a spoiler, but you catch him masturbating once, before you two ever even admit feelings for each other.

Jimmy's roommate, Steve, is an art history major taking several of your classes. Since Steve is sickly, you were kind enough to set up a video feed of your lectures, and Steve often plays them whenever he's feeling up to studying/reviewing. Jimmy is very used to hearing your voice come from the adjoining room of his dorm suite.

What he doesn't realize, as he's daydreaming about you laid out on one of those flimsy tables on the lecture hall platform, is you are actually visiting your student to see how Steve is doing. Jimmy isn't listening to the exact conversation; he's just thinking about you muttering quietly as he runs his hands over you.

And then Jimmy 'imagines' you saying his name, chanting it really, loudly because his touch feels so good, and he reaches his end with an "'m coming' out loud.

Which made you--who was actually knocking to say a quick hello to your former student--think it's okay to open the door, and he scrambles to cover himself in bed, mid-orgasm.

🥴 so get excited for that tale...

At the general store he took over from his drunk father back home, he only needed a computer that could calculate finances and contact suppliers, do some inventory tracking, etc. He didn't need a fancy laptop and he didn't need it at home, so Jimmy has never bothered much with porn. He had some casual girlfriends over the years, and Jimmy is...pretty good-looking. He never hurt for company.

Working 16 hour days regularly also left very little time to care about anything other than sleep.

D - Dominance

Jimmy might not be forward, but, yes, he is dominant. The largest population in his hometown was farm animals, and his own parents were a terrible example of a relationship. We are lucky he knows not to just mount someone he likes and stuff his dick in.

Jimmy was one of those men who didn't understand female pleasure until a knock-down, drag-out, drunk screaming fight with his ex at a bar. To be fair, how would he know he hadn't made her come if she faked it every time?

Anyway, he's dominant in the way that he's pretty raunchy in bed. He praises and coaches you as much as he orchestrates your position. He also does all this with respectful vocabulary but in an extremely dirty voice.

It's, uh... It's good. It's real good.

E - Extra Info

He has smoked for so long he has an oral fixation. Enjoys using his mouth on you very much. If he weren't quite vanilla in his sexual tastes, he'd probably realize there's a reason he loves you in a choker necklace. Just saying. Oh! And Jimmy go nuts over dainty, feminine things you wear. Lace panties are kinda his pinnacle of 'needs to fuck now' if he sees you wearing them.

He's never admitted to another living soul that he's had a fantasy about being cockwarmed while he stands behind the store cash register. Also, last but not least, Jimmy gets way more aggressively naughty during sex the fancier/nicer yours/his clothes are. I don't have an explanation for that, but I know it's a fact. So there. 😁

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Dirty Asks Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[googleitlol]

Gonna post a longer one in a bit, but I wanted to add this quick little bit for setting up what I'll post later. I actually love the next bit so much when they're not being complete douches but just petty af–

Dove Masterlist

Party Tricks

You hum to yourself, taking in the decor of the monastery that has so kindly taken you in for the night. After several weeks in the wilderness, spending a night in a place with such civilised and well-mannered individuals feels like a welcome change of pace. Tripitaka continues to be a good source of company– that is– when he isn’t being terrified by the occasional demons we pass that try to attack. However, Monkey King continues to be difficult. You wouldn’t expect anything less from him anyway. The newest addition to your pilgrimage, Ao Lie, was a more silent companion. Whether or not his more quiet demeanour stems from maintaining his form as the monk’s steed, you’re still unsure of.

The dragon-horse is now being taken care of by some of the attendants that serve in the monastery while the eldests of the monks makes conversation with Tripitaka. As old as he appears, it was still a shock to everyone, Sun Wukong included, that he has walked the earth for well over 200 years. The old monk smile is still as lively as the youngest one in the monastery. “So you have already travelled ten thousand miles in your pursuit to deliver these scriptures?” The man questions as he and Tripitaka walk side by side.

“Yes, I am accompanied by my two disciples and a disciple of the Bodhisattva you worship in this monastery.” The young monk answers, smiling to you as you nod in acknowledgement. It was a pleasant surprise to find the main hall of the building was named for Guan Yin.

The older man shakes his head lightly. “Well then, I am sure you would all like a moment to rest. I will call for tea to be served, then you can be shown to your rooms where you may rest for the night.”

Thanking the man, you all move to a room where your group can sit and drink together. You find it amusing how much joy Tripitaka shows when everyone is given their cups, their edges lined in gold. Whatever tea they served the three of you adds to his wonder, the brew colourful and fragrant as a flower.

While the two monks continue their conversation, you catch the eye of another carefully approaching. There seems to be a small group of monks that have gathered just by the doorway you all entered from, whispering excitedly amongst each other as they watch their fellow monk grow closer to our group. Maybe they want to talk with Tripitaka? You’re sure it must be exciting to hear that the one chosen to collect the Buddha’s scriptures is in your very own monastery. Of course they’d want to talk with him.

“Pardon, miss?” You blink, the monk you had noticed approaching now looking at you.

You nod with a smile. “Yes?”

The younger monk is quite soft spoken, his voice just above a whisper as he speaks to you. “Is it true what your companion says? Are you a disciple of Guan Yin?” The question takes you off guard for a moment, not expecting it. Looking back to the small group, you see they keep their eyes not just on their companion, but on you as well now, their gaze curious.

“Yes, the Bodhisattva took me in as her disciple when I was just a young girl.” You explain, shifting slightly in your spot as you take another sip of your tea.

Almost immediately, another joins her friend in approaching you. “You mean to say you’re a disciple of the Bodhisattva of the south seas herself?”

“Yes, I–”

“You’ve met the goddess of mercy? In person?” Another joins them, quickly followed by another.

“Well–”

You can barely get a word out when the rest of the group migrate to your person. “You’re telling the truth?”

With so many now quickly surrounding you, the words become lost in your throat. You can barely answer one question before another is asked, the group quickly encroaching on your space. You quickly begin to feel flustered as you look to each of them, unable to figure out what to say to who.

And as if it can’t get any worse, that stupid monkey just has to butt in. “She was blessed by Guan Yin!”

The group grows silent as Sun Wukong enters the conversation, quickly squeezing through the monks before dragging you to your feet by your arm. “With one touch, her magic will put your mind to rest and vanquish any stress in your mind!” He raises your hand into the air before you’re able to snatch it back.

“You blabbering–”

Before you can finish, the first monk steps closer. “Please, could you use your gift on me? These past few days have been stressful, to say the least, and I would appreciate such a gesture.” He looks at you with eyes as wide as a child’s, his gaze pleading.

You pause for just a moment, trying your best to process everything being said before slowly nodding. “A-Alright, give me your hand.” You offer a polite smile before taking his hand in your own and using your gift. It only takes a moment, and the monk’s eyes flutter close. He opens them quickly, his face lifted and his smile even brighter.

“Incredible!” He beams, amazed by his newfound peaceful state. His joy makes you smile brighter, but it quickly fades as the other monks jump to join their companion in requests.

Suddenly, it’s just like before, with everyone speaking over one another as you struggle in your fluster to pick out one person’s question from another. Overwhelmed, you look to Tripitaka and the elder monk for assistance, only to find them walking away with Sun Wukong. “Master, you must show your cassock! It was gifted by Budhha himself, wasn’t it?”

“Really? I would like to see that.” The old monk hummed at that, and you can just see Monkey King looking back at you with a devious grin before ushering your last to chances of getting out of this mess away.

That bastard!

[hostilemuppet]

Congrats on finishing Trollstopia! What are your final impressions?

okay, closing thoughts, none of which are particularly "clean" or "organised" or whatever but theyre what i think

so many of the morals were either nonsensical (keep it up) had good intentions but fumbled the execution (race to the crest) or outright harmful (potluck poppy). the show is at its best when you treat it like a sitcom, and not a cartoon that was teaching kids that other cultures foods are icky and undeserving of respect if they arent exactly like their own

it was so. so sorely felt that they were forced to have a song in EVERY episode instead of every other episode. dont get me wrong, some of them were good! (off the top of my head, i like "make some noise" and "a song so sweet" (synth has a really nice singing voice and they shouldve let him use it more!) and all of dantes ones were really funny bc they were usually silly lyrics on top of real life classical pieces) but most of them were........ well. forced. i hope in the tbt cartoon they go back to one song per 2 episodes, so they can make the songs actually DECENT (most of the time)

val started off as a HORRIBLE character, utterly unlikable in every way and it made every episode about her intolerable. she slowly got better though, after s1 it was like the writers realised they made her a terrible person (did they see the reaction to her? WAS there a reaction? did people love her back then?) and they toned her down and slowly made her actually develop as a character in ways none of the others did, and she actually ended up being pretty good! i like how she started mean, then grew to regret how she used to be and wants to be better. its just... yknow. its trollstopia. they fumble the execution sometimes. val did nothing wrong in murray duty, thats a dumb rule

as much as i love holly darlin........ i wish they went in the exact opposite direction for her character. in world tour, country trolls are established as being pretty gloomy (but not complete sad sacks!) so having holly be optimistic and upbeat to the point she rivals (and surpasses!) poppy? it does NOT make her a good representative of her tribe, and for the most part it seems like they forgot country trolls are supposed to be gloomy anyway... but they remembered in "the farmer and the hound"! overall i wish holly was a more subdued, melancholic character. she can still show southern hospitality (actual southern hospitality. not just her SAYING she has southern hospitality. also lonesome flats isnt even in the south of troll kingdom) but she can be a lot more quiet about it. maybe holly can ALSO develop as a character the way val did, and slowly start to show more outward joy as the series progresses, similar to branch getting happier. she and branch could even have been besties, since branch said he liked country music in the movie!

i wish they spread the focus a little more. obviously val and holly were the "main" ambassadors and i fully expected them to get the most focus, but it felt like dante got way more focus than like, the entire funk tribe combined. and to an extent i get it i mean dante is an incredible character and was clearly the crews favourite so it makes sense they used him a lot even if he wasnt the star, but... couldnt it have been spread out more evenly? maybe when you look at like, statistics itd look better but it felt like dante was always at the scene of the crime (it was a lot better in s7 though! perhaps they learned...) and i wish characters like laguna and lownote got a bit more love

and finally: i cant wait for the tbt cartoon. i know none of the main trollstopia characters will be in it and ill miss them dearly but im so excited for whats in store

[asha-mage]

              “We can’t go north.” Rand said finally.

              Mat hesitated before responding. “Padan Fain could have kept on south towards Cairhien while we were in the mountains- assuming that was where we would be headed.” But Rand was shaking his head before Mat had finished speaking.

              “Even if he has, he'll soon realize his mistake and run us down before we can reunite with Ingtar. Remember what Moiraine said? He was…remade to hunt us. He can track us, and that’s before you consider the…” Rand trailed off but Mat knew how that sentence ended. Even before you consider the dagger. Not to mention Mat’s connection to Mordeth. Realizing Mat understood Rand pressed on past the point. “There's no chance Ingtar has managed to close the distance between the two of us already- so if we had north we’ll just be reversing our positions from before. Running desperately while Fain tries to bring us down.” Rand shifted as he spoke leaning back but not taking his eyes from the chest.

              “But if he has headed south then we’ll be riding right into him.” Mat pointed out. He kept his hands on his own knees, trying to resist the urge to pluck at his pants or sleeves. His mind itched like it had been littered with scatter heads. He knew why, but he refused to give in.

              Rand nodded. “Yes. But he’ll also have to go more carefully. The closer we get to the city, the more farms and towns we’re sure to come across- just like the trek to Camelyn. You can go days without seeing anyone between the Erinin and Kinslayer’s Dagger according to Ingtar, so a few dozen Trollocs and some darkfriends don’t make much of a sight. But with soldiers and traffic on the roads, Fain will have to go by night and stay away from the main highways, or anywhere else he might get caught out. Whatever is going on in Cairhien, the King won't ignore a band of Trollocs in his backyard.”

              “Maybe.” Mat said shrewdly. “But there is another way. We could go west along the mountain range towards-“

              “No.” Rand’s response was immediate and firm, and his voice flat.

              “We don’t know that there was any truth to what Adelaid was saying.” Mat said, voice exasperated. “She could have misunderstood her mission, or gotten it from some Red sister who knows too much. The oaths could be fiction afterall, or Light, she could be Black Ajah for all we know. If the Amyrlin wanted me dead then she had plenty of chance in Fal Dara and-“ Mat cut off as Rand tore his eyes away from the chest to stare him right in the eyes.

              “No Mat.” Rand’s knuckles had turned white. “We’re not risking it. I’m not risking you.”

              His voice brooked no argument and Mat bit his tongue. Well, he didn’t really want to go to Tar Valon anyways. Just the thought made his skin crawl, even if it was the surest way to get the horn to safety. Mat wasn’t as certain about Siuan Sanche as he would have liked. To say nothing of that strange Brown Sister both she and Moiraine seemed to trust. He wasn’t eager to put himself, or to put Rand for that matter, back in Aes Sedai hands.

              “It will have to be you, then.” Mat said quietly. Rand’s face contorted and the bond flared with a mix of emotions so violent Mat couldn’t pick any single one out from the others.

              When Rand spoke he sounded hoarse. “Egwene and Nynaeve. Maybe if their training advances enough, they could…” He trailed off, gulping down. Mat said nothing. If their training advanced that far…would they even be willing to help Mat and Rand anymore? Or would they be as ready to try tying strings to Rand as the rest?

              By then, would they even be ready to snip Mat’s thread out of the pattern if he threatened the Tower’s plans?

              Not Nynaeve. Mat thought stubbornly. Never Nynaeve. She’ll always be the Wisdom no matter where she goes or what the Aes Sedai try to do to her. She’ll be ready to bandage our hurts and call us fools all the while.

              But Egwene? Mat was less sure. Whatever Egwene did, she did with her whole heart. She committed with all she was. Mat did not think the Tower would be any different.

              “They might be able to help.” Mat said finally. Might. It was a thin word to hang their hopes on. “But even so…”

              “I know.” Rand said softly.

              They lapsed back to silence after that, both their eyes drifting to the chest. Faintly, Mat could hear Hurin snoring the distance, the crackle of a few bugs somewhere in the brush, the faint babble of water streaming by.

              “Do you want me to open the chest?” Rand asked finally, not looking at Mat.

              Mat hated that his breath caught at the question, hated that his head spun to stare up at Rand. He hated the naked hunger that flared in his gut, no doubt plain in his eyes and his jaw. The yes was already half formed in his tongue when he bit down on it to stop the word from coming out.

              Arguments immediately sprang together fully formed in his head- so fully formed that he realized he must have been mulling them over in some corner of his mind for a while.

             The Aes Sedai warded you so you can’t spread the evil of it. You’ll die if you go too long without it and no telling if just traveling with it in the chest will be enough. It could be damaging the horn for all you know

              You might need Mashadar’s power to protect Rand.

-- Sworn, Chapter 17: Chasm

[firstdegreefangirl]

Run, Run Rudolph

Theme: Day Five - Reindeer @12daysofchristmas

Fandom/Character(s): Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen (The Rookie)

Word Count: 1676

Ao3 link here!

“7-Adam-100, please respond to south side of Westfield Century City Mall. Security requesting assistance with an escaped reindeer.”

“Control, 7-Adam-100 respondi – Control, could you repeat the nature of the call?” Tim has one hand on the steering wheel, the other on his radio, and his jaw halfway to the floor of the shop as he processes what he thinks he heard the dispatcher say.

“An escaped reindeer, south side of Westfield Century City. Outside the Nordstrom at the time of call.”

He knows that voice. There’s only one dispatcher he can think of who would try to pull a fast one on him like this.

“Control, can you 10-3 to another channel for more information?”

“7-Adam-100, going to eight.”

Tim flips the dial on his radio until it chirps the new number.

“Nell, I swear to god, if you’re making this up …"

“Sergeant Bradford!” she gasps. “I would never abuse city channels for fun and games. Even reindeer games!”

“So you’re telling me that there’s a reindeer in the mall? What, is it some dude in a costume?”

“Mall security asked for animal control too, so presumably not.”

“How did the reindeer get into the mall?”

“I’m sorry, which one of us is the investigator?” She laughs, and Tim rolls his eyes, even though she can’t see. “So how about we both get back to doing our jobs, and you can fill me in on everything later.”

Tim glances over to Lucy, sitting in the passenger seat.

“What do you say? Up for drinks after work?”

“With Nell and Elroy? Always.”

Tim promises her a follow-up at the end of their shift, then switches back to the main channel, just a few blocks before they arrive at the mall.

“Control, 7-Adam-100 on location for the … fugitive reindeer. Entering Nordstrom now.”

He pulls the door open for Lucy to walk in ahead of him, one hand already resting on his taser. He’s not sure if it’ll do much against a reindeer, should the situation come to that, but it’s the best move he can come up with. As soon as they’re inside, it’s easy to figure out which direction they need to go, based on where the crowd is gathered and shouting loudly.

“LAPD!” They both shout, working their way through the throng of shoppers. Mall security is right outside the exit of the store, a middle-aged, balding rent-a-cop who’s trying to do crowd control without getting off of his Segway. He’s red in the face, clearly overwhelmed just from trying to keep shoppers in line. Tim looks around.

There’s no reindeer in sight.

“What’s the situation?” He stops in front of the security guard and folds his arms across his chest. “Dispatch said there’s a reindeer on the loose?”

“Thataway.” The guard points over his shoulder. “Last I saw, it was running toward the food court.”

“How did a reindeer get into the mall, anyway?” Lucy asks.

“Part of Santa’s Village,” he explains. “For an extra 15 bucks, your kid can touch a real reindeer after they meet Santa.”

“And how did it escape?”

“The guard onsite said some tyke screamed and spooked it. Broke through the plastic fence and took off.”

“Does anyone need medical attention?”

“Don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. My guys are trying to keep the crowd in check, but 911 said they’d send animal control for the dirty work.”

“They’re on the way,” Tim says, actively trying not to grimace at the suggestion of animal control being “dirty work.” “While we wait, Officer Chen and I will go see if we can locate the reindeer.”

“Snowy,” someone else chimes in from behind him.

“Snowy?”

“It’s her name. I’m Meredith, with Santa’s Season’s Greetings.”

“You’re the … handler?”

“I’m the reindeer control specialist, yes.”

“Great work,” he deadpans.

“She’s never done this before!”

“I’m sure she hasn’t. Ma’am, do you have any treats or anything for …"

“Snowy,” Lucy whispers behind him.

“Snowy,” he repeats.

“I had a full bag this morning, but we ran out. The pet-a-reindeer add on has been a huge seller this year.”

Before Tim can say anything else, there’s a scream from a few storefronts down. He and Lucy run toward the noise, and the small crowd of people pouring out of a handbag store.

“Get over there!” Tim shouts, waving them behind him with one arm. “Behind the security guard!”

At the back of the group is a reindeer – or at least, he assumes it’s a reindeer. Whatever it is, it’s a huge creature with giant antlers. She turns the opposite way out of the store, ambling away from the crowd.

At least there's that going for them today. The last thing Tim needs to figure out this afternoon is how to write up a reindeer stampede.

He and Lucy give chase, jogging behind the animal as she makes her way further into the mall. He’s not sure where she started out, but nothing they’ve passed so far looks like a Santa’s Village, so he hopes that maybe she’s going back where she needs to be.

But no, by the time they reach the winter wonderland, Snowy has picked up speed. The faster he and Lucy move, the faster she goes ahead of them, until everyone is running breakneck through the rotunda.

Tim knows they’ve got to get her slowed down – they're coming up on the food court and the outside automatic doors. The best thing they can do is keep Snowy – and the mall patrons – safe and contained until Animal Control arrives. He tells Lucy as much, and she slows down immediately.

“Lucy?” Tim drops his pace to match hers, suddenly worries. She doesn’t usually tire out this quickly, has run further foot persuits and hardly been out of breath.

“We’re scaring her. Or she thinks it’s a game or something. The faster we go, the faster she goes. I’ll double back and get the escalators, come down on the other side and head her off. Keep her moving, but look – she's already slowing down.”

Lucy is right: in the time they’ve been stopped, Snowy has returned to her leisurely stroll. Which is still faster than Tim and Lucy walk, but much better than the way she was running a moment ago.

He’s worried about letting her face off against a giant animal on her own, but doesn’t see a better solution. So he squeezes her shoulder, reminds her to be careful, and lets her hurry back toward the escalator they’d passed earlier.

From the rotunda, Tim is able to watch her go up to the second level, and run along the railing that gives way to the open center of the mall. She gets to the other side and comes back down, holding her hands out in front of her slowly.

By the time she’s back on the ground level, Tim and Snowy have almost caught up to where she’s at, taking slow and careful steps toward the reindeer.

“Hey there, Snowy,” she coos, in a voice Tim recognizes from the way she’ll play with Kojo after work. “Aren’t you a pretty girl? I’ll bet it was scary when you got screamed at, huh?”

“Lucy, stop trying to rationalize with the wild animals!” Tim calls toward her.

“Yeah, Sergeant Bradford is silly sometimes, isn’t he? You don’t want to hurt anyone, do you? You just got a little freaked out and wanted some time to yourself, right?”

Obviously, Snowy isn’t answering any of Lucy’s questions, but she is slowing down again, eventually coming to a stop a few feet away from Lucy. Snowy snuffles, and Lucy closes the space between them, resting one palm on her snout.

“That’s a good girl, that’s it, there you go.” Tim reaches for the taser again, ready to react if Snowy tries to get aggressive. But he has to admit, Lucy seems to have the situation under control. “You’re such a pretty girl, LA must be so new to you. You’re so far away from the North Pole, aren’t you?”

They’re really not equipped to move Snowy anywhere, and Meredith is nowhere to be found. Tim isn’t willing to leave Lucy alone with the massive reindeer to go find her, so they wait together for Animal Control. The whole time, Lucy keeps talking to her, in that same high-pitched voice. After a few minutes, she runs out of compliments to give, and starts telling Snowy stories from her time in the academy, riding as Tim’s rookie, anything else she can come up with.

She’s halfway through the secret to her homemade chocolate chip cookies – a splash of almond extract in the dough – when Tim sees the Animal Control officers coming up from the other side of the mall. He motions for them to be quiet and points at Lucy, who’s stroking Snowy’s face with both hands.

Lucy nods when she sees the Animal Control officers, and steps back slowly when they wave her back. She keeps talking to Snowy as they toss a lasso around her neck and start steering her back toward the other end of the mall.

Their work done, Tim and Lucy turn for the nearest exit, in silent agreement that they’d rather walk outside than deal with any more reindeer fallout.

“Control, 7-Adam-100,” Tim says into his radio, as he slides an arm around Lucy’s waist. “Animal Control is on scene. Um, suspect in custody? Show us Code Four.”

“7-Adam-100, Code Four.” Nell’s voice echoes between them. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

“That was fun!” Lucy says to Tim as he opens the door for her. “I’ve never even seen a real, live reindeer before today, and I got to pet her too? She was so sweet! Y’know, once she wasn’t so scared and freaking out anymore.”

Tim looks over at her, and when he sees the wistful look on her face, he cuts her off.

“Oh no. No, no, no.”

“What?” Lucy turns to him, blinking her eyes.

“I know what you’re thinking. Absolutely not, we are not getting a pet reindeer!”

[wolfiemcwolferson]

I love your ficlets from within the blue neighbourhood verse. I was thinking about Daniel, and the lasting effects he has mentally from Jules and driving. It would be amazing to see how he would react if one of the boys was in a small car accident (literally just a small bump) and how max and charles and the others would come together to make sure he was OK

Hi Anon! I’ve been sitting on this for so long. I reference this incident in the latest chapter of Galex that is literally just about to post. I had most of this ficlet written in my little secret Blue Neighbourhood ficlet file, but then I didn’t know if I was going to write the Galex chapter from Daniel’s POV, but decided to share something fresh and new for you. 

Thank you for being so patient!

CW: Car accident, mentions of death, minor injuries

Max had meant to buy a new car with the life insurance money, but every time he went to look, he couldn’t give it up, suddenly overly sentimental about it. At first, it was a practical I only ever drive to work and then it was a but I don’t know if I should replace it before it gives out and finally it was a too many good memories to replace.

Daniel understood, of course, because he had one single vehicle since he could drive. 

But, it becomes a fight when Max and Daniel move to Denver. 

“You cannot drive that in the winter.” Daniel says, arms crossed over his chest, pointing at it.

He knows they have a few months before it becomes an issue, but Max is stubborn and it might take him a few months to convince him to buy a new damn car. 

Max huffs out a laugh and waves him off. “We will see.”

Daniel lets it go because he has to pick his battles today and right now one of them is that they are not moving into the apartment building that’s literally down the road from his parents. If Daniel ever wants to see Max again, they’ll be moving into the one that’s 20 minutes away. Sure it’s a longer commute, but Daniel sees the writing on the wall there. Thanks.

.

Daniel is in DC meeting with Lance and Toto about some funding for a new shelter somewhere in the South - they’re still working out the details - the first time it goes icy back home and Daniel is pretty panicked about it, but Max assures him that he’s fine. He can get home just fine - it’s all main roads anyway. 

“Yes,” Daniel agrees, “But you are from Texas and Southern California, you don’t know how to drive in this.”

Max laughs and tells him he loves him and hangs up the phone. Daniel finishes getting ready to go to dinner with Lance and George - now that he’s back from New York - and he’s off. 

When he drunkenly tumbles back into his hotel room later that night, he responds to Max’s goodnight text with a half a dozen kissy face emoji’s and something that might be love u so much i miss you

His flight is at a criminal time in the morning. He’ll be back with him soon.

.

Not hearing from Max much this week isn’t particularly alarming considering the point in the semester and also, he has a deadline to make some edits on his latest book, but what is alarming is Grace waiting for him. 

“Max.” He knows it immediately, feeling like his whole world is dropping away, because -

“He’s fine,” Grace says, firm and unflinching, holding his chin in her hand. “He’s a bit bruised, but he’s fine.”

Daniel doesn’t believe it. If he was fine, he would have been here. He would know that Daniel wouldn’t - Daniel wouldn’t be fine, if he -

Grace is shoving a phone in his face and it’s probably Joe, but Daniel can see Max, laying on one side in Daniel’s bedroom, asleep. He doesn’t look bruised, but then all Daniel can see of him is his face - which is fine, nothing - the noise rushes in again. Daniel takes a deep breath and the noise rushes in again. 

“Danny,” Grace says, taking the phone from him. 

Danny’s chest is cracking open. “Ice?” 

Grace nods, looping their arms together. “Ice.”

“Well,” Daniel’s voice sounds brittle, “he’ll have to get a new car now.” Unless, god, unless it’s fixable. “Right?” He squeaks.

The grim set of her lips tells Daniel nothing.

.

Charles texts him and Daniel thinks he might be shit because he didn’t think to check on him, but Charles is concerned for Daniel and he knows that...well, of course Daniel wasn’t thinking about Charles - he’s not even thinking of himself - just Max. Just getting to Max. He needs to touch him, assure himself that he’s okay. 

And then the group chat messages start and Daniel knows that Charles has told everyone that they can check on him, but Daniel just puts his phone underneath his thigh, feeling it buzz as things roll in. He can’t - he can’t do it until he touches Max. 

“Mom -” he starts to ask her if he’s alright again, but he doesn’t because he knows that it won’t matter. He won’t believe it until he touches him. It’s like he’s on that plane again, feeling like he can’t do anything - desperate to touch him - to hold him - to feel him breathing. 

Grace reaches over and places her hand on his thigh. “I am sorry, my darling.”

Daniel squeezes the steering wheel until his knuckles go white. “I know.”

.

Max is awake and sitting on the couch downstairs when Daniel walks in the door, Grace trailing right behind. Daniel stands in the doorway for two long seconds. “Why didn’t you call me last night?”

Max shifts and then kind of winces and all of the anger and panic bleeds away in an instant. “Hi.”

Daniel moves, dropping to his knees before Max, putting his head on his knees. Max does his best to fold himself down on top of him as Daniel comes apart. 

Someday, he thinks, he will stop thinking everyone is going to die in a car.

“I’m ok, Danny.” Max whispers. “I’m ok.”

Daniel sits up, wiping furiously at his eyes. “You’re getting a car that’s meant for the snow. Don’t argue with me.”

Max pets a hand down his face. “Yes. I know. Joe has already given me the lecture.” He pulls his face up. “Now, please call some of our friends back before they start booking plane tickets.”

Daniel gives a bit of a wet sob. “Ok, I can do that.”

He tries to pull himself up, by using Max’s knees, but he barely keeps himself from audibly wincing, so Daniel uses the couch instead. “I think you’ll have to be gentle with me for a few days.” Max chuckles.

Daniel starts to say, “Oh, I’ll be gentle with -”

Grace clears her throat. “No.” She says firmly. “Daniel. Not in front of me, please.”

“Ow,” Max gasps, trying desperately to laugh. “Ow, ow ow ow, stop.”

Daniel stays on the ground for a little while longer, head on Max’s knee, laughing while Max runs a hand through Daniel’s hair. 

He’s alive. He’s laughing. 

[stealingbones]

can i just,, rant about south park? (spoiler warning obv)

I never thought id be into basic american adult tv buthere we are- I recently got into it, feb 19th i started watching and finished the whole 26 seasons and two games (sot and tfbw) in a month. Just finished tfbw game earlier today and almost lost my mind fr bc wth man.... anyway, theres your background for how mentally ill i am, now-

South park characters have so much detail in their characters, right down to the little things, like cartman having to finish singing sail away or kenny liking oragami, like??? i love the little character details that nobody thinks about hello??

Its so hard to take them seriously with that stupid artstyle (the artstyle has grown on me and i love it sm but still, theyre hella goofy) but seriously some parts cut deep- especially the whole fucking covid thing, never in my life did i think id cry at fUCKING SOUTH PARK ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? I see a lot of angst and it actually makes sense??? And just,, a lot of stan's stuff is really depressing, i hate the episode(s) 'youre getting older' holy fuck. The fact that stan knows how to drive at 8 years old most likely because his dad is an alcoholic who drives drunk too is graaAAA,, I feel so bad for butters too, the innocent child who gets all the trauma dumped on him 💀 none of the kids in south park are safe from trauma, not even 'new kid' (they fr made you choose a parent, dude.....) one of my favorite serious moments though actually is when kenny tries to get them to remember his deaths, the like "TRY AND FUCKING REMEMBER." is so dramatic and im fbedhunfinjecnijef

also cartman being the only one to remember kenny's deaths waa,, Cartmanland he says 'what kenny? he dies all the time' and when kenny tries to make the others remember,, cartman isnt there so á, then cartman isnt shocked when kenny escapes wherever tf cthuhlu sent everyone. cartman did drink kenny's ashes so that could be the reason he remembers epic

also also, i didnt even think about it before until i seen just kenny and kyle at the bus stop, but stan and cartman moving away and just having two of the main four left at the iconic bus stop scene is so upsetting,, I enjoy the older seasons best 💔 Like season 10 and earlier man,, their early seson voices too omg <3 When they started doing season long stories was kind of annoying (edit bc new episode dropped, they put cartman back lmao,, still missing stan though man...)

Switching topics- No wonder style is more popular than stendy, it has more content than stendy even though theyre cannon dating 💀i think cartman and wendy interaction more actually. Wendy's kind of cool and i wish theyd make an effort to show her and stan together more often (even small things like they do with creek) and a few times its even shown how little stan cares, like with the texting thing or the time they broke up for a bit stan had said he hadnt talked to her for weeks... Stan doesnt deserve wendy tbh, i also always forget she killed someone for stan lol, they really dialed her crazy back,,

I probably have more random thoughts but these are the main ones,, the little guys have been doing laps around my brain for a month straight and i feel like im going to explode

[dadddybangtan]

Metanoia | ch. eight

cw: drvgs

word count: 1.2k

a.n. i love jin’s character in this. love love love.

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I was always told that Daegu is the dirtiest, grimiest part of South Korea. As we drive through the city, I don't see that at all. It's overflowing with life and youth. It's not neon or overtly loud, it's more sleek with black irons, white woods and greenery. So much greenery.

"It's pretty." I mention.

"Yeah, Agust keeps it nice. It's his city after all."

There is a tint of orange that lingers over the city. I can't quite place where it comes from but it's there. It's not a burnt fog, but a permanent hue. I associate it with warmth.

"Remember what I said about the extravagant parties," He asks and I nod, "You're going to one tonight it's the pre-party to the main gala next week."

"I didn't know drug dealers host galas, what the hell?"

"Yeah," Jin scoffs, "Agust is different, but you'll see that tonight. We need you to catch his attention, and you'll have some competition."

"No worries. I have this technique back home. I make eye contact from afar, show a coy smile and walk away. It really works when they're talking to someone else. Men are easy to distract."

"You have it down to a science, don't you?"

"I have to." I say cooly, but Jin takes his eyes off the road to look at me for a moment.

As if a realization hit him. I know because the realization hit me too. I have it down to a science because the formula feeds.

"So, about tonight, the plan is for you to catch his attention, get close to him enough for you to be his date to the gala."

"How do you know he's- yaknow?" I asked in a suggestive tone.

"He came out and threatened to kill any homophobe who had something to say about it."

"King shit."

We arrive at a nice hotel that could be mistaken for a skyscraper. It has a clean, minimalist exterior. I step out and so does Jin. He calls over a bell hop to get our bags.

"I'm gonna go park the car, you can go ahead and check in. It's under Park Jimin."

He plops back into the car and drives the car into the underground parking garage. Butterflies fill my stomach when I'm expected to check into the hotel by myself. I've been in nice places but only as a guest to drunken city boys. It's never been under my own name.

Stepping inside, I can't help but marvel at the space. But the smell hits me more than the beauty. Eucalyptus and sage. Just like the hotel my parents took me to as a kid.

"Ready to check in?" The secretary asks.

"Yes. For Park Jimin."

"Ahh, Mr. Park. We've been expecting you."

More butterflies attack my insides. Do they already suspect me?

"Oh really? Why's that?"

The secretary, who's gender I can't quite pin down, retrieves two room keys from a drawer behind the counter. They slide them towards me and grabs an itinerary book from beside them.

"Because this hotel is relatively new and you're one of our first elite guests. You'll be staying in the top floor, Mr. Park. Twenty-four hour spa, free gym and the deluxe room service menu," They say, walking from behind the counter and toward the elevator. The bellhop and I follow, "It's a great place to bring the ladies after a night out. Which I assume will be frequent for you in your extended stay."

"Oh, you know it." I chuckle.

"What brings you to The Ara anyways?"

Definitely not an elaborate scheme to lure and kill your most successful drug lord for the benefit of money and power.

"Vacationing." I say simply.

"That's refreshing. That's exactly what Agust wanted to hear when he built this place," They said as they push the elevator button for the top floor, "He wanted more people to come to Daegu and see the beauty of it."

The elevator stops on my floor, the seventieth floor, and the secretary continues to lead the way. They stick the card key in and open the door.

"Shades." They call and the curtains open, slowly revealing the entire city.

"Whoa." I say under my breath.

"Everything is voice activated. Everything except the toilet. We haven't gotten the technology for that yet."

"That's okay, I don't have the desire to talk to a toilet."

"Well, I'll let you get settled. Don't hesitate to call the desk if you need anything. The names Jeonghan."

"Thanks."

The bellhop unloads the luggage in the doorway of the room and leaves quietly. The suite is spacious with two beds on opposite sides of the room, a nice kitchen and a balcony. The bathroom is nice too, having aseparate bath and shower.

I don't get to absorb the room much more than that since JK is calling me.

"Hello." I answer.

"Jimin, I hope you're settling in well. Did you see the room?"

"Yeah, it's gorgeous."

"Isn't it? I wish I could stay there myself. But I'd get slaughtered the moment I step foot on city limits," He chuckles but I remain silent, exploring deeper and letting myself out onto the balcony, "Be sure to remember every detail from the party tonight. I wanna hear all about it."

"Of course."

"That means no drinking."

Shit.

"I can do that."

"And if anyone asks who invited you, say Johnny or Yangyang, they're our insiders."

"Got it."

"Okay, Jimin, good luck."

"Thanks, bye."

No drinking, hm? That made me realize that isn't so much a party, but a mission. I knew that before, but now it's certain.

A series of hard knocks sound from the door. Assuming it's Jin, I rush to answer.

"We should get you ready for tonight?"

"Now? It's only eleven a.m."

"Oh," He checks his watch, "Oh, it is."

"Is something on your mind?"

"Uh," He stammers, walking passed me and claiming the bed on the right side of the room, "I'm fine."

He doesn't look troubled, instead he's rather flustered. Reddened face, unfocused eyes and unsettling fingers. Something is bothering him.

"You got a cigarette?" He asks, standing up and pacing a bit.

I dig in my pocket for my pack and lighter and meet him in the middle to give it to him. He nods and goes to the balcony. I decide to follow him since there's not much else for me to do.

"Is there something I should be worried about?"

"This city is dangerous for me. I've sinned too much here... But I can't stay away," He says as he takes a long drag of the cigarette, "Something always keeps me coming back."

I watch his eyes scan the city before us. There's something different in the way he longs for Daegu but merely tolerates Busan. There's something he's not telling me, something completely unrelated to the task at hand.

"Something? What? Are the drugs better here or something?"

"Only slightly. JK gets the cut versions of Agust's shit," He flicks the ashe off the edge and it falls seventy stories down, "But I've never really been into drugs."

"Hmm. Someone?" I guess again.

He goes silent, pursing his lips around the filter of the cigarettes with vigor. Bingo. But I shouldn't press any further than I already have. Whoever this someone is, is clearly none of my business. Besides, I need to focus on my job, my mission.

[adultswim2021]

Robot Chicken #61: “Help Me” | December 7, 2008 - 11:30PM | S04E01

In the early 2000s, my family shared a hotel room during one of our trips. The kids, myself and my sister, were getting older, almost alarmingly adult-like, and this would probably be one of the final times we ever did this. We were all trying to figure out a thing to watch on the television set that would please all, or at least most, of us. South Park was starting. Mom didn’t wanna watch. Dad and the kids did. It was an episode I’d seen already, and I it was a fairly mild one as far as vulgarity was concerned. I turned to my mom and said “don’t worry, this one isn’t so bad”. When it ended, she agreed, it wasn’t “that bad”.

That moment occurred to me during some of this show’s least-worst sketches, because at its best, Robot Chicken seems to elicit a “not that bad” reaction in me. I still hate the show, but some of the sketches manage to not piss me off. Anyway, that was my review of the episode. Goodnight. 

Okay, fine, I’ll write about some of the sketches. 

The first one is the now customary “resolving last season’s cliffhanger” sketch, which has the Chicken boys begging Hollywood elites to help them revive the show after being canceled last season. They talk to Josh Weaties and the guy who made Battlestar Garfieldia. I don’t like those guys/shows, so I don’t know what any of them were on about. They finally get in Seth MacFarlane’s ear, and he does Family Guy style cutaway gags to make their dreams come true. Cute. I didn’t mind that bit!

Next was a PaRappa the Rapper sketch, which seemed well done but I don’t know shit about that game other than the commercials for it. There is also a parody of the Trojan Man, which was an ad campaign I’m assuming is no longer relevant in 2023. Not to brag, but I don’t watch commercial television too much, so I really have no idea. It turns out I have little to say about this one, which is why I grouped it with the other sketch I don’t have much to say about. 

The worst sketch of the night is titled (according to the robot chicken wiki) “Pre-Pubescent Alien Whore”, which is about A Shot of Love with Tila Tequila. I lived through this era as a semi-conscious adult, and it was a little comforting realizing that I nearly forgot everything about Tila Tequila. She is actually providing her own voice in this. Anyway, the premise of the show was that it was a dating game show and both men and women competed for her affections because she was a very sexy bi. In this she is revealed to be like, a robot? I don’t know man, this was dogshit. I might argue that it aged better as a quaint throwback that only exists to jog the memories of old assholes like me. In 2008 one of the main things I got mad at was parodies of highly-ephemeral TV shows, just like what this is. Still sucks!

The last sketch is maybe the best sketch; it’s a subscription service that only shows you the good parts of movies and TV shows. I didn’t laugh at this, but at least I felt slightly less alienated by the jokes about older motion pictures. The gag where they condense Wizard of Oz and they briefly show a Munchkin hanging itself in plain sight was funny. Joke of the episode. Hey, why not end this on a positive note? I’m nice!

EPHEMERA CORNER:

MAIL BAG

Message from KON!

Well, *I* like the Drinky Crow Show. It's odd to me that AS would talk shit about it, but still make other shows with the same production company (Mongo Wrestling Alliance and King Star King, each of which is objectively worse).

I never saw a second of King Star King, but yes, Mongo Wrestling Alliance might be in the running for the worst show Adult Swim ever aired. It's basically Ripping Friends but everyone smiles too much.

Also I think Drinky Crow is roughly a good show writing-wise, but the animation really turns me off! It looks okay sometimes. I think it would be incredible if Tony Millionaire were allowed to make a big-budget Maakies thing with actual good animation. At least a short. Uncle Gabby brings Drinky Crow a bunch of cans without labels...