#i meant to share this when i posted on ao3 but i passed out

[quin-ns]

Sleeping Bag (Joel Miller x Reader)

Word count: 1.7K

Summary: you can’t get comfortable in your sleeping bag, so joel invites you into his

Tags: age gap (mostly implied), anxiety, fluff, protective/caring!joel, comfort, cuddling, sharing a sleeping bag (instead of the one bed trope lol), kissing (forehead and lips), it’s just cute short and fun

A/N: simple and quick, inspired by ep 4 when joel and ellie were in sleeping bags in the woods, but no explicit spoilers. I’ve been wanting to write for joel since episode one and finally got an idea. pretty sure more will be coming soon…

Cross-posted to ao3 • tlou masterlist • writing masterlist

After sleeping in a bed in the QZ’s for years, suddenly trying to get comfortable in a sleeping bag on the ground was proving difficult for you.

What a spoiled thought to have, right? Well, it wasn’t just that. You were out in the open woods. There could be infected anywhere. They could come for you any second. How could you close your eyes and rest peacefully knowing you were no longer behind the barrier walls?

Ellie was already asleep, you could hear her light snores. Your back was facing him, but you assumed Joel was asleep as well given his stillness. You rolled from your side to your back and sighed.

You had to sleep. You should’ve been tired. You and Joel had taken turns driving, although since you didn’t have much driving experience Joel became concerned when you began to struggle with the gear shift and mixed up the pedals (it only happened once but he couldn’t let it go). Joel had grown exhausted and didn’t want to stress you out by making you drive without him as backup/support, so you all stopped for the night. He was thoughtful like that; even if he was a bit grouchy sometimes.

You turned from your back to your other side, eyes landing on Joel. He was facing you, eyes closed, breathing steadily. The older man actually seemed to be at peace. He only looked like that when he was asleep. The moment he woke up, you knew he’d have that slight pout and furrow of his brows that you’d become accustomed to.

If Joel caught you staring, you wondered what he’d say. You could never pinpoint the way he viewed you. Friend? Daughter? Burden? You’d be way more okay with the previous two as long as it wasn’t the third. Although if you were being honest with yourself, you hoped it was none of the above.

Despite his age and his tough nature, you had a thing for Joel. Like, a thing. Feelings, attraction, affection—whatever you wanted to call it. Definitely a crush. Love? Maybe. It was a little bit confusing, but nothing in this life was simple.

Joel had taken you under his wing a while back and looked after you. He was incredibly protective and even if he wasn’t the best with expressing himself, Joel cared for you. He made you feel safe. He was there for you when you had no one else.

You rolled to your other side. Then back. Simply put, tossing and turning. The thought that you were being loud don’t even cross your mind until—

“What are you doing?” Joel’s voice caught your attention.

You let out a sigh, feeling bad that you’d woken the man up. You turned back to face him. “I can’t sleep,” you confessed.

“I can tell,” he murmured. “Do you plan on rolling around all night?”

You frowned to yourself. “I'm sorry.”

Joel exhaled softly and even in the dark, you could see the sympathy in those deep brown eyes of his. You hadn’t realized that subconsciously, you’d moved closer to him.

“It’s okay.” He had a soft spot for you, even though he’d probably deny it.

“I’ll try and be… still, I guess.” You knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep. “Just go back to sleep, I’ll be fine.” That was a lie.

“No,” he decided after a moment. You furrowed your brows. “You need sleep too.”

“I can’t get comfortable,” you replied. You let a few seconds pass before adding, “…and I’m too anxious.”

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” Joel promised like if there was one thing he was sure about, it was that.

It meant a lot, it really did. But you huffed out a humorless laugh and went to a worse case scenario. “You’re all the way over there. If an infected wanted to get me, it could. Before you could stop it.”

Joel was quiet for a few beats. You hadn’t meant to insult him, but it was true. It didn’t matter how safe you felt with him there. They were faster than him. Faster than anyone.

“So then come over here,” Joel offered, voice still thick with sleep. It sounded incredibly enticing.

The image of you crawling into his sleeping bag crossed your mind faster than you could stop it. You had to do a double take. “Like… scoot over there?” you tried to clarify inconspicuously.

“If you’re against sharing with me.”

So, he had meant what you’d hoped for. Your heart skipped a little beat and you swallowed.

“I’m not.”

All Joel did was hum. You unzipped your sleeping bag and left the warmth. Joel was ready and waiting when you moved over to him, enveloping you into the safety of his sleeping bag and heavy arms. You wiggled around a little bit until you got comfortable. For the first time since you’d left the QZ, it didn’t take long.

“Thank you,” you mumbled softly, trying to keep your breathing calm. Being so close to Joel was causing you to become less focused on sleep and more focused on the way his breath sounded so close to your ear.

“Mmhhmm,” he hummed from deep in his throat with closed lips. You thought it was going to be left at that, but then you heard his gruff voice. “I know it’s been hard on you.” You opened your mouth to deny it, but he continued. “Even if you’re too stubborn to admit it beyond makin’ snarky comments.”

You took in a breath. He got you on that one, and you both knew it. “Since when do you know me this well?”

“Since always,” Joel pointed out. “You’re easy to read.”

“For you maybe.”

“Yeah, for me,” he agreed, sounding pleased with himself. Joel was silent for a long moment, listening to the soft rustle of your body as you gazed around your surroundings. The grass, the trees, the darkness… “I’m sorry for being so selfish.”

The sudden apology confused you. “What?”

“You’ve never been outside of the QZ before, and for good reason,” Joel started. “It’s a scary world out here and I shouldn’t have subjected you to it. I shouldn’t have brought you along.”

His voice was full of guilt that seemed to come out of nowhere, but given all he had to say you suspected he’d been carrying it since you left.

“I wanted to come with you,” you assured him. You never second guessed that decision despite everything that had happened so far. “Where is this coming from?”

“You’re scared and it’s my fault.” You could hear the deep frown in his voice.

“You’re the reason I feel safe right now,” you said without a second thought. It was true. You wanted him to know that. There was something you wanted to know too, now, and you couldn’t help but ask. “Do you not want me here?”

“I do,” Joel confessed. “That’s why I’m selfish.” There was a pause but you didn’t dare speak. “I didn’t want to be away from you.”

A wave of realization crashed over you.

You wiggled around, turning until you were facing him. You offered him a soft, delicate smile that you hoped he could see despite the dark.

“It almost sounds like you care about me. A lot,” you couldn’t help but tease.

“You know I care about you,” Joel stated, like it was the most obvious thing. Maybe he’d tried to cover it up in the past, but someone would have to be blind to not see that you meant something to Joel.

“I care about you too,” you admitted with much more ease. He knew, though.

Joel, in an uncharacteristically soft gesture, pressed a kiss to your forehead. You could hardly believe it. But it felt nice. You liked the affection. And coming from someone like Joel who never let their guard down, it was significant enough to leave you speechless.

“It’s gonna be daylight soon,” he muttered. “You should try and get some sleep.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed with a slight nod. “Just… one more thing.” It took everything you had to be brave enough to say that, and to do what you were going to do next.

There was basically no space between the two of you, but you managed to bring your hand up to Joel’s face and cup his jaw. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Joel didn’t hesitate to kiss you back. He took charge, but it wasn’t surprising. He had a dominating presence and was rough around the edges, you didn’t think he’d be delicate with you.

Not that you minded.

His lips moved against yours, almost in a frenzy. Like he was scared you’d slip away from him. It was so needy, so passionate. You wished you would’ve done this much, much sooner

Joel found the willpower to break away from the kiss before you. You would’ve happily lost consciousness in order to kiss him for just a few more moments. But then you’d worry him, and you hated to see Joel worry.

But you didn’t see worry when you looked into his eyes. You saw a hint of wonder. You were both staring into a new beginning as you gazed upon one another. He was panting a little, both of your soft breaths intertwining.

“You need sleep,” he reminded you.

Of course he still couldn’t drop the protector role. He wasn’t wrong about that, either. You smiled to yourself, the feel of his lips still ghosting yours despite the distance. You twisted in the sleeping bag without a word, knowing that you’d never be able to sleep facing Joel. You’d probably be too busy staring at him…

So yeah, you laid with your back to his chest and closed your eyes. His arms held you tight against his firm body. Not only providing warmth, but security as well.

“Goodnight,” Joel mumbled to you, already dozing back off. You could hear the soft smile in his voice despite the tiredness. It seemed easier for him to sleep wherever, although you liked to think you were bringing him some kind of comfort as well. With the way he held you against him it wouldn’t be an unrealistic thought.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you replied softly, finally able to relax your breathing. The feel of Joel’s body pressed against you, his strong arms around you—it felt like a dream. Safe and sound, away from the dangers that lie not far off. And soon enough, you were finally able to close your eyes and fall into a peaceful sleep.

[eideticallys]

Who's Your Barber?

request: based on this.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: “you move fast, kid.” he turned to spencer who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “letting Y/N cut your hair without going on a first date.”

genre: fluff

word count: 852

author's notes: hello! i'm back with another spencer reid tooth-rotting fluff without plot. this was based on a request sent to me. i hope you'll love this! also posted on ao3 (spencereids).

“DO YOU THINK MY HAIR’S TOO LONG?”

You looked up from where you were working on a pile of paperwork from a recent case only to stare at a pouting Spencer.

Cute, you thought.

“Why?” You asked, now facing the man in front of you who was busy fretting over his hair. “Is it bothering you?”

“No, not really.” He mumbled. “I just—I don’t know. I want to keep it this way because it’s always been kind of on the longer side but I also want to try cutting it short.”

A bit shy from his admission, Spencer started fiddling with the hair tie on his wrist, obviously not that comfortable implying that he did care about his looks even for a small bit.

You almost cooed at how adorable he’s being for a grown man.

“Okay,” You prodded him again, wanting to make sure you understood what he was trying to say. “So, you wanna try a new haircut but you’re not sure about it. Well, I can help you with that.”

Spencer looked up from where he was playing with his hair tie and scrunched up his brow in question.

“How?”

You instantly blushed at what you were about to suggest when you noticed Spencer being all for it. The thing about Spencer is that he’s a great listener as much as he likes to talk. Coming from a household where he never got to have a good companion unless his mom was doing okay, Spencer knew what it felt like when no one wanted to listen to whatever it was one has to say. With all your doubts starting to vanish at Spencer’s obvious interest, you shared your thoughts.

“Well,” You decided to share. It’s not like you would recount to him an embarrassing childhood story. That’s a story meant for another day. “I may or may not have worked at my aunt’s salon over the summer back when I was in high school. I wasn’t a hairstylist but learned a thing or two.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in wonder. You no longer regretted sharing your experience and were sure he was about to share a tangent on hairstyling in typical Dr. Spencer Reid fashion.

“Archaeologists discovered that cutting our hair and styling it have both been practiced by human beings as early as the Ice Age.” Spencer babbled. “Also, they said that people’s social class, age, ethnicity, race, and genetics determined the style of their hair throughout history even up to the late 20th century.”

You grinned at Spencer’s info dump and ruffled his hair, to which he scrunched his nose.

“So, Reid,” You replied. “When are we gonna cut your hair?”

“What, did you join a boy band?”

Everyone around the table started giggling and smiling as soon as Hotch directed the question at Spencer, as your cheeks reddened. Unfortunately for Spencer, you being a former employee at your aunt’s salon certainly did not do you wonders. Because what was supposed to be a trim here and there became a short haircut for him, quite shorter than what he has envisioned, he shared with you.

You almost dug yourself a hole right then and there.

But apparently, Spencer liked it enough—loved it even—to not hate you for cutting his hair too short. It’s fortunate—for him and especially for you who gets to see him in his new hair every day—that Spencer was pretty. He looked good both in long and short hair.

However, with Hotch asking him that question, you were sure Spencer would hate you for cutting it wrongly.

“No?” Spencer replied as his brows crinkled. You breathed a sigh of relief with his answer, which Rossi didn’t fail to notice. 

You were about to head out when Hotch just announced, “Wheels up in 30.” When you heard Rossi speak to Spencer

“I like your hair, kid.” You almost smiled until Rossi questioned him. “Who’s your barber? Maybe I’ll get myself the same haircut.”

As if it couldn’t get any worse, you heard Morgan join in on the conversation, like both he and Rossi knew something you don’t. Spencer probably didn’t know what that something was too.

“Yeah, pretty boy. Who’s your barber?”

Spencer looked like he had swallowed a frog and he had seen a ghost with how comical he looked right now. 

It seemed Spencer knew what Rossi and Morgan were trying to imply in their prodding.

“It seems to me,” Rossi continued. “It was our lovely Y/N who cut his hair.”

At this, your eyes widened as Derek smirked.

“You move fast, kid.” He turned to Spencer who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “Letting Y/N cut your hair without going on a first date.”

Spencer likes you back? 

As in more than friends? 

Non-platonic?

Spencer likes you back!

“Shut up!” Spencer screeched.

“Let’s leave the kids alone.” Rossi appeased Spencer while looking at you. “They have a date to plan.” 

Spencer sputtered out as both men chuckled while moving out.

“So, Reid.” You simpered. “Where are we going for our first date?”

[venmondiese]

New Year's Traditions.

In New Year, you have your traditions in order to assure a good year. You eat 12 grapes, and then watch the fireworks with your loved ones. Aemond might start his own traditions, in his own way.

✧Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader ✧Warnings: MDNI 18+, AFAB reader, P in V, exhibisionsm, praising kink, slight breeding kink, soft sex. ✧Word Count: 4008 ✧Author's note: hehe my first tumblr fanfic post lol, I KNOW that new year passed, but this idea came to me at 2 am after seeing the fireworks. enjoy!! ✧AO3 link: here

Aemond and you have shared many moments together. Birthdays, anniversaries, and one of your favourites was new year

It was a silly reason, to celebrate another day marked as the beginning of a new year, yet you liked how it meant a simple thing; starting a new year of your life with Aemond. And you liked that.

As Aemond hated going to his family’s mansion for these holidays, you remained in your apartment, cosy as ever and only you two. You, Aemond and Vhagar, is an old grumpy lady cat, that he adored more than everything, more than even you, you suspect sometimes. 

And you didn’t even do such a produced food this year, you ate some pretty good lasagna, with a second dish with shrimps and salad. It was nice, and it certainly was more like a fancy dinner between you two. Aemond loved to spoil you in any way he could, so every whim or idea you could have, he would make it reality. 

“Eating grapes is so stupid” Aemond says, as you pick out the grapes to leave it on a grape carefully.

“Stupid or not, I like grapes”  You state leaving the plate on the table in front of the TV. “And you are gonna eat them as well” 

“I am not” Aemond states, crossing his arms as he smirks. He was so amused by seeing you like this, worried about stupid little traditions that made no sense.

“Yes, you are. You have to eat one each time that stupid clock that you bought chimes” you say pointing at the stupid clock that he brought one day, out of nowhere, saying it was a relic from old Valyria, with little dragons details on the wood, a stupid grandfather’s clock that stood at the side of the couch, that chimes in each hour. 

At first, at night it kept you awake, and the sound was so deep, you jumped each time. So did Vhagar, annoyed by being awakened. Even at sex, when Aemond was so deep, readjusting your guts in the best of ways, his cock hitting so wonderfully inside you, and his sweet praises whispered in your ear… and the stupid clock chimes. You hated it.

“If you miss it, and do not get to eat all twelve on time, you’d have a year of bad luck” You state, wrinkling your nose teasingly. “And you can make a wish for each month”

“If it makes you happy…” He sighs, sitting on the couch, where Vhagar jumps quickly on his lap to lay there, always before you could cuddle up to him. She did it on purpose, and Aemond allowed his two girls, as he called you both, to fight over him and his attention and affections. 

“Come on, I always have done it. It is a tradition.” You say with a thoughtful nod, as you sit beside him. “And see where it ended… I am your girlfriend, and we have been together for two years now… You don’t want this one to be the last?” You ask dramatically, and he rolls his eyes as he leans his head back, but he chuckles amused.

“I have until midnight to think” He mumbles amused, moving his hand to caress your thigh sweetly. 

He has chosen the dress. He didn’t believe in the new year being something special, but if it was an opportunity to make you dress nicely, he’d take it in a heartbeat. He had his own taste when it came to your clothes, Aemond liked seeing you in special, tight dresses that made you stand out wherever you went. To brag that you were his, and he always took the time to braid your hair in the style of his ancestors, and he was meticulous about it. 

“Then you have until midnight to leave the apartment” You say in your best teasing tone, smiling smugly to him and his lips almost make a little pout.

“Don’t be like that” He says rubbing your thigh as he moves his head closer to you, still leaning on the back of the couch “At least you could grant me a goodbye sex?” He tries to plead using his best puppy eyes for teasing.

“Absolutely no” You state laughing at your little back and forth. 

Aemond was often perceived as quiet and a bit cold, at least you did the first time you met him. Little words came naturally from him, his answers were brief words and that was it. But he grew warmer as you two grew together, and he enjoyed teasing a bit too much, it amused him to no end. He just loved your reactions, and how you fought back, it was all worth it. 

He loved how you had a enmity with Vhagar, seeing who could get more affection from him, and who would he choose, sometimes he chose the cat on purpose just to get a raise out of you. He’d laugh every time, and make it up to you by eating you out like he was a starved man.

“I’ll eat the damn grapes” He mumbles smirking. “I feel like Persephone being forced to eat the pomegranate..”

“I am no Hades” You say mumbling.

“Mhm. I suppose if I eat only six of them I could live freely in the spring and summer without you?” He teases, totally amused.

“Careful. Too many jokes of leaving can break a girl’s heart” 

“I’d never break your heart” He mumbles going to hiss your chin and then your lips, almost too lazily for him. He does it gently, showing him the little pecks of his affection in your chin and lips. Aemond looks at you tenderly, as he speaks softly. You can hear the sound of the programmated count back for new year on the tv, but you look at him kissing you. “I’ll eat the grapes for you”

“Like Adam ate the apple for Eve?” You inquire, amused.

“Yes. I’ll follow you out of Eden once they expel us” He murmurs smiling, still his face close to yours, you could feel his soft breath, calm and it smells like the wine you two tasted earlier. His hand returns to rub your thigh softly, as he looks at your face as if wanting to remember each part of it, his eye moving to your tender eyes to your lips, and he has a little smile curling on his lips, involuntary, you can notice. 

“I’ll fetch the champagne” You murmur, breaking his gaze, standing up and walking to the kitchen. He hums, and sits back correctly. 

Once you are back, with two glasses and the bottle, he is caressing Vhagar’s back and moving his hand to pat slightly her bottom, which she appreciates a lot. 

“Stop spanking that ugly cat” You grumble leaving the two cups on the table in front of him.

“Jealous?” 

“No” You say looking at the hour. 23:57. Close enough. “Are you sure that we could see the fireworks through the balcony?”

“Yes. Mother said the apartment had a nice view to the Blackwater bay just nicely. We’ll watch all the fireworks from the safety and comfort of our balcony.” 

You hum, nodding a bit. “I love fireworks” You say excitedly, and Vhagar meow. “Vhagar likes them too”

“Vhagar can barely see” Aemond says in a laugh, “I’d be surprised if actually makes it to the balcony”

“You are being mean” You giggle caressing Vhagar’s furr, which she appreciates but gives you a stern look. 

“Give me a kiss before the year ends” Aemond urges looking at the clock, 23:58.

“I thought you didn’t believed in-” 

“Shut up and kiss me” He repeats, and before you respond, he leans to kiss you, moving you closer to him. Vhagar grumbles and gets off his lap, but Aemond doesn’t even notice. 

He kisses you deeply, moving his lips against your just for a bit, just enjoying the simpleness of a kiss. He doesn’t press it further, and his lips are tender against yours, soft and gentle, when he wants. His hand presses on your chin, and he swallows the slow hum that you give him. He smiles in the kiss, knowing that it couldn’t take all minutes, even if he wanted. Because you had your silly traditions, and if they made you happy…

“See? With one minute left” He says smugly. 

“How considerate is my boyfriend” You say standing up to extend him his bowl of grapes. “One each-”

“Yes” He says, groaning as he stands up. He smiles as he sees you so excited for this silly thing, eating grapes for a new year. He looks at his bowl and he has an amused smile, the things he does for love… 

As the new year strikes, the awful clock sounds for a bit, and he leans to steal a kiss from you. “Happy new year” He mumbles. 

“Happy new year” You murmur as you kiss.

After the chimes. He does as requested, just for you. He eats the grapes as the clock strikes twelve times at midnight. He has to laugh at your commitment, as the sound of people in other apartments can be heard, and you look at him smiling as you eat the twelve grapes. He does it for you, no doubt in it, just to see you smile as he eats the grapes. What he wouldn’t do for you, after all?

“See?” You say now, grapes finished just in time, and he rolls his eyes amused as he grabs Vhagar from the ground to caress her chin. You go to hug him, and mumble “Happy new year”

Vhagar meows, and Aemond laughs “See? She says happy new year too” 

“That is so silly” You say with a giggle, and you lean to kiss him sweetly, more properly this time, as you hug him. He has one hand on the small of your back, while the other still holds Vhagar. 

A little family of three, you always say, proud of being with him. He was always equally proud of you, always pampering you with love and gifts, no matter how tired he could be each day, he always came to be with you and be the doting boyfriend he always is.

“Now, shall we see the fireworks you were so eager for, hm?” He asks, smirking as your faces are close. “My sweet girl” He says softly, his adoring gaze looking at her.

You smile, and your cheeks blush a bit. He never manages to miss the chance to make you all flustered for him.

“Yeah, let’s go” You say, giving him a sweet peck on the lips, as he leaves Vhagar on the couch. 

You slide the door open for the balcony, and you can hear the loud cheers from people around, you have a nice view to Blackwater Bay, a bit far enough to see the fireworks from a nice view, and everything is already dark so the main focus was the fireworks.

Aemond lays on the balcony by your side, looking at the ground for a bit, and smirking. “I think they are about to start, do you have one of your silly traditions for fireworks too?”

“Oh, fuck off” You say pushing him a bit, and he laughs.

“It’s chilly” He comments a bit, and looks over at you in your dress “I’ll bring our jackets” He says going back to the apartment, and you remain there, looking at how the people in the streets were also expecting the pyrotechnic show. 

Aemond was right, it was a bit cold. But again, he likes to dress you up in pretty dresses. He often jokes how you are his ‘perfect doll’ and how he loves to show you off in the best makeup, dresses and hairstyles. He was just proud of it, that you allowed him to. 

“Aemond, it is starting!” You say loudly so he can hurry up, since he always takes too long for everything. 

The first fireworks start, the red explosion illuminates the darkness of the city, and you look in amazement, as a more yellow one follows. People cheer, also excited for the colours, and you hear Aemond closing the sliding door of the balcony.

“Here” He says, extending the jacket to you as he pushes Vhagar inside of the apartment. 

You thank him as you quickly put on the jacket, now looking at the purple ones exploding in a soft motion. 

“Don’t you think it is pretty?” You say to Aemond “The purple ones are better, but they don’t illuminate as good as the– Oh” 

Aemond passes his arms over your waist, hugging you from behind, and his chin is quickly pressed against your left shoulder as he snuggles into you.

“Very pretty” He murmurs.

“I mean the view” You say embarrassed. 

“Not as pretty as you” He adds smiling. 

He leans to kiss your lips, and you chuckle in his lips, as you hear more explosions from the fireworks go off, and you just know what comes next. Aemond wasn’t really subtle when he wanted you; when he wanted to devour you wholly, and now it wasn’t the exception. He did it on purpose, so you always know how much you entice him.

“Aemond, the fireworks..” You whine as he keeps insisting on kissing you. “It is only one time a year-”

“I know” He says, resigning and leaving you alone, as you leave a small kiss on his cheek as a thank you. 

The light blue explosions were quite nice, and combined with the purple ones did a pretty sight. Some minutes pass as you feel Aemond starting to kiss you neck again, slowly, but with more intention now, he wanted you and he was letting you know.

“Love-” You get interrupted by him.

“Watch your fireworks” He instructs you, moving his hands to your thighs, and he is quick to move them up as he speaks slowly to you. He moves his body a bit back, to watch yours as he does whatever he wants with you. “I’ll do my thing here…”

“We can surely do it once the show is over”

“I am afraid I cannot bear any longer. You eat grapes to celebrate a new turn in the sun, and I might start a new tradition for the new year.” He tells you, and moves your head to watch the fireworks. 

He moves his hands up, so your dress is all the way up, and accumulating in your waist, as he hums in delight. He moves your jacket to rest in your waist, anytime it could fall again. It was quick, but Aemond wanted you like he never did before.

“Anyone could see us” You say, the red firework exploding and you see the people in the street, below and so unaware of this. 

“Then let them see my pretty girl celebrating a new year” He murmurs, not caring about that. “Mmm… Red underwear. Is that another sweet tradition of yours? I think that one I might like” He teases kissing your shoulder as he pulls your underwear off. 

You feel aroused, from his sweet words and slightly more because of the embarrassment of this. Being fucked in your balcony, as the fireworks exploded in front of you, and the people around celebrated another year. As always, Aemond had to do everything in his own way, celebrating in his own way.

Hearing him undo his belt does it for you, the arousal makes your belly flutter, and you try to look back at him, but each time he pushes your head forward; watch the fireworks, it is his order.

Your hands grip a bit on the balcony railing, as you lean a bit forward, as if presenting you to him. His hands quickly go to your hips, and he leans closer to press a kiss on your neck, soft, wet kisses making their way to your jaw. 

“You are so divine like this, my sweet loving girl” He praises you slightly, his hands rubbing in circles on your hips for a few moments, you can feel his cock pressed on the curvature of your ass, and you whimper a bit impatient now. “So pretty, fuck, and all mine”

The mere thought of that drives him insane. His hand moves upfront, and he quickly finds his way to your pussy, aching and longing for him. You moan impatiently as you push your own throbbing core to his hand and fingers, and he chuckles a bit, without breath as the mere action aroused him to no end. 

“I’ll make you really wet and nice for me” He tells you, always so eloquent at the time of having sex. “You know my goals for this year? Make you my sweet wife…” He admits, moving his hand to your lower abdomen, pushing the dress to be a bit higher on your waist. He presses his hand there, his palm giving your cold body some heat. His fingers find your clit, and press against it so softly, giving you just the right stimulation to make you moan “And I’ll give you my baby, so your belly swells so full and nicely. Yeah, I’ll make you a mother… And then again, and again…” He starts rambling off a bit, his own lust talks for him, and you have to moan at these words. 

The mere thought of it makes your pussy clench in need, and you have to bite your lower lip because of it. Your head cannot properly focus on the pyrotechnic show ahead, but only in his words. You shoulder tense, and your head falls a bit as the lust is too much. You want, you need him inside. 

“Yeah, please, please…” You whine for him, wanting to get the clue and just fuck you, right there. 

“Let’s see, are you properly wet?” He says in his best smugly tone, and you know that tone. He wants to tease you.

Even if you cannot see him, the wet sounds give him away. He is fisting himself, at the sight of you, leaned in the balcony railing all at his mercy as the lights of the fireworks illuminate your figure, and while he inspects you, his fingers around your entrance to check how really wet you are. He takes the note, that if he wants to fuck you along with the pyrotechnic show, the moment was now.

He moves your legs to be apart, cursing in a low tone, as he takes your hips to accommodate you at his taste, and you have to shush your own moan once you feel the tip of his cock moving between your legs, all the way to your entrance. 

He pushes in, firmly and decided, yet still slow at first, as he always did. You assume that he takes his time, wanting to feel you opening at his length and he always groans lowly as if it was the best thing ever. 

You whimper, his cock as always moving inch by inch, slowly as if he wanted your walls to remember his shape, his hardness, every vein and how he throbs for you. 

“First time of the year, huh?” He cannot help but tease a bit, as his forehead was resting against your shoulder, and he looked how the sight of his cock disappeared as he pushed all the way in, and your ass against his crotch never fails to make him moan.  “Fuck..” 

With one arm wrapped around your waist, he moves the other one to caress your hip, as you moan impatiently for him to move.

“Focus on the fireworks” He insists, his tone shaky, and you both know that no one here cares for the damn fireworks right now.

He starts thrusting, slow at first, making you close your eyes in delight, and your breath is catching midway in your throat from how good it feels. He as well feels in pure delight, you always took him so well, you always were so tight that it made him fantasise about you always. 

“Just like that, baby” He says, increasing his thrusts, moving your hips to meet his pounding, and you start mewling, and it only seems to encourage him to move faster. His other hand finds the way to your hair, grabbing it to make your head look forward. “You wanted so badly to watch it, and now you don’t even care? Tsk, tsk…” 

You can hear the amusement of his tone, how he loves being the responsible of this, of making you melt under his touch, and thanks to his cock.

Entering you over and over, was probably the best way to start the year, and he marks this tradition as his own now, seeing the fireworks as he fuck you against the balcony railing. The idea pushes him into arousal even further, his forehead leaning on your shoulder again, and it makes so easy to hear his lascive sounds, his soft grunts as he keeps pushing your body to meet his, and wanting to make a mess out of you.

“Fuck!” There, he thinks smirking to himself, so buried into you, and he pushes away without any mercy. You let another mewl, lascive and filthy, driving him insane. “Aemond, fuck…” You moan, his cock deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot, and fitting so good inside you would never keep you quiet. 

You can see from the edge of you eyes the neighbors below, also in the balcony, but they were drinking champagne and unaware of how their upstairs neighbors were fucking like animals in the middle of the firework show.

“Are you close, sweet thing?” He asks kissing and nibbling below your ear, right where your jaw started. “Are you gonna cum– Gonna soak my cock, like the good girl you are?”

“Yes” You say breathing forcefully, letting out an exhale that feels more like a sob, and you nod frantically. His hand loose from your hand, and moves down to play, once again, with your pearl. 

At that, you have to move one of your own hands to your mouth not to shout in ectasis, as he does just the right thing. His cock deep inside you, thrusting and pounding into you, precum all over your walls, you are sure, and his fingers doing circles and rubbing your clitoris in the best way possible. 

It is no one’s surprise when you cum with a choked moan, your eyes closed as Aemond feels your walls clenching around you as your orgasm hits you. You don’t even seem to notice how the show keeps going, the palmer lake fireworks right in front of you, and you are too busy soaking his cock to notice.

He doesn’t last longer either, the sight and the feeling of you cumming around him, is enough to make him bury himself deep into you, and let out a moan as he fills you, his arm wrapped around you keeping you still so you don’t move as he cums inside you.

You both are out of breath, and you are too exhausted from the orgasm that hit you.

“Look” He murmurs, and you let out a little sound, not in the mood for his teasing. “Not, really, look; your favourites, the palmer ones..” He says pointing at them.

You look at the fireworks, explode so gracefully and then fall faintly. You chuckle a bit, as he hugs you from behind, kissing your cheek adoringly and tenderly.

“I love you” You say softly.

“I love you too” He says, as he pulls out, letting you enjoy the rest of the show. 

He pulls your dress down, and makes sure your jacket can warm you after all, and you thank him. He also fixes himself, and he takes you in his arms, kissing your forehead at the last, and more prettier fireworks are in the sky.

“I think that next year, you could ride me” He teases and you have to laugh at that. 

“I’ll do” you promise, curling in his hug and watching the sky full of colours.

It seems like a great year, already. 

[milkpup]

｡⋆ʚ♡ like father, like son

nsfw 18+ ongoing multi-chapter fic!

art creds: https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/113712140

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ʚ ao3 ɞ / ʚ kofi ɞ / ʚ fic masterlist ɞ

›› toji fushiguro x reader ›› megumi fushiguro x reader ›› toji x reader x megumi (mfm) ›› 18+ f!reader ›› started: 12/6/23 : updated: 1/29/24 : status: ongoing

‹𝟹 summary: You and Megumi are best friends. You've known eachother for almost your whole life. His home has become your second home. As time passes and life happens, Megumi slowly develops feelings for you, even though he's unaware of it. To complicate things further, you're now living with him and his father, who has also taken a liking to you.

‹𝟹 fandom: jjk, jujutsu kaisen

‹𝟹 genres / warnings: au - no powers, college au, power imbalance, pseudo-incest (they both want y/n, nothing w/ eachother), dubious consent

‹𝟹 tags: good cop bad cop, fluff, smut, angst, toji has a big dick, dilf toji, toji is his own warning, toji tries to be a good parent, toji is an asshole, toji is trying okay?, daddy dom toji, daddy kink, porn with feelings, porn with plot, friends to lovers, spit / spitting, spit kink, spit as lube, breeding, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, double vaginal pen, double pen, anal, making out, making love, love triangles, praise kink, degradation, light masochism, light sadism, emotional sex, cuckolding, jealousy, jealousy kink, smoking, smoking kink, emotional manipulation, manipulation, polyamory?, father and son share you, protective megumi fushiguro, megumi needs a hug, megumi has a big dick, aged up characters, dead dove: do not eat, finger sucking, large cock, cum swallowing, blow jobs, first time blow jobs, under desk blow jobs, fingerfucking, face sitting, face riding, 69, mutual masturbation, threesome mfm, lots of smut, loss of virginity

‹𝟹 notes: this story is originally posted on ao3! this will have dark themes, if you do not like, DO NOT INTERACT! this is a multi chapter fic that is still in progress as of posting on tumblr (1/9/24). it will be updated as i write more :) i will add links to the next chapters as i post them on this thread or smthn (idk how to use tumblr lol)

!! - again, PLEASE READ TAGS BEFORE CONTINUING - !!

! - ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ - !

Like Father, Like Son by milkpup

Chapter 1: Promises

--

“When we get older, let’s get married!” you exclaimed to Megumi, who was sitting next to you on the park bench. “We know each other best, so if we find no one else by the time we go to college, let’s get together!”

You were both in middle school still. You’ve been extremely close friends since you were young children. Megumi and his father lived in the same neighborhood as you. As a natural result of your home life being chaotic and dysfunctional, you spent most of your childhood at Megumi’s.

You were still girly and feminine, but having a guy best friend meant that you had interests more like his. You both grew up playing games together, sitting in front of the tv into late hours into the night. You were a sore loser. He was always better at any games you two played, like mario kart, fighting games, whatever it was, he was better. This meant you constantly tried to improve your skills; you wanted the satisfaction of making him lose, but you also wanted him to be impressed.

You didn’t quite understand it at the time. Why did you want to impress Megumi? It’s just a game. You brushed it off. Friendly competition never hurt, right?

--

Years pass, the same old routine. You coming over to Megumi’s house after school, staying late or sometimes spending the night. His father, Toji, saw you as his own. A daughter he never had.

It was hard after Megumi’s mother passed. Toji was more reserved, more monotonous. It seemed like the vibrancy and color of his soul was dulled. His wife was the one person he truly cared for, who he loved, and who gave meaning to his life. Being a single father of a young boy was rough. He appreciated that you brought joy to his son’s life. He appreciated that, as you grew older, you would help around at his house. Cooking, cleaning, whatever it was, you would help lessen the load on Toji.

--

In the middle of your senior year of highschool, tragedy struck the community. Your parents were killed by a drunk driver. It all happened so fast. You feel selfish and would never admit this, but you were sort of relieved. You rarely spent time at home. Your father was an abusive drunk and would target you and your mother. Your mother tried to protect you the best she could. She wanted you to be safe. She was always relieved when you would text or call her saying you were staying at Megumi’s. She trusted that boy and knew he would never be like your father.

You were sad your mother was gone. But at least she now knew peace. A tragic end, yes, but better than watching her be abused by your father.

You started living with Megumi full time. It was already basically your home in the first place, just more official now. You appreciated Toji welcoming you into his home with open arms, letting you live there full time. He was more of a father than your sperm donor parent was.

In return, you cooked and cleaned almost exclusively. You didn’t necessarily mind. You didn’t see it as demeaning, but rather as a way to show your gratitude. Cooking was also a cathartic release for you; it allowed you to remove yourself from tough emotions and focus on the task on hand. And you absolutely loved when people would praise your cooking. Thus, you were constantly trying new recipes and techniques, chasing new flavors.

Toji appreciated you basically taking on the household responsibilities while he worked long hours. He has a provider mindset. He wants to fulfill his role of providing while a woman in his life would take care of the home and enrich his life.

A few times he caught himself being reminded of his wife whenever you would do something for him. Your cooking tasted like home. Your smile and laugh were intoxicating. You had a gentle and kind soul, willing to look past anything for the right person. He felt almost uncomfortable, as if he should not be having thoughts of his late wife when looking at his pseudo-daughter. But he couldn’t help it. He’s a simple man.

--

“Good morning, Toji!” You say while something is sizzling in the pan. “I hope you’re feeling something sweet this morning!”

Toji smiles lightly. “What are you making today, little miss chef?”

“French toast!” You turn around to face him, wearing a cute apron and holding the spatula in your hand.

Toji notices the cooking must’ve gotten a bit messy, there was flour on your apron and some powdered on your cheeks. He thought it was insanely adorable.

“I’m excited to try it. Your food never ceases to amaze me.”

Good thing you had already turned back toward the stove, otherwise Toji would have saw the bright red blush creep across your face. “T-thank you… I’m glad you like it. It’s almost done.”

You could feel him watching you from behind. It was different than usual, you felt nervous? You couldn’t possibly know this at the time, but Toji was eyeing you down. Noticing the way your apron is tied around your waist, your ass in your cute shorts, messy hair, it was all perfect to him.

“All done!” You say as you start plating the French toast. “I’m going to go wake Megumi, but please try it while it’s still hot!!” You move to untie your apron, Toji never breaking his gaze on your form.

You walk towards Megumi’s room, approaching the door and knocking. “Heyyy Megs! Breakfast is ready! I know you like sweet food, so I made French toast! Come get it while it’s still hot!”

You don’t hear much behind the door, but your stomach rumbling forces you to go back to the table. You were practically drooling the whole time thinking about how delicious this food was going to be.

You re-enter the dining room and sit across Toji. He’s already started eating, and he looks like he’s enjoying it. You didn’t take him for a sweets for breakfast type of guy, so you ask him “Is it good?”

He looks up at you, and it sends shivers down your spine. “It’s delicious, sweetheart. I’ll eat anything you give me. Anything.” He smirks. He figures that isn’t crossing any lines, just playful banter and teasing. He watches your face turn a bit red as you try and hide it while eating.

--

Back in Megumi’s room, he’s slowly waking up. He doesn’t feel well-rested. “Probably due to that weird dream last night”, he thinks to himself. He doesn’t know why his brain chose now of all times to remember the promise you two made to eachother all those years ago. He figures you probably forgot about it; but for him, he can’t get it out his mind.

He shakes his head. “Whatever, I need to get ready.” He will deal with his feelings and emotions later. He remembers you mentioning sweet food and he’s already out the door. His hair is still messy, his pajamas still on.

As Toji moves to pick up his keys and leave for work, Megumi sits down next to you. He takes in the sweet aroma of French toast covered in powdered sugar and fruit. His stomach is painfully growling at this point. He serves himself and takes a bite, absolutely melting in bliss. You always make the best food, and this is no exception.

You watch as he seems excited to eat. He looks absolutely adorable, his emotions on full display as easily as a book can be read. You can tell he’s happy in this moment, and you find yourself smiling, knowing it was you that brought this.

“This is amazing. Thank you, Y/N. Seriously!”

You blush. Compliments and praise feel different from Megumi. They feel genuine and sincere, full of warmth and love.

You finish up and start cleaning. You and Megumi have the same major and a bunch of the same classes, you both need to get ready soon. Megumi gets up to help you clean.

As he stands next to your side, drying dishes as you wash them, he tells you his thoughts. He doesn’t know how to best bring it up. He’s a shy guy, so he goes for the most direct route to get it out as fast as possible. “Y/N, do you remember the promise we made in middle school?” He’s looking down at the sink, awaiting your response.

“Of course Gumi, how could I forget?” You’re slightly teasing him at this point. You were actually surprised that HE would remember that. You wonder why he’s bringing it up, and ask him. “Why?”

Silence follows your question for a few moments. “I’m not sure…. I was just thinking about it.”

Hearing his response makes you blush and your heart beat faster. What does he mean he was thinking about it? He can’t be serious?

“We can talk more about it later. We need to get ready, Y/N.” You’re thankful he gave you an opening to escape this awkward situation. It wasn’t a weird awkward, but more embarrassing than anything.

You keep asking yourself why he would be thinking about it, now of all times. You are starting college now, so you figure now would be the timeframe of the promise in question. But you didn’t think he would be serious about it. You return your room, trying to distract yourself by getting ready.

--

Megumi waits for you to finish getting ready in the living room. You exit your room, wearing simple yet cute clothes. Megumi finds it adorable how you can look good in literally anything. Even wearing the simplest outfits, leggings and a t-shirt, and you still look breathtaking. He feels weird again, thinking about his best-friend like this. He’s just simply observing and appreciating good style, right? That’s what he will tell himself.

You and Megumi carpool to campus together. You both say it’s for the environment, but you both know it’s because you absolutely hate driving.

The car ride there is always the same, listening to music together and talking. Since you both have the same classes, you are already study buddies. You’re both excited to keep going to school together.

Megumi listens as you talk about your newest fictional crush obsession. He thinks it’s so adorable how you could talk forever and ever about the things you like. He listens and observes, not wanting to interrupt your sweet voice.

--

‹𝟹 notes: i have 4 chapters written for this fic so far. i'll start migrating them from ao3 to here! lmk what y'all think! feedback is always appreciated :3! check out my ao3 if you want to read what else i have posted! thanks! <3

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(･ω･)つ divider creds to @/cafekitsune and @/eloquentreverie

[penvisions]

return the favor {chapter 22}

Pairing: Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Smuggler! Reader || M! OC x Pre Boston QZ! Reader (flashback scenes)

Summary: Memories often spring up at the worst of times, but as you continue to travel alone there's not much else to occupy your mind.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: minor character death, m! oc death, canon typical violence, canon typical language, cursing, insult, sexual content, non con, allusions to non con sexual advances, allusions to p in v, unprotected p in v that results in pregnancy, kissing, pregnancy, symptoms of pregnancy, mentions of nausea but no vomiting, allusions to child loss, fighting, blood, reader gets injured, joel gets injured, guns, gun violence, self-depreciating internal monologue, if i left anything out pls lemme know!

A/N: trying something new with this chapter, i hope it reads well! thank you to everyone who participated in the poll for the next few chapters of this fic! this one is a little shorter, but the next one will be a doozy. my mind is a little overwhelmed with school and tutoring and four different WIPS

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Joel was trying.

He was trying to tamp down the anxiety he knew would thrum in his veins the second the gates of Jackson closed behind him. Back out in the unknown and unpredictable landscape. Winter was granting him a passive day, no snow, no biting wind, cloud coverage clear for the sky to shine a light blue to crystal clear you would think it was a brisk summer day. But the pause in extreme weather aside from the near freezing temperature did nothing to quell the pulse beneath his skin.

He was alone, traveling with a teenager he had come to care about in a dangerous way.

The journey had been meant to be made with Tess, first. Strong-willed, no-nonsense saint of a woman for taking what he could offer her and not asking for anything in return. Just wanting to share space and renown within a controlled setting that allowed for them to execute their runs and make what passed for a decent living back in what was left of the quarantine zones. To share their bodies when human nature sparked connection in the oldest and most instinctual of ways. She had turned an eye to his abuse of the very same things they traded for food, for water, for supplies for their shabby apartment that had seen far better days before they stepped foot inside.

Then journey was then meant to be made with you. A surprise in the moments after her death. Skilled in many things and willing to help a man suddenly saddled with a teenager he had no clue how to interact with. But he had, once upon a time. The situation tasting of irony and self-destruction. Selfless to the point of disembarking on your own path in the wake of his own attempt at running when faced with something too real for the world. Maybe in the Before times, it would have worked out. Perhaps a meet cute as he delivered his brother to an urgent care for a drunken blunder, a work accident he himself fell victim to, or a begged visit for Sarah should she had fallen off her bike or taken a tumble in soccer practice. Maybe then it would have been given life, hopeful glances and lingering touches that would have turned into nervous dates. Nervous dates that would give way to regular familiarity and then heated nights beneath sheets of his bed.

But it had never should’ve blossomed in the now, in the after. And yet, it had tried.

Ellie was mad. She wasn’t trying.

Not the first day at least.

Speaking when spoken to, ire and hurt flaring uncomfortably in moments he could sense weren’t aimed at him. At least not completely. Aimed at you, for going back on your word. Something you wouldn’t have had to do if he hadn’t screwed up so monumentally by falling for you. He had been wrong in his accusations, throwing the proposition you made to him all those days ago back in your face. Like you had forced yourself on him, forced him into thinking of you that way, of wanting you that way. But it had been him, his decision to take you up on it in his grief. Wanting to feel something other than the gaping hole that seemed to eat up more and more of him as the years went by.

But instead of just taking his body in the ways he allowed you to, you had also begun to heal that black hole he was made up of. Slowly and so minimally at a time that he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

He stopped and made the time to teach her how to shoot the rifle, hoping it would help to bring her out of her shell. And it worked, he silently thanked the universe, it worked. She was cracking jokes and quipping like normal. Mirth lighting up her eyes and questions flowing from her. And he indulged them, as best he could. Telling her of how he supported himself before the world fell apart. About how he always dreamed of singing and making music.

But just as everything seemed to be on the mend, it was broken once again.

With the crack of a wooden bat.

“A-Angelo?” You voice was as shaky as your reaching hands, fingers brushing against the man’s face only a few steps away. He was older, that much was certain. Only a year apart back then, back when the world functioned in an entirely different way. Only a year apart, but two decades of time separating you now, turned into completely different people. A wave of emotions at finding your family by pure chance and circumstance in the wilds of a state you had never been to before while on your way to look for them hit hard. You both surged forward and embraced, the man’s arms coming around you and tightening.

“I thought it was you, the hair,” He choked out, deep voice cracking. He was so broad, tall frame looming over you, developed fully into a man who had survived the worst of nature and humanity. Just as you had grown into a woman who took nothing of ill nature aimed at you, taking the things that had happened to you and using it as a foundation to be stronger.

“It’s me, I’m okay.” You gripped his shoulders tight, pushing him back a little to look him over.

“No injuries, no bites, you’re okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m okay….We both are.”

That’s when your mind decided to remind you of the other voice you heard, the feminine one.

A young girl, no more than her teens and far too skinny was half concealed behind a tree trunk a few yards away. Her eyes were brown, honey brown and beautiful and they reminded you of so many people lost to space and time. They shown just as Taylor’s had done, once upon a time. Like you had both talked of wishing to see on a bright new, chubby face…

“Oh.” The phantom jolt of a kick felt through the skin of your aunt’s stomach so many years ago sprung to life in the palm of your hand. “Oh, Angelo. I’m-I’m so sorry.”

He detached from you, taking a few steps toward the girl, now in between you both equally. He held out a hand to her, his gloves tattered and stitching frayed in certain places.

“It’s okay, she’s okay. She’s family.”

“You’re so beautiful,” You gently coached her out, hoping nice words would help her to feel safe. “I’ve never met you, but I’ve waited a very long time to. You- you can call me by my name or Bean, if you’d like?”

“This is our cousin, from mom’s side. Do you remember her saying that we needed to go East?”

A small nod, wide eyes taking in the situation.

“It was to find her. She’s good, smart, she can help keep us alive.”

“You’ve been doing good on your own.” She didn’t move, not taking a step to back away and put distance between you nor toward you in a hesitant greeting. Her wide brown eyes were alert, telling of the things she’d experienced and been witness to. Of how cautious she was in the face of new people, a good thing to be but completely unwarranted in this particular case.

“Yes, but…Adela, we…we need help. This season, it’s harsh and we don’t know this land as well.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I know we’re practically strangers but we are related. I know that doesn’t mean much these days to some people, but it means a great deal to me. I will do everything in my power to protect you, just like your brother.”

Hours later, after a shared meal and an introduction of your gifted appaloosa, camp was made and secured. Adela was fast asleep, one of the blankets you had tucked underneath the saddle wrapped around her small frame inside her sleeping bag. Light snoring sounding from the bundle she made against the horse.

“We’re the only ones that made it.” Angelo said before you could even figure out how to ask after everyone. Outbreak day a rather taboo subject amongst those that survived it. For Joel, at least, for you it was easier to divulge but still not a light subject to talk about. You had been willing with Ellie, with Maria.  The first to quell her curious questions, to allow her another perspective on the events before her time that shaped the world into the one that she knew. The second to appeal to her, to connect with someone who felt comfortable.

“We didn’t know anything was going on for a while, you know how it is working in a ware. house all day. But when I got home that evening, apparently grandma had passed during the morning. Scared the hell out of everyone when she came sprinting into the living room and lunged at dad.”

“I…I can’t imagine, I’m so sorry. I know I had a missed call from the house that day, but I had been running late. And then, you know….”

“It’s okay,” One of his gloved hands reached out, taking the closest one of yours and squeezing. “We both made it, Adela made it. I love our family and cared so much for everyone, but this world is too harsh for them. It was always going to be us and that’s the only comfort I have in what happened.”

Silently agreeing, you squeezed his hand back. He was right, your grandparents had softened in their age, his parents and your father caring for them together. Soft in their endearment too, not suited for a life of constant unrest, of constant fear and paranoia. Of scrounging for food and basic supplies, having to defend what was yours by any means necessary.  

“I was traveling with a man from Boston QZ and a girl, we were trying to find her family out this way. The last lead would’ve taken us to the University of Eastern Colorado.” You admitted over dinner the next day, having taught Adela the basics of how to properly interact with a horse, how to climb up in the saddle. While she was tall, she was skinny. Alarmingly so, but Angelo assured you that he always made sure she had enough to eat. He was willing to go without to provide for her, to ensure her still growing body had as much as it needed, or close to it at least.

“We were just there,” He took a breath, savoring the smell of the coffee that you had brewed for him as you all settled around the fire for the night. Scraps of foil that had contained easy, portioned meals to through on the fire that Maria had provided you with. “Well, around there. We came across a group of people settled into an old lodge town. Not to far from the city actually.”

Something about the man’s tone had you delaying your questions until Adela had laid down to rest for the night, tired from the day of interaction. But she was warming up to you, a familiar comfortability between you both as you talked to her about her mother. She admitted quietly that Angelo wasn’t willing to talk about their parents, people she had never had the chance to meet. The chaos of Outbreak day and those following it too much for him to talk about.

“We-uh, we left the group pretty quickly.” The man cleared his throat, turning around to ensure that his little sister was indeed asleep and not feigning it in order to eavesdrop. “The leader, god – what was his name? It doesn’t matter, he was so nice at first. Preaching about how people need to stick together, that his flock chose him to lead them and look after them.”

Your heart sank to your stomach, religious fanatics always putting you on edge. The way they manipulated the words of the bible in order to further their own agenda. And the way Angelo described him as initially nice and welcoming. A ploy, a trap laid out to ensnare people.

“But the first morning there, he came to visit us in the small set up they provided us with. Asked Adela to go out on a walk with him while I was still asleep. She hadn’t wanted to go, but felt obligated. Like he was just going to give her a tour or somethin’ and it was harmless, ya know?”

The rush of blood in your ears was loud, but you strained against it, needing to hear the words coming from the man beside you.

“He- that motherfucker, he exposed himself to her. Said that if she wanted to stay and use their resources that she needed to earn her keep. She begged me to leave right that second, to gather our stuff and make a run for it. But I don’t her we needed to act like nothing happened, to wait until nightfall and take what we could. So we did….but if you said you were traveling with a girl…brown hair, short, scar in her eyebrow?”

“Yes.” You breathed out, body thrumming with fear. No….no…there was no way Ellie could’ve been taken by the same men. She wouldn’t willingly go with anyone, had been hesitant to even let you or Joel out of her sight for too long….That meant…Joel had to have been injured in order for them to steal her away from him.

“She was unconscious, they were…they were carrying her into the settlement.”

Your head shot up, drink spilling over your hands cupped around the thermos.

“No.” You stood, hands steady despite the flood of emotions raging around in your mind. “No, no, no. I know those people, without them I wouldn’t have made it back out this way. We traveled from the other coast.”

It was late, but you didn’t care. You were gathering everything you needed, your pack and half of the food supply.

Adela roused at the noise, springing up and reaching for your hands.

“No, please, don’t leave us. We’ve lost too much already.” Tears were in her wide eyes, tugging at your heart in more ways than one. You crouched down in front of her, clasping your gloved hands around her own. Giving her your undivided attention.

“Honey, please, listen to me. I’m- I – I don’t want to leave you two, but I have to. Please understand. The girl that you saw, that was…she’s important to me. And she needs my help. I’ll see you again, I promise. I swear to you, Adela, I will see you again. Behind the walls of Jackson, we can…we can have a life there.”

Standing, you pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I’ll tell you embarrassing stories about your brother from when we were little.”

Pulling the map from your pocket, you circled the spot for Jackson with a marker.

“Here, this map will get you back to a settlement. Jackson. It’s large, has walls, it works. Ask for Maria or Tommy, tell them my name and that I sent you. Tell them you’re my family, you are. Take this,” You moved to wrap your old coat you had draped over your lap over the small frame of the girl and push the map that would lead them back to Jackson in the man’s hands.

The man surged up and gripped you tight in a bear hug, his body wrapped completely around you like he would do ever since he had begun to tower over you as children.

“Please, be safe!”

“Seek refuge in Jackson. I’ll return there, I promise.” You urged as you mounted the horse, reigns tight in your hands.

You clicked your tongue and tugged hard, urging the horse forward. The sound of hooves beating on the frozen ground was the only sound in the quiet, frozen night.

The remains of the a few bodies were scattered about the derelict campus that had been the destination sought out by them. Joel and Ellie. Those you were searching for nowhere to be seen, only hints of them in the bullet casings, the torn-up dirt, a bat broken in half- the jagged ends of one piece soaked in a deep red stain of blood. Joel’s, if your cousin’s words and your spiraling thoughts were correct.

Internally cursing at the man for pulling it out, for not waiting for a better moment, for not thinking in the haze his mind must’ve been.

Just as you began to trace the trail of rather fat droplets, you heard the crunch of someone stepping on fallen leaves behind you. Before you could even turn around completely to face them, someone was wrapping their arms around your neck, cutting off your air.

Your last thought was of Angelo and Adela. Of Joel and Ellie.

‘It was hot. Sweltering. And your dress was too tight over your swollen middle. It was a small bump, barely visible from the front, more so from the side. You had thought you indulged in too much food one evening after a deer had been caught but the teasing jab soon delved into something more serious. Especially when the swelling hadn’t gone down in the following days and nausea became a morning ritual.

You had been ecstatic, a first for you. And exciting thing you had always wanted. A faint thought you hadn’t entertained even in a working world, a notion you hadn’t thought possible at all with the demise of the world. When you had told him, Taylor had shared in your excitement, immediately beginning to hoard everything he could loot from the nearby state park. Gathering everything you could use, whether it was to repurpose it or store it for the future.

You had found a pocket of happiness and security in the rubble of the world, hidden deep in the forests of Tennessee in the form of a man who welcomed you into his space when all you had wanted to do was run. Finding yourself injured and needing aid, he had offered it to you.

What had begun as a small stay to ensure you would heal okay, that your stitches were secure and wouldn’t pull. But the conversations that flowed from one to another over those first few days tied you to each other. Braiding together your futures in such a wonderful way. There was no way to know how badly the universe would fray the untethered strings.

The only consolation was that the nights were cooler, the evenings and mornings twinged with a chill that signaled the end of an unseasonable warm fall. But as time moved on, Taylor had pleaded with you to consider staying close to the cabin. You had agreed, the symptoms of your pregnancy making it hard to do much of anything for long. Hunting and patrolling far too much for you to handle at the moment.

You were tending to the horses when he appeared behind you, arms snaking around your shoulders. The tickling of his facial hair sprouting giggles from you. The horses snickered, sharing in your delight. After securing them back in the modest stable, large hands were wrapping around you and sweeping you off of your tired feet.

“C’mon, princessa, let’s go have a nap.”

“But I don’t wanna,” You whined, not wanting to waste the sunshine while it was still showing, winters notoriously gray and overcast in this part of the region. The looming mountains casting dark shadows over pockets of land. Thankfully the cabin wasn’t in one of those regions, hidden well by the tall trees and stained a dark green all along the roof to avoid searching eyes to those at a higher altitude.

“Who said we were gonna sleep, silly girl?” Taylor swooped down to kiss you fully on the lips. Stirring warmth in your core. With a deep laugh at the chasing of your lips after his, he carefully rushed up the stairs and through the front door. “I’m gonna devour you, you’re too good looking a snack to leave untouched.”

“Oh hush,” You curled your hands into the long hair he had tied into a bun at the back of his head. Taking the band from around it and causing the strands to cascade around his handsome face.

“Glowing and full of me, carrying our baby in your pretty little tummy. Good god, you’re constantly on my mind, princessa, you’re my entire world.”

“And you’re mine, mi amor.”

Bubbling giggles flowed through the cabin as he made his way up the stairs and through the small landing. Into the bedroom that you found happiness in the midst of the fallen world.’

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[vladajwrites]

Razor’s Edge

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Summary; Reader moves to Woodsboro for her senior year of high school. This story take place in the setting of the Scream 4 movie. This story is dedicated to all of the girls living through the current Rory Culkin revival. I love and see you. <3

Also available to be read on AO3 here

It's imperative for me to mention MAJOR trigger warnings for this story; blood, violence, sexual content, alcohol usage, and mentions of abusive situations and suicide. I will add and edit tw's as needed.

WC; 5,043

Notes;

Part 3 should be available soon. Thank you for any and all support! It truly means the world to me. Check post comments after reading chapter for additional statements.

As you had anticipated, Irina was truly overjoyed to learn how your first day of school had gone. She asked so many questions; the conversation went well into the night after she had returned home from work. 

“Could you see yourself becoming friends with any of the other students?” Irina asked from the kitchen table as you cleared remnants of dinner from the counter. 

You set a plate down in the sink and contemplated her question. Thinking back on the people you met over the course of the day, a few names came to mind. Kirby seemed kind. You had exchanged numbers after film club had ended. Her other friend, Jill, seemed a fine enough person as well, though a bit more reserved. 

You thought back to any of the other conversations you had throughout the day. Robbie’s awkward invitation played over, albeit a brave gesture, it didn’t seem like likely grounds for a friendship. Your thoughts then shifted to Robbie’s counterpart. 

Charlie seemed to keep much more to himself. It felt special to have someone, practically a stranger, come to your defense in any sort of situation. Charlie could be a friend, possibly. A half smile slipped up your lips. What did you know, though? Maybe it wasn’t really a possibility at all.

“I don’t know, maybe. I think it’s too soon to tell.” You spoke over your shoulder, holding your hand under the kitchen faucet, waiting for the water to warm. 

“Hmm,” Irina began, you peered over at her. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth, concealing a knowing smile. “Well, I have hope for you. Don’t count anybody out just yet.” 

You nodded, loading glasses and silverware into the dishwasher. 

If it were meant to happen, you figured it would. The only real matter of importance to you at the moment was pushing through your classes, giving yourself an opportunity to move you forward in life. It wouldn’t be long until college applications and standardized testing would be consume most of your free time and thoughts. 

The next few weeks passed by as most did when beginning a new school year. The teachers, thankfully, kept most assignments and quizzes simple to build back the tolerance towards regular class work that had been lost over the summer break. 

As you had also expected, the introductions and sudden interest other students had towards you started to fizzle out as they fell back into their usual routines. Although Kirby had become a welcomed energy in your space. She went out of her way to speak to you in classes you shared. She had even recently began to invite you to join her and her small circle to leave campus during your lunch period. It felt nice to be included, even if you had yet to be around them outside of school hours. 

Charlie had continued to walk with you to film club most days. The two of you shared very little actual conversations. Most moments were filled with a comfortable silence. 

You really began to pick up on things in the club. You’d write yourself small lists of the movies mentioned during that hour and return home to watch as many as possible while you worked on your homework. It was nice to have things to fill your time, distractions to push any memories away from before your return to Woodsboro.

The air had started to chill and change as September crept its way to the present day. It was a cloudy Friday, nearly two full weeks had passed since that first day of school. You were walking your usual route towards room 120A, Charlie in step beside you. Just before you were able to make it through the classroom doors, you heard your name called from the opposite end of the hallway.

You looked up to find Scotty Anderson gawking his way towards you. ‘Shit,’ you rolled your eyes. You had done a pretty good job of avoiding him and his group since the sports equipment bag debacle. You glanced over at Charlie. His frame was unusually rigid, no discernable emotion in his expression. 

You sucked in your cheeks, debating on just turning into the classroom. It was better to just get this over with than put it off; you decided. 

You took a few steps forwards, meeting Scotty in the middle of the hallway. You held both hands in front of you, tapping your foot as you thought of what he could have to say to you.

“Hey, I know we haven’t had the opportunity to speak.” Scotty began, moving the same bag of equipment up onto his shoulder. “I just wanted to apologize for running into you the other day. Definitely not cool.” It was clear in his tone he didn’t actually mean a word of what he had just said. 

You nodded, biting the tip of your tongue. You never expected an apology, and after as much time had passed, you really didn’t care to have one. You were more confused about why he had apologized now, after days had passed. 

“It’s fine man, don’t worry about it.” You replied, turning on your heel to head back towards the classroom. Scotty’s hand gripped its way around your upper arm, spinning you back towards him. You were visibly taken aback by the sudden motion and intrusion into your personal space. 

“Look, let me make it up to you. Give me your number, I’ll take you out sometime, show you around Woodsboro.” He practically demanded, a sly cocky grin plastered across his face. He was just plainly handsome, the athletic and popular type you imagined some girls would go for. You might’ve given him a chance too, if things hadn’t started out the way they had. He was still somehow able to make his chances even worse though as he continued to talk. You weren’t the least bit interested. 

You glanced over your shoulder. Charlie was still standing in the doorway, his eyes flashed quickly between you and Scotty. A disgusted frown clung to his lips as he watched the situation unfolding before him. 

You looked back up at Scotty, shaking your arm out of his grasp. “No thank you,” you replied, barely above a whisper. 

His eyes widened in disbelief, as if he’d never heard those words before. “What?” His mouth hung agape. 

“I said no. I’m just not interested.” You replied, this time more sternly. 

Scotty scoffed, surely attempting to conceal his bruised ego. He stomped his way down the hallway like a toddler. “Ugly bitch.” You could hear him mutter as he grew further away. 

You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to conceal your shocked laughter. You turned back around. Charlie was gone from his spot. A stupid smile plastered on your face as you entered film club. If Anderson truly felt that way, he would’ve never made an attempt to come onto you in the first place. You found your seat next to Kirby and looked up at Charlie, believing he’d be laughing with you too over the situation, only he didn’t seem amused at all. He wouldn’t even look up to meet your eyes. 

His cold shouldered treatment continued into the next week as well. You figured things would just be as they were before as the last bell rang that following Monday. Before you had the chance to grab your things, Charlie had brushed past you, disappearing into the crowd of students in the hall. 

You weren’t sure why it hurt your feelings so much. He didn’t owe you anything. You were perfectly capable of making it to the club without him. But still, you couldn’t help but feel anxious as the next few days unfolded in the same way. He’d barely look at you, let alone speak to you. You were trying to wrap your head around why he was acting this way. You had done anything wrong to your knowledge, but then again, maybe you had. You couldn’t bring yourself to push the matter, though. You had no idea what to say to him. 

That following Friday, during your second to last period, your biology teacher announced the outline for the first heavily graded project of the semester. It was a group project. He’d assign the groups and specific topics each trio would be required to present. The classroom mumbled and huffed at the announcement. 

You listened carefully as the teacher made his way down the list of students he held in his hands. You glanced around the room as the group of prospective partners grew smaller. You hoped you would be paired with people you at least vaguely knew.

The teacher then called your name. Your head snapped to meet his finger dragging across the list he held in his right hand. You waited intently for the next names to be called. 

“You’ll be in a group with Mercer and Walker. Your topic is genetic pedigree.” You sunk down in your seat. Eyes flashing towards Robbie, who gave you a smile and thumbs up. You couldn’t bring yourself to look towards Charlie, who sat beside him. 

You dropped your head into your hands, letting your hair cover your face. You knew you’d have to muster the courage to say something to Charlie. The project was important, and you didn’t want any made-up qualms to affect the way you all worked together. 

As class concluded, Robbie stopped you in the Hallway. You watched Charlie walk past without looking behind him or waiting for his friend. You followed his frame carefully until losing him as he turned down the hall. 

“Hey, if it’s alright, could I grab your number?” Robbie asked. You’d nearly forgotten he was standing there. “For the project, of course. We’ll have to work on it outside of school, and just if you- or I, have any questions..” You watched as his cheeks turned a soft shade of red. 

You tried your best to give him a reassuring smile and nodded. “Of course Robbie, yeah, that makes sense.” 

“Awesome!” He sighed in relief, handing you his cellphone to type in your contact information. “See you in film club?”

You nodded again, watching Robbie turn on his heels and vanish into the crowd of students headed towards their next class. 

Your last class of the day felt like torment, the minutes passed by so incredibly slowly. It seemed as though the second hand on the clock was frozen in place as you waited and listened for each tick it made. 

You could feel eyes stuck to you as you sat, unfurling the hem of your sweater. You glanced behind you. Charlie met your eyes, he was mimicking your own movements, heel tapping on the floor below him. 

He looked absolutely miserable, pained even. He looked down at the ground as your eyes lingered for just a moment longer. You suddenly felt incredibly guilty. Maybe there was something going on with him completely outside of school, outside of you, and you had been so entirely selfish to believe his change in demeanor was a direct result of anything you had done. 

You sat at your desk now braiding, unbraiding, and rebraiding the same three strands of hair near the front of your face. How could you have not attempted to reach out to him sooner? You felt like an absolutely sorry excuse for an acquaintance, let alone a friend. 

You had your belongings packed and together before the final bell rang, you’d make sure to catch him this time. As soon as the clock rang to dismiss the class, you were up from your seat, headed to the doorway to catch him in the hall. 

He was quick to step past you, head fixated on the crowd in front of him. You worked faster, grabbing the strap of his backpack and pulling him through the doorway of an empty adjoining classroom. 

He looked shocked as he spun to face you, his mouth held agape, before snapping his lips into a tight line.

“What is wrong with you?” You asked, surprised even by your own hasty actions. As soon as the words left your lips, you regretted them. What’s wrong with you? Really? There wasn’t a better way for you to ask what was going on? You silently scolded yourself. 

“What?” He asked, taking an immediately defensive tone, understandably so. 

“I mean, what is going on with you? Is everything okay? You’ve gone through quite the effort to act like I don’t exist this past week.” You replied, amending your original question. 

He looked you over, scoffing. You brought your hands up over your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious. 

“Look, if it’s attention you’re looking to get from somebody, don’t bother me about it.” He spoke just above a whisper, as if he could barely get his own words out. 

His words made your eyes prick up. You felt your body heat flush as your jaw grew increasingly tense. What was wrong with him? His glare faltered for a moment, his hands dropping to his sides.

“I just mean…” He paused before continuing, “you’ve got Anderson. I don’t understand why you’d want me around.” 

Your eyes widened in shock, realizing he hadn’t stuck around till the end of the conversation you had with Scotty the week prior. This was really the reason he had become so cold towards you? It was ridiculous. He was so-

You couldn’t hold back the astonished laughter, the absolute nerve. Charlie’s expression morphed into confusion. He seemed almost hurt to have you laughing in his face. Good. 

“You really thought I wanted anything to do with that asshole? I didn’t even give him my number.” You exclaimed, throwing your hands back towards your thighs. 

Charlie’s face bore the full front of sudden guilt. Your hurt turned to anger. He could’ve asked, but he just assumed. Even then, what issue could he possibly take with you speaking to or seeing another man? 

You took a step forward, closing the distance between the two of you. Charlie took a deep breath, eyes glancing between you and the pointer finger you now dug into his chest. 

“I thought you were a friend, you fucking prick.” You whispered just beside his ear. You could feel his heartbeat wildly pound against your finger, could nearly hear it from the proximity you shared. Or maybe that was your own heart you were hearing. You couldn’t have been sure. 

Before giving him a chance to respond, you stormed your way out of the room. Making a beeline to your car. 

Fuck. Fuck that stupid fucking film club. And fuck Charlie Walker. 

You sped home, slamming the front door behind you. You rushed up the stairs, hearing your aunt call your name from the living room. You stopped in your tracks, shouting down to her, “I’m fine, I promise. Just need a moment alone.” 

You waited for a second to hear her response. You were surprised she was home from work so early. After a few moments, Irina responded, “Okay.” She didn’t sound entirely convinced, but knew better than to pry. 

You shut your bedroom door, falling flat onto your bed. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. You didn’t need him around. 

An hour passed by, and then another before you heard your phone ringer buzz twice.

You scrambled for your phone, which was still in your bag on the ground beside your bed where you had thrown it earlier. 

Two text messages from an unknown number flashed on the screen.

“Hey, didn’t see you in film club. Everything good?” Your heart skipped in your chest. Could it be-? Your question was answered by the second message. “Robbie btw.”

You sighed, rolling onto your back, holding the phone above your face. You thought for a moment before responding. “Wasn’t feeling well, all good, though.” You added Robbie’s name to his contact info before setting the phone down beside you. 

Another minute passed before your phone buzzed again. “Cool. Would you be down to meet up later to start on our project?” Robbie’s message read.

You thought about it for a moment. The idea didn’t seem particularly great, but it would be nice to just get it all over with. You responded with a simple, “Sure.”

Almost instantly, a new message was sent. You opened it to find another phone number beside Robbies. In a new group chat Robbie asked, “Where and what time do you guys wanna meet up?” The other number had to be Charlies. You rolled your eyes, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard as you thought up a response. You knew Irina would be more than happy to host, and it’d save you a trip from going elsewhere in town.

“My place, 7pm?” You replied. 

“We’ll be there.” Robbie responded. 

You sent your address to the pair and locked your phone, shoving it in your back pocket. 

You figured it was time to face your aunt, let her know people would be coming by the house later. You called out to her, hearing her reply from her bedroom. You stopped in her doorway, watching her pack clothing into a small black suitcase.

“Where are you going?” You asked, walking up beside her. 

She looked up from her work. “I have a few meetings in Sacramento this weekend. I fly out tomorrow morning. I should be back by Monday though.” You nodded your head in response. She was always so busy, always had places to be. 

“I’m sorry for slamming the door earlier.” You said quietly, picking up a t-shirt on the bed and folding it over for her. 

Your aunt looked over at you, waiting to see if you’d continue. 

“I’m okay. I just-” You paused, trying to find the right words. The entire thing wasn’t really worth getting into or being upset about, as you thought about it.

Irina’s eyebrow raised. “Boy troubles?” She said half-jokingly.

You smiled then, handing her the folded shirt. Yes, to put it plainly, just boy troubles.

“You know what I think about men,” Irina began.

“Better off without them.” You answered in unison, laughing with one another. 

You stopped in the doorway, hand wrapped around the frame as you left Irina’s bedroom. “Oh, by the way, I’m having a few people over in a couple of hours to work on a project for school. If that’s okay, of course.” 

Irina peered over her shoulder, a wide grin on her face. “Of course. Let me know if you kids need anything.” 

It was hard to keep your nerves in check as the next few hours passed by. It would be fine, you reminded yourself over and over again. It wasn’t going to just be you and Charlie. Robbie would serve as a much needed buffer. 

You heard your phone buzz on your nightstand; you picked it up quickly, reading the message aloud. “Pulling up now.” You quickly made your way down the stairs, kicking a pair of your shoes further down the entryway.

You swung the front door open without recalling whether you had heard a knock yet. You were met by Robbie and Charlie on the front porch. Charlie’s head was towards the ground, his hands in his pocket. Robbie looked around himself, mouth agape. 

“You were totally right dude,” Robbie said, elbowing his friend in the side. “This was her house.” 

“What?” You asked from the doorway, not sure you had heard him right. Robbie looked flustered, as if he were surprised to see you standing there. 

“Oh. I meant Charlie recognized you on the first day.” Robbie tried to clear the confusion by simply adding to it. You looked between the pair. Robbie immediately cowered in response to Charlie’s shocked glare. 

You waited for Robbie to continue. You couldn’t possibly understand what he meant by that. To your knowledge, you had never met either of them before that first day of school. 

“Charlie’d make me ride circles down your street for hours. He said you had to be the same girl we saw when we were kids. We totally thought you just died one day after you stopped appearing in the window every summer.” Robbie said laughing, pointing at the sun bay window. 

You were frozen in place; the air seemed to be sucked out around you as you thought hard back on those memories. Certain things suddenly started to click and piece themselves together in your mind. You glanced over at Charlie. He was looking at you almost pathetically, knowing there was nothing he could have done to stop Robbie from spilling any of that information. 

Robbie began a string of ‘I’s and Um’s’ as he noticed your expression. You willed yourself to pull it together for a moment; lesson the deafening, horrible ringing in your ears.

“Oh, I think I remember you two, actually.” You stated. You had always had a distinct memory that fell in line with Robbie’s sentiment. You weren’t sure you’d have ever been able to place them both in that memory without Robbie’s over-share. You’d let yourself process this information at a later time. You watched as both boys relaxed a bit more into themselves, awkward glances still passed between the three of you.

“Would you guys like to come in?” You stepped aside, motioning towards the entryway. 

“Please.” Robbie replied and stepped past you. 

Charlie nodded, following behind him. You caught and held his gaze for a moment as he slipped in so close beside you. 

“We can just hang out in the living room, if that’s cool.” You said, motioning towards the living room couch. The two men followed suit. You took a seat on the sofa, Robbie sat on the opposite end, while Charlie took a seat on the floor by the coffee table in front of you. 

It was quiet for a moment as everyone pulled out their laptops, notebooks, and pens. You weren’t sure who would be the first one to break the silence. To be completely honest, you didn’t mind it. You were terrified that Robbie would somehow dig himself another hole, and you had absolutely nothing to say to Charlie. You hoped you’d be able to just get the majority of the project finished tonight so that the remaining meetings would be minimal. 

Just then, you heard your aunt’s light footsteps coming from down the stairs. You sighed a heavy sigh of relief as she entered the living room. She wore a bright smile on her face as the boys rose to their feet to greet her. 

“Robbie Mercer.” He held out a hand to her. “Good to meet you, Robbie.” She replied in her usual sing-song voice.

Her smile faltered for a moment as she turned to shake Charlie’s hand as well. “Charlie Walker, thanks for allowing us over.” Charlie said, giving her a courteous smile. 

You looked between your aunt and Charlie, watching the corner of her lips twitch into a small frown before she replied. She looked almost off kilter. You took careful notice of your aunt’s unusual etiquette. “Anytime, Charlie.” She replied, placing her left hand over their conjoined right hands. 

The gesture didn’t seem to phase Charlie much. 

“If there’s anything I can get for you all, please don’t be afraid to ask.” Irina spoke before heading back up the stairs. The three of you responded in a short chorus of ‘thank you’s.’ 

The next few hours went by as well as you could have hoped for them to go. Once you were all busy at work, the awkwardness slowly dispelled itself. It was nearly midnight, and you were all beginning to experience the early stages of screen fatigue from your work. You all mutually decided to try to wrap everything up tomorrow. 

As you led the two out, Robbie spoke over his shoulder. “I honestly think it’ll only take another day to finish this. Maybe one more after that for revision.” You and Charlie both nodded. “But, honestly, if I have looked at another fucking punnet square after this project, I think I’ll kill myself.” 

You laughed as you turned the door handle. 

The boys filed onto the porch. Robbie was quick to make his way towards his car that was parked halfway in the driveway and halfway onto the street. He stopped after realizing Charlie was still standing on the porch. You glanced between the pair.

“You coming man?” Robbie asked, fishing for his keys in his back pocket.

You watched Charlie, waiting for his response. 

“Nah, I feel like walking.” He responded. 

Robbie cocked an eyebrow, looking at his friend. He seemed slightly surprised, but didn’t bother trying to convince him to come along. 

“Alright, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” Robbie said, as he opened his driver’s side door. You watched him pull all the way down the street before turning around to face the closed front door. Your hand had just started turning the handle when you heard Charlie speak up.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” You turned your face, dropping the handle. 

You really had almost no interest in anything he had to say at all, at this point. 

“Make it quick.” You replied, stepping in front of him. Your words clearly hurt him, and he did little to hide his grimace. 

“Look, I’m sorry.” He started softly, eyes flickering between your own. You sucked in your bottom lip, leaning on your hip as you crossed your arms in front of you. You scanned his face in search of sincerity. 

“It’s fine, Charlie. It’s done with.” You replied.

He took a step closer to you. You fought the urge to take another back, to keep just a bit more distance from him. You held your ground.

“No, I’m being serious. It was horrible for me to just assume…” his voice trailed off for a moment. He glanced behind you at the window bay to your left. He met your eyes again. “And the whole attention thing. I never really felt that way. Regretted it as soon as I said it.” His hand flexed at his side as he shook his head. 

“Okay.” You replied breathlessly. It was all you wanted him to say. You both stood there for a moment. The sound of crickets filled the air. There always seemed to be something filling in the lapse of conversation you had with Charlie, in a way you had never noticed with anyone else before. 

You were the one to speak up. “I can give you a ride home if you’d like.” 

A small smile crept up his lips as he followed your gesture towards your car parked in the driveway. 

“It’s alright. Thank you for the offer. I just live on the next street over.” He motioned towards the road. 

“It’s really not any trouble…” you began. You weren’t sure why you felt such a need to insist. 

He reached up then. His thumb ran across the small braid in your hair that had been forgotten about and left to slowly unravel since last period. You left out a breath of surprise at the sudden contact. He was so incredibly close. That pounding in your heart returned rapidly as your hands dropped to your side. 

Your eyes darted wildly across the features of his face. His eyes were stuck on those strands of hair between his fingers. 

There were no more crickets, no rushing blood, just silence. 

He had pulled away before you could process the proximity. He was headed down the front porch steps in a matter of seconds. “Goodnight, I’ll see you here tomorrow.” He called, turning over his shoulder to say goodbye. 

You refused to let yourself watch him make his way down the street. Your feet carried you mindlessly up the stairs until collapsing you onto your bed. You stared up at the ceiling, reaching for the disheveled braid. Your fingers traced themselves along the same spot he had. You had just about pulled the braid apart when your aunt called your name from the doorway. 

You shot up in bed to face her, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“Didn’t mean to surprise you,” Irina began. Her face was splotchy and red in ways that it never was. “I just wanted to tell you goodbye, in case I didn’t get the chance to before I left in the morning.”

You nodded in response. You rose onto your feet, walking over to give her a hug. You pulled away as she began to speak up again. “He looks so much like him.” Irina seemed to say more to herself than you. 

“Hmm?” You urged her to explain what she meant. 

“The Walker boy. He looks so much like his father had at that age.” She began trailing off, looking at the wall behind you before meeting your eyes again.

“You knew his father?” You asked. This shouldn’t have been surprising information to you, Irina seemed to know everybody who had spent any amount of considerable time in Woodsboro. 

Irina nodded. 

“Just be kind to him, if you can be.” She said so softly, you barely caught her last words. This took you aback. You were sure your confusion was apparent on your face. “It’s only been a few years since he passed. I’m sure it’s been difficult for Charlie.”

Her amending statement made your heart sink low into your chest. A resounding buzz quickly filled the space between your ears. 

“I am.” You replied. You thought you were, at least. 

Irina nodded, seemingly satisfied with your response. She turned to make her way to her own bedroom at the end of the hall. Just before she disappeared through the door, you called out to her.

“How? How did he die?” You asked. You immediately felt bad for even asking. It wasn’t necessarily anything you needed to know. 

You could tell, even from where you stood, that your aunt’s eyes began to well with tears. “Suicide,” she whispered without looking back at you. It only took a single moment before Irina stepped into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. 

You weren’t sure how long you stood stuck in the hallway. It was a horribly long night. 

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | one

🐴Chapter summary: You arrive back at the ranch, a place you used to call home as a child. But it doesn’t hold the same meaning anymore. With the passing of your mother, you stand to inherit part of that very ranch– and you don’t want it. Only problem, your sister doesn’t want to give you her signature for you to sell your share. 🐴Chapter title: Inheritance 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mention of past character death of parents, exhibitionism, explicit smut in the form of protected sex, quick and dirty sex, doing it against a barn, creampie, nipple play, clit play. Doing it in public / outside. Mention of past infidelity (of parents). Spoiler ahead!!! Jungkook and Jimin are (half) brothers and reader sleeping with JK is necessary to happen for the sake of the plot 🥲 It sucked to write that part, and if you feel like the smut if ‘eh’ it’s because it was written that way because reader isn’t meant to be with JK! So, please, don’t let that discourage you from reading it, the rest of the story is really good and MC realizes she’s made a mistake… anyway the smut with Jimin when it eventually happen, is just 🥵🥵🥵 🐴Status: completed 🥳 🐴Word count: 8.2k 🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog @kiki-zb @babejinnie @ownthesunshine @allie-is-a-panda @glllhjh @bergandysam @13-manggaetteok

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Theme from McLeod’s Daughters” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: this story has been in my head forever, and I’ve spent months outlining it and planning it– so I’m so stoked to finally post it! 🥳 I love both McLeod’s Daughters and BTS, so why not combine it?? I am not sure anybody will read this story, but if you do, thank you! It truly means the world to me. 

I also want to give a very big thank you and shout out to my dear friend, Lua, for reading it while I worked on it, hyping me up and giving me such fucking wonderful feedback 😭✨ Thank you so much @letjungcoook7 💖🥹

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

| s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next →

“I said, I wanna touch the earth I wanna break it in my hands I wanna grow something wild and unruly I wanna sleep on the hard ground In the comfort of your arms On a pillow of bluebonnets In a blanket made of stars Oh, it sounds good to me I said, cowboy take me away Fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue Set me free, oh, I pray” - “Cowboy Take Me Away” by The Chicks

The tires of your car dig into the unforgiving dirt road with a tenacious grip as you navigate the rugged terrain. A symphony of sand and dust dances before the windshield, yet your focus remains unyielding. The landscape is open and inviting, yet there’s tall mountains in the distance framing the idyllic nature. 

The pulsating beat of the music reverberates through the vehicle, echoing the determination coursing through your veins. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, your resolve unshakable. 

Amidst the chaotic whirlwind outside, you're on a singular quest: to get your sister’s signature to sell your share of the ranch.

You yearn to sever all ties with the place. 

It's not a matter of hatred, per se, but rather an aversion steeped in memories you'd rather forget. 

The grounds echo with a tapestry of recollections, most of which cling like shadows to the recesses of your mind—a gallery of moments you're desperate to erase from the canvas of your past.

The passing of your mother, a woman absent from your life for over two decades, casts a melancholic hue over this reunion, that leaves much to be desired.

Separated by the passage of years, your sister remains a distant specter on the horizon of your past. A chapter of familial connection was abruptly closed when your father took you away from the ranch during your formative years, the sprawling fields replaced by the relentless rhythm of the city. 

The city, with its towering structures and ceaseless energy, has woven itself into the fabric of your existence. Amidst the hustle, the stress, the eclectic cafes, and the teeming crowds, you've found a peculiar treasure trove of experiences that pulse through your veins like a vibrant heartbeat. The city's flaws, laid bare like urban scars, only deepen your affection for its complex tapestry, making each chaotic street corner and neon-lit club a cherished fragment in the mosaic of your life.

As an undesired song infiltrates your playlist, you find yourself questioning its very existence on your curated soundtrack. 

Swiftly, you dismiss its intrusion, replacing its notes with the growling intensity of a much angrier anthem. 

The need for focus on this mission is paramount, an unyielding commitment that not even the persuasive tones of Jessi, with all her influence, can sway or alter.

A familiar sign with your family’s last name emerges on the horizon, unleashing a flood of memories from an idyllic childhood—filled with the echoes of hide-and-seek, the warmth of love, and the harmonious symphony of laughter—that paints both your irises and your heart in hues of nostalgia. 

Yet, as your fingers instinctively clench around the steering wheel, you staunchly refuse to be swayed by the emotional undertow. Determination courses through your veins, a steadfast resolve not to let sentiment cloud the clarity of your purpose.

With a resolute spirit, you navigate the winding road that leads to the ranch. 

As the familiar landscape unfurls before you, a creeping uneasiness takes root within the recesses of your being. Despite the passage of two decades, the ranch appears frozen in time, an unchanged picture that sends shivers down your spine. The unsettling familiarity of the place only amplifies the weight of the past, casting a shadow over your determined journey back to a place that seems to have resisted the relentless march of time.

Bringing the car to a halt before the imposing main house, you silence the engine with a decisive twist of the key. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, mingling with the weight of anticipation that hangs in the air. Inhaling deeply, you draw in the essence of the moment, your fingers betraying a nervous rhythm as they tap anxiously against the steering wheel. 

The stillness belies the turmoil surging within, as you ready yourself to encounter the ghost of your past.

A mere thirty minutes— an hour at most, and you'll resume your journey on the open road, bound for the comfort of home in the city. 

Determination courses through your veins, intertwining with the staccato rhythm of your anxious heartbeat, the pulsations reverberating so forcefully that you can sense them echoing all the way to the depths of your ears. 

The moment your car door swings open, a subtle shift in the wind whispers a tale of transformation. The landscape may echo familiarity, but an intangible alteration lingers in the air, an elusive metamorphosis that leaves you questioning the very essence of this place. Is it a mere illusion, or has something truly shifted, perhaps within the confines of your own soul? 

Navigating the uneven terrain in heels proves to be a challenge, but undeterred, you conquer the dirt road and arrive at the tall front door. It stands before you, a sentinel of memories, somehow appearing taller than in recollection. The weathered, dark-red wooden door remains stoically unchanged, a silent witness to the passage of time. 

Two deliberate knocks break the stillness, and you retreat a step, a reverberation of anticipation coursing through the air as you stand on the threshold of both the past and the unknown.

The door frame, once pristine in its white coat, now bears the scars of time, its paint chipped and revealing glimpses of the weathered wood beneath. 

Stationed in front of the door, you endure a suspenseful five minutes, an eternity compressed into every passing second, yet the silence remains unbroken. Undeterred by the absence of response, a resolute determination guides your actions as you seize the handle. With a deliberate press, the handle yields, surrendering to your resolve and releasing a cacophony of creaks—a symphony of protesting hinges announcing your entrance into the realm of memories.

“Hello?” 

Your voice, tinged with uncertainty, dances into the air as you cautiously poke your head through the threshold, a hesitant entry into the familiar realms of the house. 

A gentle warmth envelops you, tenderly kissing your skin and infusing an instant sense of calm. The scent, aged and rich, swirls around you like a tangible embrace of wood and cherished memories from your childhood. The hallway stretches out before you, adorned with snapshots frozen in time—images of you and Jessi playing in the fields, your first pony, and a cherished trio with your mom. Each picture pulses with the erratic beat of your heart, echoing the palpable journey down the corridor of reminiscence. Amidst this gallery of the past, you navigate the tapestry of nostalgia, your destination set on what memory deems to be the kitchen.

The staccato clank of your heels resonates boldly against the unpolished hardwood floor, a deliberate announcement of your presence that reverberates through the silent expanse as you press deeper into the heart of the kitchen. Despite the resounding echo, a mysterious absence lingers, the emptiness amplifying the solitude within the room, a poignant contrast to the persistent cadence of your steps.

Surveying the scene, your eyes capture the delicate dance of white curtains adorned with lace, their elegance offering a stark contrast to the weathered state of the kitchen. Time has etched its story on the cabinets, pleading for a rejuvenating touch—perhaps a cleansing and a new coat of color to breathe life into the tired, faded cream. A wistful smile graces your lips, an emotive response to the tactile connection forged as your fingers trace the countertop. The surface, a touch dusty yet evocative, sparks an odd familiarity, transporting you to a realm of forgotten times and the comforting essence of what was once home.

A sudden voice startles you from your reverie, its unexpected presence slicing through the air like a well-timed interruption in the symphony of memories. 

“Can I help you?”

A jolt courses through your body, a startled response to the abrupt intrusion of the voice, yet you pivot on your heels, meeting the owner of the enigmatic, yet somehow airy, tones. 

In the face of the unexpected presence, you lock eyes with the source, a meeting that feels like a convergence of past and present, each heartbeat resonating with the electric charge surging through your body.

A nervous chuckle escapes you, the residue of your earlier determination dissipating in the charged air as you assess the man standing before you. 

His eyes, a deep and authoritative brown, lock onto yours, unraveling a silent narrative in their depths. Blonde and untamed, his long hair falls with a disheveled grace, framing a face that exudes both strength and mystery. His slender physique conceals well-defined, lean muscles beneath the snug embrace of a gray shirt, each contour subtly hinting at the strength within. Clad in blue denim jeans with artful rips at the bottom, and adorned with chunky western boots boasting intricate ornaments, he carries an aura of rugged elegance. 

“Can I help you?” he repeats, the query hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge. 

Crossing his arms over a torso that amplifies the definition of his biceps, his deliberate posture commands attention, drawing your gaze to the undeniable display of strength.

“I’m so sorry,” you quip nervously, a hint of self-awareness coloring your tone. Inwardly, you curse the fact that you were caught in the act of checking him out, and you’ve yet to acknowledge the man properly. “I’m looking for Jessi?”

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes the man, accompanied by a soft smile that carries a subtle mystique, rendering his eyes nearly elusive. 

“Who are you?” he inquires, his arms still defiantly crossed, and a flicker of realization dawns upon you—this interaction holds a peculiar tension. The awareness sets in that, in essence, you are an intruder, a stranger trespassing into the intimate space of a home that isn’t yours anymore. 

“I'm Jessi's sister,” you declare, a succinct introduction that hangs in the air. His response is a simple “Oh,” a word that resonates with a spectrum of unspoken sentiments. 

As his arms fall to his sides, his posture eases into a more relaxed stance, and his gaze, now unhindered by the barricade of crossed arms, traverses the contours of your figure. Your choice of attire—heels and a summer dress that daringly grazes your thighs—doesn't escape his notice. 

You sense his eyes lingering on your exposed legs for a beat longer than societal norms might deem appropriate.

You find yourself unapologetically appreciating his attractiveness, recognizing the allure that binds both of you in a silent dance of mutual fascination.

“You don't remember me?” 

His question pierces through the air, catching you off guard, and instinctively, you lean back against the countertop. A subtle shake of your head accompanies the inquiry, and as you witness a shadow of sadness flicker across his eyes, an unexpected weight sinks into the chambers of your heart. The unspoken question lingers—should you know this man?

“It's me, Jimin,” he asserts with a voice steeped in pride and certainty, a declaration that sets your mind into a whirlwind of attempted recollection. His name resonates with a familiarity that dances on the periphery of your memory, like an elusive wisp slipping through the cracks of forgotten moments. 

“Park?” 

You question with a voice that wavers in uncertainty, the mere utterance of the name carrying the weight of a fragile hope. As the word escapes your lips, you cling to the fragile threads of memory, desperately seeking confirmation that you've pieced together the puzzle of identity correctly.

“Yeah! Don't you remember? We played together when we were kids,” he chuckles warmly, the nostalgia of shared memories evident in his eyes.  

With a warm gesture, he invites you to take a seat, a silent acknowledgment of the intricacies of your shared history. As he crosses the room to the sink, a subtle limp marks his stride—a detail you keenly observe as you pull out a chair. Your curiosity about his altered gait tugs at your thoughts, begging for expression, yet you restrain the impulse, deeming it too forward. Silently, you observe him reaching for a glass from the overhead cabinet, pouring water with a practiced ease. 

“Here you go,” he offers, placing the glass before you. As you take it, your fingers brush momentarily, and an unexpected electric jolt courses through your body. You respond with a sheepish smile, expressing gratitude for the simple gesture. “Jessi is out riding; she'll be back soon.” 

You nod, the cool touch of the glass against your lips serving as a momentary distraction from the impending wait. As you take a measured sip of water, the realization sinks in — a quiet acknowledgment that the road back home may stretch longer than initially anticipated.

“I'm sorry about your mom,” he offers his condolences, and a palpable pain reflects in his eyes. The depth of his empathy hints at a connection with your mother that might surpass your own or perhaps, he carries the weight of loss in his own experiences. Regardless, you express gratitude, but as you do, a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders accompanies your words. “It's whatever,” you say, attempting to downplay the complexity of emotions that linger beneath the surface, yet the weight of grief echoes in the unspoken spaces between you.

He offers a minuscule smile, a mere flicker that fails to reach the depths of his eyes, and a subtle shift in the atmosphere becomes palpable. A quiet tension weaves through the kitchen, the air thickening with unspoken complexities. It's as if the very walls themselves have become sentient, closing in with a slow and deliberate intent, creating an immersive sense of confinement that mirrors the unexplored territories of emotions lingering between you and Jimin.

The rhythmic clank of boots announces her arrival before she materializes in the doorway — Jessi, a force of raw determination, a cascade of muttered curse words trailing in her wake. 

With an aura of purpose, she strides into the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy that disrupts the tension-laden air.

“Aren't you supposed to be working?” she demands, a subtle undercurrent of anger weaving through her voice as her gaze fixes on Jimin. 

You sense that you've slipped beneath her radar for now. Jimin responds with a casual chuckle, turning his head in your direction. In that moment, you feel the weight of her steel gaze bore into you.

You observe the subtle tensing of her body, her gaze meticulously scrutinizing every inch of you. Arms crossed defensively, she acknowledges your presence with a guarded stance. 

“Long time no see. What do you want?” The words, delivered with an edge that slices through the air, reverberate with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, embodying the complex web of emotions that intertwine your shared history.

Your lips involuntarily tighten, the already tense atmosphere escalating to an almost suffocating degree as Jessi's presence intensifies. A rhythmic tapping of her foot reverberates through the room, an erratic metronome that hints at a cocktail of emotions—perhaps nervousness, perhaps anger, the fine line between the two eluding your understanding. 

“The inheritance,” you utter, and a visible transformation sweeps over Jessi. Her countenance, already frosty, plunges into an even colder abyss. The pallor that washes over her skin accentuates the darkness of her brown, curly hair, transforming it into a cascade that seems to absorb the shadows of her perturbed soul.

A nervous gulp echoes in the charged silence, your attempt to fortify a wavering resolve. The mission is clear — secure her signature, liberate yourself, and sever the lingering ties. The weight of unspoken history and familial complexities hangs in the air, urging you to complete this fraught encounter, hoping that once the ink meets the paper, you’ll leave and never bother her again.

“I want to sell my share of the ranch. I just need your signature.”

The declaration hangs in the charged air, a revelation that sends a ripple through the room. Jimin tenses visibly, gaping in clear surprise at your bold proclamation. Your sister, on the other hand, is barely faring any better. The undercurrents of anger surge to the surface, a tempest of emotions that bobs precariously, threatening to breach the veneer of composure that barely holds. 

She hisses, the sound cutting through the charged silence like a serpent's warning, and grinds her teeth together with a simmering intensity. “You're not getting that,” she declares with a venomous resolve, the words laced with an unmistakable determination that resonates with the unyielding clash of wills in the room. 

The sternness and anger in her voice reverberate through the room, creating an invisible barrier. Undeterred, you summon a quiet resolve and press forward, attempting to cut through the emotional tempest that surrounds her. “I just need your signature, and then I can go,” your words, a delicate plea amidst the tumultuous clash of emotions, hang in the air, a fragile bridge between the chasm of familial discord and the resolution you seek.

She strides purposefully towards you, anger etching furrows into her brows. Coming to a halt just before your seated form, she looms over you with a fiery intensity in her eyes. 

“No. Get the fuck out,” she commands, the force behind her words reverberating in the charged space between you. The air crackles with the energy of unresolved conflicts, and her words hang in the air like a proclamation, leaving no room for negotiation.

Jimin's expression no longer holds surprise, his features now marked by a disapproving shake of his head. As Jessi retreats from you, turning with a storm brewing in her wake, the kitchen becomes an echoing chamber of unresolved tensions. She storms out, leaving you and Jimin in the wake of her departure, the remnants of conflict lingering in the air like an unspoken presence that refuses to dissipate. 

You clench your hands into tight fists, the physical manifestation of the internal turmoil that courses through you. The realization dawns, like a belated epiphany, that her vehement reaction was all but predictable. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, and you slump back into the chair, the weight of disappointment settling upon you like a shroud. This isn't unfolding as you had envisioned.

The wind whips through, mercilessly tossing your hair into a chaotic dance across your face. Grumbling, you navigate the exterior of the main house, entering a realm where nature and grandeur coalesce. The yard unfolds before you, a testament to meticulous care, stretching expansively with paddocks extending for miles. To the left, a substantial stable stands as a regal sentinel, while to the right, three cottages punctuate the landscape.

Your gaze sweeps across the panoramic expanse, capturing the undulating beauty of the paddocks that cascade over the hills while the sun slowly sets. Cows and horses graze lazily, mere dots in the vast canvas of the countryside. The scene unfolds before you like a living painting, each blade of grass, each creature contributing to the symphony of nature. Amidst this serene image, you find yourself standing at the crossroads of contemplation, pondering the labyrinth of decisions that now lay before you.

Jessi won’t give you her signature, and you need her damn ink on that paper to be able to sell your share of the ranch.

Maybe if you get on her good side, she’ll reconsider? It’s worth a try at least.

“Hi,” a lilting female voice disrupts the current of your thoughts, a melodic intrusion that yanks you back from the recesses of contemplation. Your pivot is swift, attention now redirected to the stranger who has materialized behind you.

Her hand extends gracefully towards you, a gesture that transcends the usual formalities. “I'm Soo-ah, one of the stable hands here,” she introduces herself with an easy confidence, her words resonating with a sense of belonging and familiarity within the expansive realm of the ranch.

“Ah, hi,” you muse with a soft smile, extending a handshake that bridges the gap between stranger and newfound acquaintance. Her stature is modest, a curvature of curves, with a disarming smile that reveals a charming imperfection in the form of endearing crooked teeth. Clad in short denim shorts adorned with delicate white lace on the trim and a pink tank top, she exudes an aura of comfort and warmth. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue, gleam with a radiance that speaks of love and hope, amplified by the contrast against her sun-kissed tan skin.

“Your trip didn't go according to plan?” she inquires, the gentle cadence of her question accompanied by the sweep of a hand, gracefully gathering her long blonde hair away from her face. 

A chuckle escapes you, accompanied by a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders, as you confess, “Not really.”

“You know, this place means a lot to Jessi. It's her home. She wouldn't want you to sell your share for some random people to buy it or worse, use the land for housing or something.” Her eyes mirror the softness of her words, and a gentle smile graces her lips, a gesture that carries an unexpected soothing effect on your conflicted heart. 

The weight of her words settles on your conscience, a realization you had secretly dreaded. You grasp the depth of your sister's emotional connection to this land, an affection you once shared but have since outgrown. The prospect of selling your share, allowing strangers to lay claim to the cherished homestead, unfolds before you, and you acknowledge why Jessi vehemently opposes it. Yet, your heart remains indifferent to the sentimental ties that bind others to this place. It ceased being home long ago, and the notion of it ever regaining that status in your life appears as elusive as a distant memory fading into the horizon.

“Say what. It's late, and dinner's almost ready. Why don't you come eat with us and meet the rest of the gang? After that, I'll show you one of the guest rooms!” Her invitation resonates with a contagious enthusiasm, her voice exuding a warmth that almost verges on giddy. The surge of energy she emanates feels almost overwhelming, a stark contrast to the subdued atmosphere that has accompanied your arrival.

“I haven't packed anything. I didn't plan on staying…” you mumble, your words trailing off into the evening breeze. Despite your half-hearted protest, she seizes your hand and playfully pulls you towards the main house. Reluctance threads through your steps, a tangible resistance to the unexpected detour that fate seems to be orchestrating. 

“There's a guest room in the house, and you can borrow some clothes from Jessi or me. Those heels and that dress aren't exactly farm-friendly attire.” She laughs, a melody of warmth that resonates through the short walk to the house. Soo-ah guides you to the guest room where you'll be spending the night, and then you both make your way to the kitchen. 

There, you encounter another enchanting presence—a statuesque woman, tall and slender, her ebony hair culminating at her neck. Her eyes, a captivating shade of incredibly dark brown, bordering on obsidian, stand out against her lovely fair white skin. Clad in a simple yet elegant ensemble of a dark t-shirt paired with dark blue denim jeans, she moves gracefully around the kitchen, orchestrating what appears to be a culinary feast in the making. 

“I'm Ha-rin.” A casual wave accompanies her introduction, a seamless dance of gestures as she deftly grabs a handful of vegetables with the other hand.

“This is Jessi's sister,” Soo-ah introduces you with a warm smile, and Ha-rin nods in a gesture that suggests a preexisting understanding. “How can we help?” she inquires, her words carrying a blend of genuine curiosity and an unspoken readiness to extend hospitality. 

“You can set the table. I'm almost done with the food,” she declares, seamlessly transitioning to the task of cutting carrots with a professional speed that leaves you duly impressed.

Soo-ah guides you to the location of plates and glasses, and in a synchronized dance, you both embark on setting the table in the dining room. The collaborative effort carries an unexpected warmth, a departure from the solitary routine you've grown accustomed to. The act of sharing this communal task conjures a sense of nostalgia; it's been a long time since you've partaken in such simple yet meaningful rituals. Your dining experiences have often been solitary, occasionally shared with a partner, although those instances are rare occurrences in the tapestry of your solitary meals.

In no time, Ha-rin completes the culinary masterpiece, presenting a spread of oven-cooked chicken, a colorful assortment of vegetables, and tantalizing kimchi. The table becomes a canvas adorned with the promise of a delectable feast. As you all take your seats, another presence joins the gathering—Ara, a tall woman with big brown eyes and chocolate-brown hair cascading gracefully over her shoulders. Her curves and paler skin distinguish her from Ha-rin, yet she radiates the same warmth that characterizes the group. 

The door swings open, and into the room strides your sister, a pronounced frown etching lines of disapproval on her face the moment her sharp eyes lock onto your figure seated at her dining table. 

“Didn't I tell you to leave?” Her voice cuts through the air, laden with an undeniable tension that hangs like a storm cloud, casting a shadow over the gathering. 

With an exasperated roll of your eyes, you confront the directness that has always characterized Jessi, even if it doesn't always come across as nice. “It's getting dark, and Soo-ah graciously provided me with a room for the night. I'm not leaving until I get your signature,” you assert, the declaration hanging in the air like an unyielding challenge. 

Jessi's voice carries a distinct air of deflation, and it becomes evident that obtaining her signature won't be a victory achieved tonight, if at all. Resigned, she takes her place at the head of the table, a silent acknowledgment of the impasse. 

A stretch of silence envelops the dining room as everyone engages in the act of eating, a temporary truce. However, the calm is shattered as Jessi, unable to contain her emotions any longer, erupts like a dormant volcano. “Why can't you just keep your share of the ranch, huh?” Her words punctuate the air, each question a stab to the atmosphere, accentuated by the forceful plunge of her fork into the unfortunate chicken.

“Honestly?” You draw in a deep breath, preparing for the verbal fallout, fully aware that you've stepped into a minefield. “I just need the money.” The words hang in the air, a stark admission that lays bare your motivations. Jessi's frown deepens, her disapproving expression not eliciting the slightest surprise from you. 

“Why can't you just buy my share?” The words escape you in a frustrated huff, irritation building with each passing moment. Jessi's ability to get on your nerves becomes increasingly evident, a skill she's always excelled at. 

“I don't have the money to buy you out,” she states bluntly, her voice carrying a mix of blankness and anger, turning the tension at the table sour. Your plate, once adorned with the delicious offerings crafted by Ha-rin, now sits neglected, the food losing its appeal in the wake of the strained conversation. What a shame, you think, as the beautifully prepared meal becomes a casualty of the familial clash, and your appetite dissipates like the vanishing aroma of an abandoned feast.

“Why are you so mad at me?” you sputter out in frustration, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to pull at your hair in exasperation. The room echoes with a tense silence, interrupted only by the subtle sound of your sister's scuff, a precursor to the deep inhale that precedes the unleashing of her fury upon you.

“I haven't seen you in twenty years. You stomp in here, wanting to take my home away from me. And you didn't even attend Mom's funeral. Some balls you have.” Her voice is stern, each word laced with venom, and her glare cuts through you like a knife. To punctuate her disapproval, she slams her hands down hard on the table. “I'm going to bed. Goodnight.” 

Then she stomps off. At least she has some manners, you think, acknowledging the begrudging ‘goodnight’ she offered. Nevertheless, you sigh, the rest of the girls casting pitiful glances in your direction.

You lean back in the chair, contemplating the daunting challenge of ever getting on your sister's good side. The prospect seems as elusive as catching a shooting star, an almost impossible mission. Just as you sink into the depths of your thoughts, Ara shatters your contemplation with a beaming smile. “We're having a party tomorrow. Won't you stay for that?”

You take a few seconds to mull over her offer: a party in the countryside does sound intriguing, but the prospect of extended time with a sister who harbors animosity towards you gives you pause. Soo-ah, sensing your hesitation, steps in with a persuasive grin, “There'll be hot men!”

Then, in an instant, thoughts of Jimin flood your mind, and the prospect of his presence at the party becomes a tantalizing factor. A glimmer of optimism flickers; perhaps attending won't be as unbearable as you initially thought. Contemplating the possibility of a good time, you decide, “Who can say no to that?”

A forced laugh escapes your lips, but within it, there's a hint of genuine enjoyment. Sometimes, you remind yourself, you have to fake it until you make it.

The barn pulsates with the rhythm of the music, a lively mix of country tunes, not exactly your preferred genre, yet the melodies weave seamlessly into the rustic ambiance. Couples and friends sway to the slow beats on the dance floor, creating an intimate atmosphere that, despite your initial reservations, feels oddly fitting. Most attendees linger along the walls engaged in conversation, and as your eyes scan the scene, you notice a handful of men. The girls weren't exaggerating – the company includes some undeniably attractive men.

The majority of women sport casual dresses, much like the one you've borrowed from Ha-rin. Clad in a long black lace dress that subtly accentuates your curves, you navigate the sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces. In stark contrast, Jessi's attire veers towards practicality – shirt, jeans and boots, a reflection of her enduring tomboyish nature. While you entertain a fleeting thought about the silliness of her choice for a party, a deeper understanding dawns. She’s always been more practical, and her choice of clothes tonight might align with that too. 

Surveying the lively scene again, your eyes lock onto your sister, deeply engrossed in a conversation with Jimin, an interaction that sparks both curiosity and a twinge of apprehension within you. 

As Ha-rin diligently tends to the culinary offerings, ensuring a variety of light snacks for everyone, Soo-ah and Ara steal the spotlight on the improvised dance floor. Their laughter echoes through the barn, a harmonious blend of joy and camaraderie, and you can't help but be drawn into the dynamic and diverse interactions unfolding around you.

Turning on your heels, a craving for the crisp embrace of fresh air seizes you. Opting for the subtlety of a quiet exit, you make your way toward the back door of the barn. The metallic touch of the door handle graces your palm with a forgiving chill, a stark departure from the warmth and vibrancy pulsating within. Pushing the door ajar, the night air rushes to greet your face, prompting a sigh of contemplation. 

However, as you step outside, your serenity shatters with a startle – a towering, muscular figure leans against the barn, arms crossed, waiting in the shadows of the night.

A startled yelp escapes your lips, accompanied by an inadvertent inhalation of lingering smoke in the air. The features of the stranger remain elusive, shrouded in the haze, as they release a deep and resonant chuckle in response to your momentary disarray. 

“Scaredy-cat?” he teases, the resonance of his laughter causing an animated jiggle through his entire upper body. Your gaze inadvertently drifts to his well-defined pectorals, emphasized by the snug fit of his ripped tank top. The exact hue of the fabric eludes you in the dim light, a mysterious darkness with a hint of, perhaps, deep blue.

You approach him, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance, though inwardly acknowledging the undeniable truth – you are indeed a scaredy-cat. Closing the distance, your eyes trace a path from his broad shoulders down his right arm, a canvas adorned with a full sleeve of tattoos. Among the intricate designs, some manifest in striking black and white, while others burst forth with vivid splashes of color, each telling a silent tale waiting to be unraveled.

Approaching him, you realize you've left his question hanging in the air. Coming to a halt in front of this enigmatic figure, you find yourself captivated by his deep, dark brown eyes. In the obscurity of the night, tiny glints of light echo the stars above, gleaming in his gaze. His pitch black long hair, with small curls at the end, frame his handsome face. Contrary to the rugged bulk of his body, his facial features exude a surprising softness. Thick, black eyebrows frame his expressive eyes, while a slim, pointed nose adds to the symphony of features. A sharp, defined jawline contrasts with the plushness of his rosy lips, gently circling a half-smoked cigarette.

“Jessi’s sister, huh?” He inhales deeply from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that dances in the air beside you. 

“Y-Yes,” you stammer nervously, a feeble symphony to the deep timbre of his laughter. Nonetheless, you summon the courage to introduce yourself, your name a tentative melody lingering in the night air.

“I'm Jungkook.” He announces, the remnants of the cigarette meeting its demise beneath the sole of his boot, extinguishing any lingering embers. A subtle caution against the spark that could set the night ablaze.

“You look hot. Want to make out?” His gaze boldly traces over you, and a sudden self-consciousness grips you in the delicate embrace of your lace dress. Your cheeks ignite in a bright red flush, caught off guard by the unexpected boldness of his proposition.

Your flabbergasted expression seems to amuse him, and his laughter echoes, revealing an endearing smile that prompts a soft, airy chuckle to escape your lips in response.

“I'm serious, you know,” he says, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. Another blush creeps up on you at his bluntness. Initially thinking he was joking, you now realize he's actually serious. As you assess him, you can't deny his incredible attractiveness, coupled with a nice smile and soft eyes. Perhaps he can't be all bad, right?

You saunter closer, conducting a swift yet thorough assessment of him. With a teasing lick of your lips, you signal that you're up for the game. “Sure.”

In a bold surge, he captures your lips, biting down on your lower lip as if seeking entrance. Yielding to the magnetic pull, your tongues engage in a fiery dance. His hands firmly grip your shoulders, giving a reassuring squeeze before deftly maneuvering you against the wall.

In a ravenous and swift embrace, his lips claim yours, leaving you breathless when he breaks away, his gaze smoldering with a lustful intensity that ignites a fiery sensation beneath your skin. Though not one to engage in impulsive encounters, the intoxicating allure of the moment fans the flames of excitement within you. Reminding yourself of the imminent departure tomorrow, you boldly lean in, craving another taste, and surrender to the intoxicating dance of desire.

As the kiss deepens, his demeanor doesn't exude sweetness or tenderness, and strangely, you find solace in that. After all, tomorrow marks your return home. The intensity of his kiss, possessive and profound, spirals you into a mindless whirlwind, your thoughts dissipating into nothingness, overwhelmed by the feeling of his rugged frame pressed firmly against yours.

His gravelly voice breaks the kiss momentarily as he breathlessly declares, “Your lips are so damn soft.” 

Locking eyes with you, he plunges back into the intoxicating exchange, this time with an urgent and fervent intensity that mirrors his escalating desire, leaving little room for restraint.

Your fingers dig into the firm contours of his hips, tracing an electrifying path along the sculpted landscape of his toned body. The rhythmic play of his muscles beneath your touch is a tactile symphony, every ridge and sinew a testament to his strength, creating an intricate dance beneath the fabric of his shirt.

His lips embark on a tantalizing journey, lingering on your cheek with teasing kisses before reaching your ear. A low, guttural growl escapes his lips as he presses his pelvis against you, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. The warmth of his breath against your ear ignites a wildfire of sensations, and the undeniable presence of his arousal is impossible to ignore. Control slips away like sand through your fingers, and you find yourself succumbing to the irresistible pull of desire.

You bite down on your lips, the struggle to suppress a moan palpable. Despite the lively party unfolding just a breath away, Jungkook possesses an uncanny ability to whisk you into a world of his own creation, making the chaotic celebration fade into insignificance.

His hands explore the contours of your breasts, coaxing a soft moan from your lips. The absence of padding in your bra leaves your nipples immediately responsive to his teasing fingers. Sensations surge through you, and as your panties cling uncomfortably, an urgent desire to shed them intensifies.

His breath hot against your ear, he whispers, “I want to fuck you so bad, can I?”

The firm squeeze on your breasts sends a wave of desire through you. Fuck. The craving intensifies, and the anticipation of being with him grows insatiable. It's been an eternity since you felt this desire, and you're already on the edge, yearning for his touch.

Your response escapes in a breathy whisper, “Hell yes.” 

Your fingers find purchase on the contours of his chest, seeking stability amid the whirlwind of desire that envelops you both.

The symphony of desire crescendos as you catch the melodic jingle of his belt being undone, the tantalizing slide of metal against leather, and the whisper of a zipper surrendering its secrets. Soon, his jeans cascade down, pooling around his knees.

Your curiosity takes over, compelling you to cast an audacious gaze downward, and even through the fabric of his underwear, the impressive outline of his arousal is undeniable. The undeniable bulge hints at a restrained intensity, and summoning your courage, you boldly cup him, your touch sending a low, guttural groan reverberating through the charged air.

“Are you good to go without any prep?” His question, a tantalizing whisper in your ear, sends shivers down your spine, and the resonant, lust-laden timbre of his voice resonates deep within you. 

Nodding in affirmation, you can't help but bite your lip, feeling the promise of an exhilarating encounter ahead. “Yes,” you murmur, a breathy admission to the impending intensity.

As he lowers his underwear, his dick is unleashed, an impressive display of length and girth, veins tracing its sculpted form. The engorged head, flushed and intense, undergoes a few suggestive strokes from his skilled hands, droplets of precum glistening as they descend to the ground below.

His touch is commanding, fingers tracing a path down the contours of your dress, gathering the fabric in his strong grip. Swiftly, his hands venture beneath, reaching the apex of your panties. In one bold motion, he removes them, allowing them to cascade to the ground as you gracefully step out, shedding inhibitions along with the delicate undergarment.

Unexpectedly, he seizes your hips, effortlessly lifting you into the air. As you leap, your legs instinctively wrap around his tiny waist, aligning your bare core with his throbbing dick, a subtle gasp escaping your lips as your wetness coats his cock.

A soft moan escapes your lips at the tantalizing contact, and Jungkook, seizing the opportunity, grips your supple curves, pressing you firmly against the wall for stability. Skillfully, he produces a condom out of thin air, wraps his cock with it and positions his dick at the entrance of your eager pussy. Your hands instinctively clutch his neck, a mixture of anticipation and desire written across your face as you brace yourself for the impending ecstasy. With a devious smile playing on his lips, he tantalizingly teases the velvety folds of your cunt with the head of his cock. But the pretense of gentleness is short-lived, as he discards any lingering pleasantries and thrusts his dick into your warm and eager core in one seamless motion.

A gasp escapes your lips as an exquisite stretch engulfs you, momentarily testing your limits. Yet, the generous coating of your arousal ensures that the discomfort swiftly transforms into an intoxicating wave of pleasure, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.

He moves with an urgency that suggests an impending deadline, setting a pace that mirrors a sense of immediacy, as if time is a luxury he can't afford. The reasons behind his haste remain a mystery, and in this moment, you find yourself indifferent to the ticking clock, wholly absorbed in the intensity of the present.

“Mmmhh. You’re so tight.” 

You gasp at the force of his thrusts, feeling the impact resonate through your body as your back collides with the wall. The slight discomfort is eclipsed by the overwhelming pleasure, and his raspy pants only intensify the raw, visceral connection between you, each movement a symphony of pleasure and urgency. He thrusts forcefully, plunging into the depth of your pussy.

Wrapping your legs around him, you greedily pull him closer, breathless huffs escaping your lips with each relentless thrust. “Yes! Right there!” The pleasure becomes almost blinding as he unerringly targets that sweet, sensitive spot, sending shockwaves of pleasure that build an exquisite tension, promising an impending climax that pulses in the depths of your core.

“Shit.” He pants huskily into your ear, a shiver running down your spine in response. The intensity of his thrusts is unparalleled, each powerful movement leaving an indelible mark on your senses. The realization hits you that tomorrow might bring soreness, but in the heat of the moment, with a dick this good, you decide it's a price worth paying.

Your moans have evolved into uninhibited symphonies, each thrust hitting that exquisite spot that sends shockwaves through your body. The coil in your tummy tightens, ready to snap, just waiting for that final nudge to propel you over the edge. “I’m so close.”

Jungkook's grip on your ass tightens, but with skilled precision, he frees one hand and navigates it down the narrow space between your bodies. Despite the limited room, his large hand finds your clit and begins to rhythmically rub it to the beat of his thrusts. The sensation is mind-blowing. Every rub and thrust unravel your body, sending waves of ecstasy through every inch of your being.

Then he leans in, his hot breath grazing your ear, and he moans, pushing you right over the edge, “Come on my cock, pretty.”

“Jungkook!” You pant his name erratically as the coil inside snaps, and you release your fluid over his cock, synchronized with his relentless thrusts. You gasp for air, momentarily feeling your vision blur as your orgasm surges through your spent body.

He keeps thrusting into you, and you feel utterly spent, so you’re just hanging on and clinging to him for dear life. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, closing your eyes as he relentlessly fucks you, searching for his own sweet release.

At a particularly hard thrust, you open your eyes, and they collide with a figure standing in the shadows. 

Brown eyes and blonde hair meet yours. 

You gulp, feeling your core clench instinctively. 

It's Jimin. 

His eyes reflect a mix of sadness and disappointment as they lock onto yours for a few lingering moments. He turns away and retreats back into the lively party. You don’t appreciate the unsettling expression on Jimin’s face, but there’s little you can do about it now. A strange and disconcerting feeling settles in your stomach.

“Fuck, you just got tighter, babe. I’m almost there.” His hands tighten their grip, his biceps flexing as he pulls you closer, syncing your movements with the intensity of his thrusts.

You sense Jungkook's thrusts growing more erratic, a telltale sign he's close. Despite his exhaustion, he strives to give his all in those final fervent moments, and you feel the warmth of his release filling the condom inside you as his pace slows. He's visibly breathless, and you empathize; after all, he exerted himself, utilizing every ounce of strength to keep you elevated. In his position, you'd likely be a panting mess on the ground.

“You good?” He inquires, scrutinizing your expression. Whether he discerns the melancholy etched on your face or not, he doesn't comment. Gently withdrawing from you and discarding the condom, he steadies you on shaky legs. You respond with a pensive smile and a nod. The night was undeniably enjoyable, yet Jimin's forlorn gaze lingers in your thoughts, casting a shadow over the post-passion atmosphere.

“I had a good time, thank you.” You muster a smile, though it feels a bit strained. Whether he perceives it or not is uncertain, and even if he does, you doubt it holds much significance to him.

“Same here. Thanks, babe.” His laughter rumbles as he rights himself, adjusting his underwear and fastening his pants. As he tends to his attire, you scan the floor for your abandoned panties.

As you retrieve them, you notice the dirt clinging to the delicate fabric, deciding against putting them on. Instead, you allow them to slip from your grasp, figuring you'll retrieve them tomorrow for a wash. The last thing you want is to flaunt dirty underwear at the party.

Jungkook strides confidently back into the lively party, and you trail closely in his wake, anticipation and a lingering heat coloring the air around you.

As you reenter the vibrant party scene, a sudden hush falls over the crowd, and the weight of all eyes on you feels like an invisible spotlight, making you wish for a momentary escape beneath the ground.

As you scan the crowd for Jimin, your gaze briefly collides with his, only to witness him quickly diverting his eyes elsewhere. 

A perplexing mix of emotions lingers in his gaze—perhaps hurt or frustration. Puzzled, you question the impact of your intimate encounter outside, contemplating why he might be affected when, by all accounts, you share no significant ties.

As you enter the dining room, the tempting aroma of Ha-rin's carefully prepared breakfast envelops you, offering a flavorful farewell before you embark on your journey back to the bustling city.

As you approach the table, a surprising sense of harmony fills the room, with everyone already seated, including Jessi, who appears to be in higher spirits—perhaps fueled by the knowledge that she’s getting rid of you today.

Soo-ah's eyes sweep the table, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she starts, “ I discovered a pair of lacy red panties outside the barn this morning.”

You nearly choke on your food, a sudden realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. “Shit. Those are mine. Completely slipped my mind. My bad.”

All eyes suddenly fixate on you, their curiosity palpable. Soo-ah's gaze is practically bulging out of her eyes, Ara looks equally stunned, and Ha-rin can't help but release an amused ‘ooohh.’ Even Jessi, with her usual nonchalant demeanor, can't completely hide the flicker of intrigue in her eyes as she rolls them at the unfolding gossip.

Curiosity and a mischievous glint spark in Ara's big brown doe eyes as she leans forward, her cheeks tinted with a hint of red, and pops the question, “Who did you fuck?”

Between casual bites of scrambled eggs, you drop the bombshell, “A guy named Jungkook. You know him?” The nonchalance in your tone does little to mask the intrigue dancing in your eyes, leaving the table hanging on your every word.

A heavy hush descends upon the table, and you scan the faces around you, perplexed by the sudden silence. Disapproval lingers in Jessi's slow shake of the head, while the exchange of disconcerting glances among the girls hints at a shared, unspoken concern.

“What’s wrong?” Concern etches your voice as you inquire, the subtle panic seeping through, unable to grasp the sudden tension enveloping the table.

Soo-ah leans in dramatically, her words hanging in the air like a heavy secret. “You fucked Jungkook,” she drawls, the gravity of her statement sinking in, and a chill coursing through your veins. “The same Jungkook who's been with half the town—Park Jungkook.” The weight of his name leaves you wide-eyed, a sinking feeling settling in your gut.

Your jaw practically hits the floor, or it would if that were humanly possible. Park? Jungkook and Jimin are brothers?

Fuck.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

Omg 🫢 How did you like the ending??? I hope you won’t be too mad… The fling with Jungkook only happens this one time, but necessary to happen for the rest of the story to make sense 🥲

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[feline-bookish]

Did my computer die? Unfortunately. The pice of crap is old but I have a new one coming! Did I have to write this on my phone? Unfortunately.

Posting: Tumblr/AO3

Pairing: Sam Winchester/fem!Reader

Warning: Kissing, Cussing (Dean’s usual “son of a bitch”

Requested: yes

Plot: You’ve always been friends with Sam Winchester, but you’ve also loved him since before you could remember.

Key: Y/N= Your Name N/N= Nick Name

Y/N tosses her bag into the back seat of the Impala before she climbs in. On long road trips, the back seat of the Impala is her domain. While Sam and Dean share the front she’s all over the back. Her bag is there, she has a pillow and a blanket and she’s the keeper of the snacks.

“Pass the pretzels N/N?” Sam’s voice comes from the front as he stretches his hand out to the backseat where Y/N is seated, his hand ready for the mentioned treat. Her heart skips when she hears his voice and she finds it hard to breathe when his hand is practically touching her knee.

“Sure, here,” she replies shortly, slightly disappointed when his hand disappears after the pretzels are in hand.

Y/N has always been a friend of the Winchesters, closer to Sam than Dean although the older brother is close to her heart as well. Just not nearly as close as Sam. The gentile giant (as she calls him) was always the one to make her heart skip when his soft eyes met hers or when his deep voice made its way to her ears. She wouldn’t tell him how she felt though, she doesn’t want to ruin the relationship. She was fine being his best friend as long as it meant she could keep him in her life.

—-------------

Sam knows how she feels. Of course, he knows how she feels. She isn’t at all good at keeping it a secret. He hadn’t said anything to her about it and once felt nothing for her as far as romance goes. When he left his dad and Dean and in turn Y/N, he had met Jessica and loved her. It wasn’t until Jessica died and Y/N was back in his life and always there for him that he realized what he was missing out on.

Even now munching on the pretzels he didn’t want to move his hand from her knee. He wished he could keep his hand on her knee, her thigh even. The only question was whether he should tell her he felt the same. If he should even feel what he feels.

He spots her in the rear mirror and when she sees him looking at her she smiles. He returns the smile and Dean looks at him from the side and he grins when he sees his brother smiling at the girl in the back seat. Sam catches Dean’s grin and shakes his head in bemusement as his smile stays on his face.

In that moment it was like three different conversations were going on. Y/N smiling because Sam looks at her and she likes him, followed by Sam agreeing and smiling back but Y/N does not know and Dean smiling because of how amusing he finds the entire situation. Once the Impala stops because Dean has to use the bathroom he silently tells Sam to talk to Y/N.

Sam sits in the front seat awkwardly. Now’s the time, he knows it. He gets out of the car after he spends a few moments silently arguing with himself on if he should go for it or not. This is followed by him getting out and sitting in the back seat with Y/N. She’s surprised when she looks at him next to her and asks, “Are you okay, Sam?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “You?”

She nods, but her curious expression doesn’t leave her face. “Why are you back here?”

“We need to talk,” he says softly, looking away from her briefly as to check if Dean is coming out. He sees him in the window, the bastard is taking his time looking at the magazines likes they’re the most interesting novels in the world.

Y/N looks at him with curiosity and a little bit of apprehension. She asks in a voice she hopes sounds normal, “Is there something wrong?”

Sam quickly shakes his head, not wanting the girl to worry then says, “No, no. I just…I’m not sure how to put it.” It takes Sam a second to think of the words he is going to say and when he does they come out in a stuttery mess, “Y/N, I really think that—I know how you feel—now I don’t think there’s anything wrong with—”

Y/N goes on a limb. She knows he’s struggling with his words and she sees the signs. He’s quick with his speaking, stuttery, and not like himself at all. Going on that limb, she kisses him. She puts her hand on the back of his head and her lips press against his in a tender kiss that she hopes he’d reciprocate and that her limb is correct.

He does.

To her shock and disbelief, Sam moves closer to her and reciprocates that kiss.

—————

Dean had been watching from the window of the small gas station.

“Son of a bitch,” he cusses under his breath. His lips curl into a small grin.

[maxybabyy]

cross-posted on ao3

Lando is asleep on the couch when he comes in.

His jeans have been kicked to the floor, soaked where a bottle of apple sourz must have tipped over. He looks fine if a little sweaty, hair flat from the pillow but not worse for wear than when Daniel left. Had a night in then, he thinks and pulls the blanket over him.

He heads to the bathroom, breath still rank from the bar.

Lando had wanted to come and almost threw a fucking tantrum when Daniel had told him no. Lando may be allowed in bars now – a proper adult, their father would say –  but that doesn’t mean Daniel is any more inclined to watch him and his friends get sloshed off mixers and shots.

Daniel almost doesn’t notice him as he walks in, head in his phone when he goes to take a piss. Scotty’s trying to settle the bill, the fucking uber ride and bottle of vodka they shared, Chloé conveniently left out of the budget breakdown. He doesn’t care, sends him his share with a quick, ok.

“Hello, Daniel,” someone says just as he’s about to pull his dick out, hand already in his pants. “Lando of course did not say you would be here.”

“Lando’s passed out on the couch, reckon he isn’t up for saying much right now,” Daniel says and turns towards the voice.

It’s one of Lando friends, because of course it is. Max, he decides, watches the kid as he sits on the counter next to the sink. There are two of them he knows, Fewtrell who’s been nipping at Lando’s heels since neither of them knew what it meant. And this Max, the hot one.

“Always he is bad at drinking,” Max says, mouth stretched into a wide smile. “He is very sloppy after one beer only, and then he gets very tired also. Like a little kid, you know?”

“Yeah,” Daniel says with a smirk. He steps closer to lean against the sink, feels the warmth pouring off of Max. “Not like you, right?”

Max shakes his head, touches his tit with an open palm like he’s going to swear on it, sucks in a breath when his nail catches on his nipple. It looks swollen too, hot and pink, heavy against the swell of his pectoral. Daniel’s eyes flicker down to where he also isn’t wearing pants, the pile of clothes just inside the door.  

“Sometimes I think of course that you and Lando cannot be brothers,” Max says, kicks his feet against the cupboard underneath him. His legs look long, strong and tan from the summer sun. He must be bigger than Daniel now, taller too.

Daniel remembers the gawky nineteen-year-old Lando had brought home. Max on exchange from the Netherlands, taking the same courses that Daniel had done only three years before, with the same instructors too. “Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” He had told him just to watch Max blush, cheeks scarlet as he ducked his head, stuttered out a quiet, “Of course, Daniel.”  

“And why’s that, Maxy?” He asks now, touches the side of his knee to watch Max scramble to move, spread his thighs so Daniel can dig into the drawer underneath him.

“Always you are so handsome and funny also,” Max says, waves his hand around like that somehow adds to it. And maybe it does, because Daniel’s chest burns, overwhelmed. He feels almost sick with it, with how easy it is for Max to say, knows then he must be more drunk than he thinks. “Lando is just – Lando.”

Daniel laughs, squeezes Max’s knee. He watches the jolt of the muscle, the buck of Max’s hips up into nothing. Hears the sharp whine that escapes his lips.

He should tell him to leave, to put his shirt back on and go back to Lando’s room. Sleep it off so Max won’t hate himself for running his mouth when he wakes up. But he cannot, asks instead, “Is that a toothbrush in your hand or are you just happy to see me, Max?”

Hazy blue eyes stare back at him as Max squeeze his thighs shut. It’s rhetoric, almost. Redundant at best, and mean at its core, maybe. Because there is a toothbrush in his hand, the bright pink tool held in a slack hand against his thigh. But he’s hard too, obvious in the tight grey boxer-briefs he’s wearing.

“Always I am happy to see you, Daniel,” Max says. He spreads his thighs against and watches with dark eyes as Daniel steps between them, presses against the counter until there’s almost no space between them. “I have a toothbrush also, but I do not think –“

“Want me to brush your teeth, Maxy?” He asks, feels the shame as it flushes his chest, violent. Desperate. But he wants it, can almost imagine how it would feel if it was something else in Max’s mouth. The head of his –

“Please,” Max begs and lets his mouth fall open.

Daniel has done it maybe once before, brushing someone’s teeth. It had been a necessity then, a favour to a friend who had been too drunk to move, vomit still on his shirt. So far away from this, from Max watching him squeeze out the toothpaste and bring it to his mouth, his thighs squeezed tight around Daniel’s waist.

He starts off small, brushes over Max’s front teeth with tiny back-and-forth motions. The movement feels awkward from this end, like jerking someone off when you’ve been masturbating your entire life. Max keeps still, breathes through his nose like Daniel told him to.

Daniel reaches his molars, the toothbrush shoved deep into his mouth when suddenly Max shuts his mouth around it. Daniel is slow to realise it, keeps up the motion of the brush and watches Max move with it. Lips working over the shaft over it until he’s close enough to kiss Daniel’s fist.

“Max, mate. I cannot see what I’m doing,” he says, forces himself to laugh. He pulls back too quick, listens to the way Max chokes on nothing. “Let’s try the other side, yeah?”

It goes great until it doesn’t. Max deep-throats the toothbrush again as he watches him through hooded eyes. His hips rock aimlessly into empty air, pre-come soaking through his briefs.

“Max, no,” Daniel says. He pushes down on his bottom lip to keep his mouth open, ignores the way Max whines. “Be good for me, yeah?” He keeps a hand in Max’s hair, holds him steady as he tries to move with the brush, push it further into his mouth.

The top of the mouth is harder, the angle awkward from where he stands between Max’s thighs. “I don’t think I can do the rest, Max. My wrist,” he says, shows how limited his wrist rotation is.

But Max barely pauses, slides instead to his knees in front of Daniel, “Like this, no?”

Daniel chokes on his breath, feels the way his dick twitches in his pants. There’s barely any room between Daniel’s feet and the counter, but still Max fits perfect. His head tips back against the cupboard, thighs spread wide to make room for Daniel.

“That’s perfect, babe. Yeah,” he tells him softly, cups Max’s cheek in his hand.

Max’s eyes stay closed as he lets himself be moved, tongue wet and pink inside his mouth. Daniel doesn’t know how long it lasts, knows at least they’re above the designated two minutes. His dick strains against his pants when he strokes Max’s cheek to let him know they’re done.

Max is slow to come back, eyes blinking slowly until he refocuses on Daniel. A sweaty hand grabs the crook of his knee, pulls him in until his leg is pressed against the heat of Max’s chest, the tip of his chin resting too close to his dick.

Max tips his head back and opens his mouth, shows off the mess that sits on his tongue. It isn’t – doesn’t really look like come, too foamy with the paste Daniel uses. But it’s enough to pretend, to imagine what Max would look like if Daniel did come in his mouth.

Daniel lets himself look for another moment, soak in the sight before he nudges Max up against the sink so he can spit it out. “That’s it, good boy, Maxy,” he says, watches Max through the mirror.

If he looked drunk before, he looks downright indecent now. Cheeks flushed and chest wide as he sucks in breath after breath. Looks just about ready to pass out too.

Daniel pats his back and nudges him over to grab his own toothbrush, feels the way Max shudders underneath his hand. He’s just about to tell him to go to bed, when Max drops back to the floor, knees loud on the tile.

“Daniel, please,” Max says, begs.

Daniel leans against the sinks, angles his hips away from the space Max has created. He knows what Max wants, mouth open even now. But he can’t. Not when they’re both this drunk. So he does the only thing he can think of, shoves three fingers into his mouth and tells him to be quiet.

It works.

Daniel goes through a condensed skincare routine one-handed, feels the warm, wet suction of Max’s mouth around his fingers. The increase in pressure whenever Max swallows, how he leans into it when Daniel presses down on his tongue, sick with want.

He leads Max down the hall of rooms when he’s done, opens the door last on the left and lets him in.

[tangledinink]

Chapter Twenty-Four of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? is now up! The Hamato Clan advances forward in their new mission, and their second-ever outting goes... differently than the first, at least? Read it on ao3 or below the cut!

[ prev ]

Don’t worry, Dad, he had said. I’ve got this.

I can handle it, he had said. I know how to lead a team! He had said. I’ll look out for them, he had said.

He had said, nooo, Dad, really. You hang back slightly; that way if anything happens, you can swoop in and help us. It makes more sense to keep you in the back pocket. Let us try taking the lead, we need the practice…

And damn, was Mind Raph pissed at him now. What the hell was Past Raph thinking?! Why did he think this was a good idea?! Because now here they were, him and his sister and three little brothers, sneaking into a goddamn Macy’s, of all places, and he had no idea why he thought coming in here without their dad was a good idea.

I mean, they hadn’t. Dad was here-- he wasn’t even far away! He could be here in about ninety seconds if he wanted to, Raph was pretty sure. He was posted up just inside the entrance of the department store, all hooked up so he could hear them through the radios Donnie had programmed and could receive images and video; perfectly capable of directing them all and ready to leap in at any moment should anything go wrong. 

But still! You try explaining that to Mind Raph. ‘Cause Mind Raph was losin’ his damn marbles right now all up in his head, and it was starting to get on his nerves.

It’s fine. We’ve got this! Nothin’ has even happened yet-- we just gotta find the armor piece. That’s all. In and out, easy peasy. This is low stakes! There are no employees, this place has been shut down for renovations for months now, it ain’t on anyone’s radar, and you’ve been trainin’ for this…

Which was true. Only a week and a half had passed since their original trip to the Foot Shack, but they had meant it when they said that they were Hamatos, too, and that they wanted to help-- and they had put in the hours. They had to push Dad a little bit, to convince him they were actually for-real serious and they weren’t gonna back out or change their minds, but once they got that through his head, he had started to teach them for real.

They got up before the sun now, all rising bright and early to meet their father and receive his lessons. Mikey had been meditating for some time now with their Dad, but now they all did, each and every day, in the mornings and before bed, attempting to draw out their ninpo once more. They had long studied martial arts under their father’s tutelage, but now they did drills each and every day, sparring with him and each other, sharpening what they already knew and rapidly adding new tools and maneuvers to their arsenal. What their father knew (and was willing to share,) about the Hamato Clan and their ways, he taught to them. Their ‘ninja’ lessons, mostly from childhood, mostly taught simply as a game and for the fun of it, were now genuine. They weren’t just learning how to sneak anymore-- they were learning to evade an enemy, to move silently to avoid detection and spare themselves from combat. They weren’t learning to hide, they were learning to blend in with their surroundings, to become invisible, to cover themselves in an enemy’s blind spot and wait for the perfect moment to strike. 

All of a sudden, nothing that they were being taught was for the sake of fun or games or mischief. They were survival skills. They were imparted upon them not only as a legacy, a piece of a long, sacred tradition for them to carry onwards, but as a prayer for safety; a means to keep themselves alive in the face of danger. A path back home from every mission.

And Raph had known all this for a while now, had been aware of it, at least. He knew the severity of the situation, and he was willing to make sacrifices for it. Not just for the ‘world,’ or whatever, or their clan, but for their family. And okay fine, he did, admittedly, miss the precious little free time they had once had, and he did quietly mourn the hobbies that they had to put aside for the time being in order to dedicate themselves to this instead... But it was temporary, and it was worth it. 

He knew all that. But it hadn’t felt real until earlier this evening.

“Boys!” their father had called, not more than an hour or two ago, his voice echoing from the top of the stairs to the Lair where they had all been gathered, trying to get in as much last-minute practice as they could. “April! Come up here for a moment.”

And Raph had, admittedly, sulked a bit, because they had been sparring and he was right in the middle of kicking Leo’s ass, but they did it anyway. In fact, he had snipped at his little brothers for grumbling about it, herding them and April all up the stairs and to their father’s room. 

And there were five bundles of clothing lined up on his bed; all carefully folded and tucked into neat, black squares, interrupted only by flashes of crimson red fabric. 

“... What’s this, Dad?” Raph had questioned, glancing over at their father, brows furrowed, and their dad had sort of cleared his throat, seeming almost embarrassed. 

“Ah. Well. I know it is a bit silly, but… This is-- these are the Hamato Clan’s colors,” he explained, slowly, carefully unfolding one of the bundles, spreading the Gi out on the bed for them to appreciate properly. “And this is the Hamato Clan’s symbol. Traditionally, this is what a ninja would wear on a mission of the clan,” he paused slightly, laughing weakly. “I never went on any official missions, so I never got one, but I thought… Well, firstly, if my children are going to be sneaking around the city like ninjas with me, they might as well look the part,” he reasoned, smiling the tiniest bit. “And… also. If anyone ever deserved to bear the mark of the Hamato Clan, then it is certainly you five.”

There was a beat of silence, and he had sort of rubbed the back of his neck.

“You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to--”

Mikey had cut that thought off quickly, flinging himself at their Dad in a tearful hug, nearly knocking him over.

“I LOVE THEM!” He had wailed. “They’re so cool! We get ninja outfits!”

“I like the fabric. Is this silk?...” Donnie had observed, picking one up to run his fingers along.

“Wow, Yosh, I didn’t know you could sew!” April remarked, and Dad laughed.

“Who do you think made all those Halloween costumes?”

“The Hamato Clan’s colors are black and red?” Leo muttered softly to himself, shooting a glare in Raph’s direction. 

“I think it’s good,” Raph had teased in response. “I look good in black and red.” 

Leo had groaned, rolling his eyes, and Raph had joined Mikey and Dad in their embrace, wrapping his arms around both of them.

“It’s cool, Dad. Thanks,” he had said. “You didn’t have to make this for us.”

“Ah,” Dad had hummed, waving a hand slightly, as if to dismiss him. “Well. I wanted to, anyway.”

Even just thinking about it now, Raph smiled the tiniest bit, tightening his hand into a fist and feeling the crimson-red fabric wrapped around his palms. 

We’ve got this, he repeated inwardly, forcing himself to settle slightly. You’re a member of the Hamato Clan. And your family is counting on you. And you can handle this.

“Alright, Donnie,” he said, taking care to keep his voice low. “Which way is your track-a-ma-thingie sayin’ now?”

Donnie scoffed softly, rolling his eyes. “Okay, first of all, that is not what it’s called. Please treat my inventions with respect,” he muttered, flicking his goggles down over his face, his lips pursed into a pout. “Energy signals are strongest in the northeast direction,” he explained, pointing. “So if we head in this direction, we should eventually get close enough that we’ll be able to isolate and recover.”

“Uhm, is it just me, or are we literally playing hot-and-cold with Donnie’s weird glasses?” Leo muttered, jerking a thumb in his twin’s direction.

“This is an advanced geothermal location tool…!”

“Hey, look! Donnie’s tracking thingie got us this far!” Raph hissed. “And it’s the only lead we’ve got, so until it blows up in our faces, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Are we sure it actually works? No offense, Dee, but this is a super weird place for a mystic armor piece to be,” April observed, looking around. “I mean… we’re literally in a department store.”

“You’re all disowned as my siblings. All of you,” Donnie hissed.

“I didn’t say anything bad!” Mikey protested.

“Except for Angelo.”

“Hell yeah!”

“Also, yes, of course it works! I don’t know why there’s a mystic armor piece in a Macy’s, how would I know that? But if you want to go on a thematic trip to recover a mystic armor shard from beneath the beautiful ripples of a sacred waterfall or something, we’re going to have to catch a Greyhound, because we’re literally in the middle of New York City,” Donnie hissed. “Of course it’s in a Macy’s! We’re lucky it’s not in a 99-cent-pizza-slice-kiosk a block from Times Square!”

“Shhh!” Raph hissed, glaring at the group. “We’re ninjas, remember? Shut up! We’re on a stealth mission!”

“Ugh,” Leo huffed a bit, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure, but it’s not like anyone is gonna hear us! We’re literally the only ones here.”

Somewhere down the hall, off in the darkness of the building, Raph heard a clatter and an echo.

---

This was often Casey’s job. So she was used to it by now. It wasn’t especially exciting, but it was at least better than lookout duty, which was her other, more frequent assignment. (That, or lookout for the lookouts…)

Sweeping.

She really only got to do this if the team was smaller, and they were already confident that the mission would go smoothly and there weren’t any threats… And, honestly, sweeping was basically the same as lookout, just mobile and with slightly different timing. But she would take it!!! Anything was better than lookout duty. Besides, having the chance to play a role in the Foot Clan’s rise to power was a great honor, and the more she got to contribute, the better. 

Even if it did just mean that she entered the building first, stealthily did a few laps to make sure there was nothing dangerous, and then signaled everyone else to follow.

A part of her was proud of this. If she just looked at it on a surface level, she could puff out her chest and feel quite satisfied with the role she played; at being the frontlines, at being who they trusted to ensure the safety of both the mission and their leaders, to be the first line of defense.

(... The other part of her, though, the part of her that looked a little deeper, knew it was really mostly because she was unassuming and disposable. She held onto the pride anyway.)

Casey frowned as she moved through the store, peering around corners and around bends for any sign of life. She wasn’t so foolish as to let her guard down entirely, and she took care to keep her footsteps quiet and purposeful, sticking to the shadows just as she had been taught… But she had done this dozens of times now, and nothing ever happened save for that she got a chance to at least stretch her legs. And she supposed she was grateful for that, but…

Ugh! God, couldn’t she do something cool for once!? She simmered silently as she shuffled through the shadowy space, grinding her teeth quietly in her skull. She noted quietly to herself that she needed to stop doing that because she was starting to get headaches, but then kept doing it anyway. And she had perhaps allowed herself to be just the tiniest bit careless. Careless enough, at least, to accidentally swipe a small sign off a nearby jewelry counter. She resisted a groan of annoyance at her own clumsiness, grateful, at least, that no one else was around for her to embarrass herself in front of…

Or, so she had thought.

Cassandra froze at the hissed tone of hushed voices that filtered down through the hall, only moments later.

“What was that--”

“Shut up! What about stealth don’t you get--!?”

For a moment, Casey thought that she might have imagined the noise. She had never run into anyone on a sweep before-- not even once. The idea that she suddenly had was so shocking that she almost couldn’t process it. After about half a second of gaping, however, she came to her senses, gritting her teeth and giving a ferocious shake of her head to dismiss the thoughts.

Shape up, Recruit. This is your chance to be useful for once! She scolded. This was not the time to flounder or back down. This was her shot. Honestly, it was probably just some group of teenagers who had wandered in here on a dare or something, hoping to take some pictures so they could brag about it to their friends later… But that hardly mattered.

Any unknown or unauthorized presence was a threat to the mission. 

All you have to do is go investigate and scare them off. Simple. Easy. And then you’ll be able to say you actually did something on these missions, for once!

No problem, right? It should have been easy. Cassandra may still be a low-level grunt, much to her chagrin, but she was still a member of the Foot Clan. She was perfectly capable of moving swiftly and silently through the shadows. 

Not that she needed to.

Because they came to her.

She just barely had the time to tuck herself back behind the corner of the nearby jewelry counter by the time she realized they were approaching, shoving her back up against the glass and crouching down low. Apparently, they did, in fact, have the capability of moving quietly, despite their earlier displays.

“See anything?” A voice whispered, betraying them, and Casey couldn’t help but smirk a tiny bit to herself. Okay, maybe not that quiet.

“Shhh. Hang on. I know I heard something…”

Finally, Cassandra just barely built up the courage to shift, ever-so-slightly, in order to turn her head enough to peer out at the intruders. And in her mind, she was still fairly confident that it was just some kids looking for some kind of entertainment and adventure in the form of a misdemeanor. 

She was not expecting to see five figures donning the Hamato Clan colors, nor find their emblems stitched boldly onto each of their chests.

For a second, Casey froze, ice shooting through her veins. The Hamato Clan?! What were they doing here!? Were these the same kids she had spent all that time spying on before, or had they called in reinforcements? She narrowed her eyes, straining slightly to try to examine them in the darkness, and concluded that they did look ever-so-slightly familiar… She grit her teeth, her hand shifting slightly, wavering just the tiniest bit as it moved to the communication device on her belt.

As much as she hated to admit it… Five Hamato ninjas was not a challenge she was confident she could face down all on her own.

It wasn’t her place. 

She needed to alert the rest of the clan. If she didn’t, she would endanger the mission. Endanger everyone’s else’s safety.

This was her job-- literally her job. To go in first and weed out the danger and report back. 

She needed to report back.

So why was her hand hesitating like this…?

Her fingers shook slightly, wavering near the edge of the device, and her foot shifted ever-so-slightly beneath her in her hesitation.

“What was that?”

Hurriedly, she snapped her finger down against the button that she knew would signal the rest of the clan, still waiting outside, alerting them to the danger, and she leaped up to her feet-- gathering whatever scraps of the element of surprise she still had at her disposal and leaping at the nearest enemy.

“Oh shi--!” The Hamato, armed with a sword, just barely managed to dodge her attack, ducking down and away from the swing of her arm, nearly losing his balance in his hurry.

“I told you I heard something!” He wailed, dancing backward, and Casey snarled in reply, chasing after him. She didn’t have much of a chance, however, and now it was her turn to dodge-- just able to avoid the kusari-fundo that came whipping into her view a moment later, flashing inches before her eyes as she swore and backed up.

“Now is so not the time for ‘I-told-you-so’s,’ Nardo,” Another hissed, jumping at her with a staff, nearly taking her head off with a sharp swing. Casey was both quietly impressed and annoyed with the strength behind it, twisting her stance so she could shoot a leg up and kick the weapon off-kilter, throwing off her opponent’s footing and sending him stumbling slightly to the side.

“Oh, please, like it wouldn’t be if you were the one who called it!” The swordsman scoffed in response, jumping forward to catch the other, grabbing him by the arm so he could correct his stance and keep him on his feet. Casey took the slight opening the distraction of their banter provided to turn on the other intruder nearby, her eyes wide behind her glasses, doling out a sharp kick to her leg before dancing away. But even as she did this, the other members of the Hamato Clan closed in.

Cursing under her breath, she reeled backward, trying to find the distance she needed to reevaluate when she was practically surrounded. But every time her eyes were locked on one intruder, another jumped at her, just a flash of movement out of the corners of her eyes, and it was all she could do but block, parry, and dodge. Casey bristled when the sword wielder came whipping towards her, his weapon drawn, and she just barely had the time to hold up her arms to block, bracing herself for the coming impact of sharp metal--

“STOP!”

The boy’s movements slowed ever-so-slightly as he faltered at the cry-- giving Casey just enough of a chance to duck away from the oncoming strike, leaping out of his range. 

“Don’t slice her in half!!! What’s wrong with you!? She’s, like, a kid!!!” The largest of the group yelled, gesturing wildly. Casey gasped, immediately bristling in offense.

“Excuse me!? I am not a child! I am EIGHTEEN!” She shrieked. Well, almost eighteen, anyway. KINDA. Her ID said she was eighteen, which was really the most important part.

“See? She’s a legal adult!” The swordsman argued, shooting the other an annoyed look. “And, uh, also a part of a legion of evil ninjas? Sooooo…”

As soon as his eyes had left her, Casey seized the opening, ripping her kunai from her belt as she lunged forward. Twisting her leg sharply to collide with his chest, she sent him sprawling to the floor, his sword clattering as it fell from his grip. The moment he was down, she pinned him there with a foot to his throat, pressing him in place.

“Ack! Hey, stop!!! I’m a minor! This is child abuse!” He cried in protest, wriggling a bit beneath her even as she drove her heel in deeper to his windpipe, eliciting a very satisfying choking gasp. She didn’t have much opportunity to take advantage of her position, however, because no more than a second later, the largest of the group was charging her. Her eyes widening slightly, she abandoned the pinned swordsman in favor of leaping backward to dodge the coming attacks, falling quickly back into the pattern of defensive ducking and dodging, because that was not something she wanted to be hit by, thank you very much!!!

Come on, backup, come on…! Hurry up…!

---

The second that they had heard that noise down the halls, Yoshi had been on his feet, tense and ready to run. And now, as he raced towards his children, he spat curses at his past self for not starting to move right then and there-- for letting them approach without him in the first place. Had he honestly believed that this would be safe!? Had actually expected there to be no threat here!? 

Stupid, foolish, arrogant man…! 

He was already moving as fast as he could, but as soon as he could hear the sound of combat, he somehow managed to move even faster.

---

Cassandra hissed softly through her teeth, feeling sweat tickle its way down her brow, her chest heaving with breath as she ducked away from another blow. She was fast and she was capable in the face of combat-- but so were they, and there were five of them. It was all she could do to stay out of reach, repeatedly dodging and blocking blows, but she was quickly growing exhausted. Please hurry up! She pleaded in her mind. She’d keep going until she physically couldn’t any longer. She wouldn’t back down. But she wasn’t sure how much longer she had until she hit that point. 

The largest one-- he was the real problem. She gasped as his arm went swinging towards her, quite nearly losing her balance in her rush to avoid the blow. He was so big. And on the rare occasion that she was actually able to send out a counter-attack, they seemed meaningless to him, practically bouncing off his body as though he couldn’t even feel them. How was she supposed to penetrate a literal wall of muscle like this!?

Why the fuck do I have to be so damn small!?!?!

“Hot Soup!” Shrieked the smallest of the group, all but throwing himself at her, his leg moving in a wide arc, and for a split second, Casey bristled-- 

But she hadn’t spent all those years training for nothing.

There was an opening. Just a small one-- but his arc was just a bit higher than it needed to be to cover himself completely, and as soon as Cassandra had zeroed in on the chance to counterattack, she was darting forward, teeth bared and eyes narrowed with focus. 

His ribs were exposed.

And the small one, they didn’t quite have the time to react and adjust, to close the opening. But apparently, the big one did, throwing himself in her path to physically shield his brother, a sharp, protective snarl that sounded almost like an animal rumbling from him. Cassandra was forced to recalculate, her trajectory rapidly shifting--

But that was fine.

Because in his rush to protect his brother, he had left himself open, too. 

The jewelry counter was right there, and all it took was a nimble flip to the side, pushing off with her right ankle to gracefully toss herself over the surface and transition quickly into a wide kick. The counter was littered with spinning displays, the plastic trees all adorned with earrings and necklaces, and Casey caught the base of one of them with her foot, hooking it with the bend of her ankle and throwing her whole body hard to the side.

She may be too small to pose a real threat to the big one. But a little creativity could always even the playing field.

So could weapons.

A sharp, choked cry just barely wrenched itself from the largest Hamato as he went stumbling backward, the jewelry display slamming into his side and crashing down to the ground next to him with a horrendous clatter. She was dimly aware of his siblings crying out as well around him in concern-- which meant she had a very clear, very free path forward to bury a kunai into his stomach.

The world narrowed down to her goal and her target. Her fingers tightened around the knife. All her muscles tensed. And she pounced for her victim.

She had just barely begun to move when the impact of a hurricane slammed her back down to the ground, a short shriek of shock escaping from her chest with the absolute force of it.

“Dad!”

“All of you! Get out of here! Now!” An unfamiliar voice snapped, strained with panic, though Casey barely processed it through the sensation of her arms both being twisted back to her spine, creaking in protest as she was pinned down to the ground. She just barely managed a thrash, but the pitch of the pain in her joints quickly convinced her to remain still, and a high-pitched snarl of fury just barely managed to escape her.

No…! She had them! She had him, she had finally had a chance to turn the tides--!

“But what about--”

“I said go! Right now! I will be right behind you--”

The familiar thunk of a throwing star embedding itself into nearby drywall had Casey’s head snapping upward. And she just barely contained a shrill, giddy little laugh of delight.

There was the back-up.

The pressure in her shoulder released a second later as the weight disappeared, the eldest Hamato forced to release her in order to retreat and dodge the oncoming barrage of shooting stars. She absolutely cackled, on her feet in a second, and this time, finally, she was on the advancing side.

She finally got to take the offensive.

She threw herself at the elder Hamato, laying down blow after blow, and was frustrated to find that for every strike she delivered, he was able to block with ease and find the space to counter. She hissed in pain as the sharp of his hand collided with her shoulder, sending her stumbling slightly, and she twisted her ankles slightly to find her footing again--

And all at once, the Hamato Clan was gone. She didn’t even realize that the other five had already retreated until the last remaining shoved her away and darted off, disappearing in a blink, as though he had never even been there.

For a moment, Cassandra was frustrated. She bristled, considering chasing after him-- considering turning to the rest of the clan to see who all was assembled, to follow them, to continue the fight.

But she wouldn’t move without the orders from her senseis.

And once she had half a second to breathe, she was tickled to find blood on her hands that did not belong to her. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning.

Perhaps she and her clan had accomplished more than she had initially believed. 

---

The shrill cry of a honking car cut through the air, blasting through the previous quiet. Or, at least, relatively quiet, considering they lived in New York City.

April gasped loudly, jumping and clapping her hands over her ears and wincing a bit, shrinking back against the assault to her ears. The sound seemed to absolutely echo through the alleyway where she and Mikey were playing, working on their latest chalk mural together. It didn’t last more than a couple of seconds, but she was still a bit dazed when she finally opened her eyes again, her heart beating it her chest.

Whoa. That was a little scary. She hadn’t expected that.

She giggled a tiny bit at how startled she was, letting out a long breath. But when she turned around to face Mikey again, she was surprised to find him curled up in a tiny little ball on the ground, his arms and legs both tucked in close to his body and his chin ducked down against his chest.

“... Mikey?” April said, frowning a bit, tilting her head to the side as she leaned over him. “Are you okay?”

It took a second, but eventually, Mikey peeked open an eye, looking sort of confused for a moment. But then, all at once, he untensed his muscles, all his limbs unfolding as he rolled over onto his butt instead, sitting on the ground and staring up at her.

“... That was loud!” He said.

“Yeah,” April agreed. “Uhm. Why are you on the ground though?”

“I got scared!!!”

“Yeah, but… why did you get on the ground ‘cause you were scared?”

“Oh. Uh. I dunno,” Mikey said, shrugging a bit. “I just. Curl up sometimes, and stuff…”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Uh. I’unno. ‘Cause… it’s… it feels safer and stuff,” he said.

“But don’t you fall down like that?”

“Uhm…”

“And doesn’t that hurt, though, if you just fall over like that and curl up?”

“Well…”

“And then you’re on the ground.”

“Yeah, but…”

“And where’d you learn to do that? That’s weird. I’ve never seen anyone else do that before,” April continued. “Also, why do you--”

She broke off when Mikey blinked widely at her, sniffled, and then rapidly teared up, staring up at her and giving an absolutely pitiful sob. 

April’s eyes widened in shock at the rapid shift.

“Okay, okay fine, it’s not weird! Don’t cry! You can be a ball! Here, we can go back to chalk now-- Pleaseeee stop crying! Mikey, come on, cut it out…!”

---

They didn’t stop running for a while.

Raph’s heart was in his throat.

He could run faster than April could, and he was pretty sure that most of his siblings were not running near as fast as they really could, all worried about their father, but he endeavored to keep himself in the rear anyway. Leo could head the charge; he was staying in the back. He was making sure no one was being left behind.

Including their father.

He let his father be behind him. But just barely.

It wasn’t until they were about a block away that Leo finally managed to open up a portal, having been attempting since their retreat began, slicing through the fabric of the world with his odachi. Raph didn’t think he had been meaning to teleport them all directly into his own room, but he wasn’t in any mood to be picky about what part of the house they got portalled to. 

It wasn’t until the fizzling blue light curled in on itself behind them, the portal sliding closed, that Raph finally allowed himself to breathe again.

And as soon as he did, he felt like he was going to fucking collapse.

It was mostly just adrenaline, he was pretty sure, more than actual injury, but he suddenly felt just the tiniest bit lightheaded as a sharp ache climbed its way up his ribcage, and he grabbed onto Leo’s bedpost to steady himself with a small wince. Either way, his siblings were all crowded around him in a moment in worry-- and so was their dad.

“Red…! Are you okay? Are you injured? Let me see--!” Their dad bit out, his eyes wide with frantic worry, and Raph kind of stared at him in response, his own gaze echoing his. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times before he was finally able to summon up actual words.

“Pops, you’re-- you’re bleedin’.”

All four of his siblings’ heads snapped around to turn their attention to Dad, and Mikey shrieked.

It wasn’t bleeding that bad, honestly. 

But Raph was pretty sure that was because the throwing star was still embedded in his dad’s shoulder.

“Oh my god…!” April squeaked, her eyes wide, and their father immediately shrank back slightly, turning his shoulder purposefully away from the others. 

“I am fine. It looks worse than it is,” he dismissed quickly, keeping his eyes trained squarely on Raphael. “Red. Answer the question. Are you injured?”

“I-- It’s just sore. ‘M fine,” Raph said quickly, still a bit breathless. One of his hands wandered up to his ribs, just to check to make sure he wasn’t lying, and it sure was sore, and he was, admittedly, bleeding a little-- but not bad. The pain wasn’t awful. It hurt, but he had had worse in football. 

His dad had a fucking ninja star sticking out of him.

“Dad, here, sit down, we-- we can call--”

“Do not call anyone,” their father instructed sharply, throwing the group a look that said do not argue with me, and Raph clamped his mouth shut. “It is fine. I promise I can handle it. Purple, go and fetch the first aid kit and an ice pack for your brother. Orange, go with him, please.”

Whereas Donnie had no qualms with excusing himself from the current situation, (he was looking a bit ashen,) Mikey hesitated, his face pinched with worry.

“But I--”

“Mikey,” Dad cut him off quickly, narrowing his eyes slightly. “I need you to listen to me. I do not want Purple by himself right now. He needs you to go with him.”

Angelo frowned, and he swallowed. He opened his mouth, just for a moment, like he was going to argue further. But then he didn’t, slipping from the room at a hurried pace, rushing slightly to catch up to his older brother.

Raph’s body sagged slightly with relief. He swore he saw Dad do the same.

And almost as soon as the two were gone from the room, to Raphael’s absolute horror, their dad twisted himself enough so that he could reach around and deftly yank the jagged piece of metal from his shoulder.

“Dad!” Raph yelped, his eyes widening. “What are you doing!? What about--”

“Calm down, Raphael,” Dad said, and it was almost eerie how calm he was. With cold, practiced, measured movements, their father wasted no time at all in bandaging his own wounds, removing his mask and tearing it with his teeth so he could tie a tourniquet, using his sleeve to staunch the bleeding. 

The way he moved-- it was like he had done this a thousand times before. A shiver raced down Raphael’s spine, and he stiffened ever so slightly, a wince pinching his features for just a moment.

“There,” Dad said as soon as he was done, quickly turning his focus back to his eldest. “I’m fine until Purple gets back with the first aid kit. Let me see your injury,” he said, gentle but insistent, and Raph huffed, wrinkling up his nose, but he lifted his shirt up for Dad to see, anyway.

There were a few small punctures and scrapes, but nothing more than a few centimeters deep or so, all small and just barely bleeding. And it certainly hurt, but Dad’s careful, prodding hands didn’t bring about any sharp pitches of the pain, and Raph was fairly certain he had managed to get away without any cracked ribs-- just bruised ones.

“I told you I’m fine,” Raph muttered under his breath, and their dad glanced up to shoot him a look.

“You’re lucky,” he hissed, gritting his teeth, bristling for just a moment before the heat died out. “I’m sorry.”

“Dad, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t want any of you to be hurt--”

“You’re hurt worse than I am!” Raph protested, gesturing wildly to his arm, still sluggishly bleeding. “And the only reason you got hurt is ‘cause you were coverin’ us!”

Their Dad stiffened, shoulders hunched slightly. “That’s not--”

“Yes, it is!” Raph snapped in reply. “We’re not stupid, Dad, come on! It’s--” He cut himself off, grinding his jaw slightly and sighing deeply through his nose. “... Just don’t apologize, okay? You didn’t do anythin’ wrong. You’re the one who bailed us outta there. And got ninja-starred. We’re the ones who--”

“You did fine, Raphael,” Now it was Dad who cut him off. “You all did fine. This wasn’t… I didn’t expect them to be there,” he sighed, frowning a bit, looking to the side. “... But you all did well. I’m very proud of all of you. It’s not your fault, either.”

He kept quiet for a moment, frowning as he glanced over at April and Leo, who had been quiet the entire time, wide-eyed and seeming slightly shaky. 

“Are either of you injured…?”

They both shook their heads ‘no.’

“We’re okay, Pops,” Leo said, letting out a long, deep breath. “... We’re alright. Thanks.”

They didn’t talk for a bit after that, all just sitting together and waiting for Donnie and Mikey to come back-- just sitting and processing, and coming to terms with the fact that they had all made it out okay.

And Raph had never been much of a thinker.

But he was thinking now.

His hand wandered up and down his own side, pressing gently at the bruised muscles and soft, torn skin as he pondered.

---

There was this pinch in the back of Yoshi’s throat that he was fighting off.

He should have known this would happen. 

“Yoshi.” His teacher’s voice was all gentle and soft and patient, but Yoshi scowled, glaring off to the side-- his shoulders hunched up and his body slumped in the chair. The room was empty except for the two of them, all the other students having been dismissed aside from him-- all filled up with unoccupied desks and chairs and making Yoshi feel stupidly, annoyingly small. 

“It’s nice to see you in class again, Yoshi,” his teacher continued, despite his lack of response, leaning over slightly so she could rest her elbows on the desk she had Yoshi parked in front of. She kept trying to catch his eyes, but he refused to let her. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Yoshi wrinkled up his nose, shrugging noncommittally. 

It had been a week and a half since he had last been at school, and it had been such a battle just to get Jiji to let him come today. Not that that was especially unusual. Yoshi had never attended school regularly. School wasn’t a priority for him. Training was the priority. Lessons with Jiji were the priority. Studying the Hamato Clan history was the priority. School was not. He went to school like it was a hobby-- something to do in his spare time. He would usually show up for perhaps a couple days a week, usually less, and the rest of the days during which he was absent would be explained away with some excuse or story or another. Something about his health-- Yoshi didn’t really keep track, truthfully. One of his second cousins, a doctor, but more importantly, a medic to the Clan, would always provide all the documentation required. Everyone, it seemed, had accepted a long time ago that Hamato Yoshi usually just didn’t go to school. Had accepted him as an occasional, wavering presence, fading in and out of the edges of everyone else’s lives.

Except for Miss Ito. 

For some reason, his fourth-year elementary school teacher just couldn’t accept that fact.

Jiji hadn’t wanted him to come today. Yoshi had had to fight for it. When he was younger, he used to whimper and cry, feeling sorry for himself, but nowadays, they usually fought. He had gotten sick of feeling sorry for himself. Now he’d just yell at his Jiji until he either got his way or his throat got raw.

Usually, it was the latter.

Jiji hadn’t wanted him to come, and Yoshi had convinced him that he should get to, and now Miss Ito had him sat in front of her desk in an empty classroom, talking all gentle to him, and Yoshi thought bitterly to himself that now he was never going to win that argument ever again. 

“What happened to your arm, Yoshi?”

Yoshi grit his teeth slightly, his frown deepening at the question that he already knew she was leading up to.

“I tripped,” he responded easily, finally looking up at her just so that he could give her the coldest look that he possibly could, trying as best as he possibly could to summon the energy of an angry, bristling cat. Don’t mess with me. Back off. 

She didn’t seem perturbed, of course, because she never was. She looked more sad than anything, and Yoshi had always hated that.

“I see,” she said. “That must have been a pretty rough fall.”

Yoshi rolled his eyes.

They were just bruises. She acted as if he was missing a limb. Even worse than that-- she acted like he was some sad, pitiful little child, being tossed around the room by some abusive drunkard or something. He was sure that that was what she assumed, and it made him prickle with defensiveness. It wasn’t like Jiji was hitting him. They were just training. Sometimes, things happened during training. It was no one’s fault. Jiji didn’t mean to. It was just an accident. Jiji had apologized, like, eighty times. Yoshi knew he would never hurt him on purpose. 

It had been a difficult sequence they were learning, that was all. It was Yoshi’s own fault-- he was the one who had misstepped and been too slow. And now that his face had healed, he had finally been able to convince Jiji to let him go back to school for a day. 

He hadn’t been thinking when he rolled up his sleeves earlier-- he just did it. His sleeve got wet when a classmate spilled her water, and so he had just rolled it up out of the way. He had forgotten that he had anything to hide. No one was supposed to see it.

Certainly not Miss Ito. No one else would have even cared except for Miss Ito. 

He could already hear Jiji saying, ‘I told you so.’ 

“I fell down the stairs,” he said dismissively, shrugging a bit. “But it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt. Can I go now?”

Miss Ito sighed very quietly.

“... We missed you at the sports festival last week. I’m sorry you weren’t able to be there. I know you were excited to participate this year,” she observed gently. “And all your classmates were looking forward to--”

Yoshi stiffened, this little lump kind of swelling up in his throat.

“Can I go now?” He said again, cutting her off.

“Yoshi--”

“Am I allowed to leave? I have to go. There are people waiting for me,” he pressed, harder now, standing up from his seat even before he was dismissed, staring the teacher down. Challenging her, almost. Daring her to say no.

Please, please, please just let me go. Don’t make me late getting home. Don’t call anyone. Don’t send a letter home. Just let me go, and if I run, I can still get home on time, and Jiji won’t have to know--

She sighed very, very deeply, giving him those same sad, sympathetic eyes that he didn’t want on him. There were people out there who were sad and needed sympathy. He was not one of them.

“... Alright, Yoshi,” she said. “But you can come talk to me if you ever need anything. Okay?”

Yoshi frowned, giving only a grumble in response as he grabbed his bag, eager to leave.

“Will I see you in class tomorrow?” She asked. 

Yoshi hesitated just for a moment, clenching his jaw a few times.

“I dunno yet.”

---

Dad was at a doctor’s appointment with Leo. Raph was at work. Donnie was in his lab. Mikey had checked. He had taken two full laps around the house to account for everyone and make sure that really, truly, he had the clearance for what he intended to do. Everyone except for him and Donnie were out, and shouldn’t be home for another hour-- and he had the entire house in between him and Donnie. He’d hear him coming with plenty of time if he decided to emerge from his coding binge, which was unlikely. 

He did one last sweep of the first floor, just to make sure, his skin itching and crawling nervously and his stomach doing repeated and unwelcome pas de chats. Repeatedly, he thought, are we sure about this? He thought, sneaking around like this feels wrong. He thought, what if this is an awful idea? What if we get in trouble?

But then he also thought, I have to protect our family. I have to help, too.

He thought, I won’t let anyone else get hurt on my behalf. Not again. 

And he tempered his resolve.

As quiet as a ninja, he slipped into his father’s room, leaving the door just barely cracked behind him so he could hear if anyone approached. He had been a bit worried that his dad would have moved it to some new hiding place, and he’d have to waste a bunch of time searching for it-- but he didn’t.

The chest was in the exact same place in his closet, tucked inside the box with the clothes, just where Leo, Donnie, and April had found it the first time. It felt heavier than he remembered, somehow. He took care to cover his tracks, awkwardly hiding the bulky object inside his denim jacket and made a hasty escape. His heart was up in his throat because even though he had taken every single precaution, he couldn’t help but feel like someone was going to burst through the door and ask him what the hell he was doing at any moment.

His heart rate didn’t even begin to settle until he had made it back to his own room, closing and locking the door behind him and curling up in his bed.

Originally, he had intended to sit and think about this for a while-- to prepare himself for what he was about to do and get his mind right. But now, he was afraid that if he did, he’d lose his nerve and chicken out. And he had already thought about this. He had already thought about it long and hard and made the decision. He didn’t need to wobble on the subject any longer. The sooner, the better. 

He opened up the chest, pulling the familiar, ghostly white scrolls out from inside. And the moment he did, suddenly, he was not alone in the room. 

The mist that filled the air made him sneeze a few times.

“Greetings, young Hamato,” said Ghost-Sensei, as if he didn’t even mind that it had been weeks since they last spoke, as if nothing had changed, as if he already knew what Mikey planned to do. “What wisdom do you seek?”

Mikey bit the inside of his cheek, squaring his shoulders and curling his hands into fists.

If his family didn’t believe that he could protect them-- that he could protect himself-- there had to be a reason. There had to be something wrong. 

If he couldn’t protect anyone, then he would learn how.

“Those basics you were talking about before? With the ninpo and Hamato Clan traditions and my destiny and stuff?” He said. “I’m ready to learn all that. Teach me.”

[ next ]

[thelastofhyde]

⏤ para sentir el calor del sol, series masterlist.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

series synopsis. the story of a man riddled with coldness, struggling to let in the warmth he's hidden away from for years, and the ray of sunshine he calls his sol.

series warnings. no use of y/n ( reader has the nickname of sol ), enemies-ish to lovers, slow-burn, sunshine!reader, queer!tess, miscommunication/no communication, toxic approaches to love/feelings, obsessive behaviours, pining, undefined age gap ( reader can be interpreted as late 20s/early 30s in the canon timeline ) discussions of s.a., depictions of grief, child-loss and canon-typical violence, limited fluff, angst, smut ( lots of it ).

series wordcount. 30.9k ( thus far. )

series playlist. dia de enero - shakira, fallingforyou - the 1975, he gets me so high - beabadoobee, hate to see your heart break - paramore, out of the woods - taylor swift

disclaimers. 1) this series will roughly comply with the canon of both the hbo series and the video game but i have taken the liberty of changing certain scenes, events and dialogue to better suit the fic’s plot. 2) this series will have no official update schedule because i suck at sticking to them. no link = not posted yet.

add yourself to the taglist.

read on ao3. ( capitalisation available )

a word from hyde. i never intended for the likeability paradox to turn into this, it was simply meant to be a brainrot drabble of joel being on his knees. now here i am, willing to put my life on the line for joel and his sol, no hesitation because they mean that much to me.

i. the likeability paradox.

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel. warnings. pining, unrequited love, canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon. ) word count. 12.9k

ii. the revving of engines.

synopsis. joel miller’s not made it this far in the age of the apocalypse just to die at the hands of some adrenaline-crazed, no-brain-having fool who barely knows where to place her hands on the steering wheel. hind-sight fully intact and ever-so eye opening, he should have said no before frank could even finish his question: can you teach the girl to drive? warnings. panic attacks, perv!joel, slightly dark!joel, soft!joel ( for like a second ), a smidge of fluff, gun violence, murder, smut ( unprotected piv sex- don’t be silly, wrap that willy-, public sex, car sex but also not, exhibitionism, possessiveness, murder kink [ kinda but not really, joel just gets... more enthusiatic at the thought of protecting the reader], mentions/implications of panty stealing, male masturbation, sex as a form of payment, glory-holes, dubcon. word count. 16.8k

iii. the butterfly theory.

synopsis. two seasons pass before joel's very eyes and, without the presence of his sol, neither the spring nor the summer seem to heat his aching soul. what's meant to be a simple drop off at bill and frank's becomes a whirlwind of events that sends you barrelling right back into joel's arms, and all it takes is a horrified shriek: otis is missing! warnings. mentions/implications of sa, only-one-bed trope ( with a twist ), smut. + more warnings to be added ! word count. ( unknown ).

iv. the weight of silver.

synopsis. joel should have known better than to trust that woman to keep her mouth shut. it’s not that tess servopoulos is bad at keeping secrets but, rather, that she views them as a way to connect, to share a precious gem among those she cares about. the added affect of embarrassing joel is merely the cherry on top. she may have put her foot a little too far into her mouth with this one though: joel’s got a new woman. warnings. jealousy, possessiveness, hints of sexual ownership, smut. + more warnings to be added ! word count. ( unknown ).

(+ more parts to be added. )

timeline outtakes ! aka drabbles

11:11 ( infected, 2008 ). 14:57 ( unshaken, 2011 ). 22:22 ( lookalike, 2016 ). 18:22 ( leashes, 2022 ). 20:34 ( tuxedos, 2023 ). 05:48 ( sunrise, 2023 ). 03:33 ( terror, 2023 ). 02:13 ( delirium, 2023 ). 08:03 ( routine, 2023 ). 19:17 ( overheard, 2023 ).

[twinsunstars]

Thank You, Mother's Day - a small Bad Batch fic

Sypnosis: Omega learns what Mother's Day is, and she's got a few ideas, while Eva, Jax, Sami, and Baryn prepare something for Emerie.

Oh my gosh, Mother's Day is almost over for me where I am in like less than an hour, but I started working on this all day after putting up this post this morning and just finished it quickly (I was so inspired by my own thoughts lol). I hope you guys like it, and Happy Mother's Day!

also up on ao3! read under cut if you want to read it on here instead!

The galaxy had many unique holidays shared around many planets. Life Day, Harvest Day, and the Festival of Light were a few that were more commonly known. One holiday had grown very popular recently as it was coming up soon, as many people on Pabu were getting ready to celebrate it with their loved one.

Mother’s Day. 

When Omega first learned about the holiday from Lyana, she was curious to hear more. Lyana barely remembered celebrating Mother’s Day with her own mother, who had unfortunately passed away from a heavy illness when she was three. Lyana showed Omega a few holophotos she had left of her mother, reminiscing in the memories.

Omega listened closely when Lyana described what a mother was upon her asking. A kind, caring, nurturing, and strong female who always watches out for her family, making sure her kids are safe and healthy.

Nala Se had taken care of Omega ever since she was born, though Omega wasn’t sure about any of those motherly characteristics matching her. All she did to Omega was run tests and make sure she was staying healthy for her own purposes. 

While Lyana described what a mother was, she added, “But you know, mothers don’t quite have to just be female. My dad is like my mom too, and he does everything he can to keep me safe.”

Omega thought about that. Her brothers matched those characteristics way more, always there to make sure she was safe and cared for her wellbeing.

The brother who did this the most was Echo. He always broke up Hunter and Crosshair’s fights before they escalated to violence, helped Omega sew Lula back up whenever Lula got a hole in her fabric or one of her ears ripped, made sure Wrecker wasn’t overeating and wasn’t eating anything that would make him sick, and always tried to get Crosshair to eat something. 

“Lyana,” Omega began, thinking about an idea. “What if I do something for Echo? He’s always taking care of all of us, and he’s my brother but Hunter and Crosshair like joking that he’s the mom.” She would always hear things like “Listen to your mom” or “Okay, Mother” whenever Echo was around, but Omega never got the chance to sit down with her brothers and ask what that meant. 

“That sounds like a wonderful idea!” Lyana said. Lyana was already planning to do something for her father and having Auntie Phee help; ever since her mother had passed away he was fulfilling that role, and even if it wasn’t Father’s Day she wanted to have her dad feel appreciated. 

Omega began brainstorming ideas, asking Lyana what people usually do on this day. Gifting flowers, making a heartfelt message card, giving them gifts and letting them know how much you appreciate them. She had to share this with her brothers. 

***

“Mother’s Day for Echo?”

Omega nodded with excitement, deciding to talk with her brothers about her ideas during their time out fishing today and telling them what the holiday is. “Lyana told me about it, and you all always call Echo the mom.” 

“He certainly does act like a mother,” Crosshair scoffed, chewing on his toothpick and holding the fishing rod with his one hand. Batcher leaned over the ship, keeping an eye out for any fish. 

“Yeah, we always joke about it,” Wrecker chuckled. “But would it be right? Echo’s not actually a mother.”

“Lyana said someone close to you who acts like a mother doesn’t actually have to really be a mother to be celebrated on this day. She’s going to celebrate her dad. I feel like we should do the same for Echo, and he’s coming back for a visit on that day. It’ll be fun!”

Omega hopped up and down, trying to convince her brothers to agree. Omega had a point; Echo always took the most care of them and made sure they were keeping things neat, clean and tidy. Wrecker and Crosshair exchanged a look, and then looked over at Hunter, who was lost in thought. 

“We… could give it a try,” Hunter began. “Echo has been doing a lot lately with Rex. He does need a break.”

Hunter also didn’t want to say no to Omega. She looked so determined to appreciate Echo, he had to give her a chance to experience a Mother’s Day celebration like natural-borns do. 

Omega squealed, telling her brothers the plan. 

***

“Do you think we should do something for Dr. Karr?” 

Eva, Jax, Sami, and Baryn resided under the tree in central Pabu, relaxing after chasing around the moonyos and playing a lot of games to keep Baryn entertained, who was now sleeping soundly in Sami’s arms. 

The kids still resided on the island for their safety, waiting for their chances to go back home once the older adults found a safe way for them to get back to their families. The tricky part was finding Baryn’s family, but the kids had hope that he would get to be reunited with his mother. 

Everyone was talking about Mother’s Day during their stroll in the market, putting up sales and handing out flowers and chocolates. None of the kids had been away from their family on Mother’s Day until now. They missed their mothers much more, longing for their warm hugs. 

Eva suggested giving Dr. Karr a Mother’s Day gift to fill that void of longing to appreciate their mothers. Dr. Karr had been the nicest to Eva, and she felt like appreciating her. She had been away from the island for a while, so Eva was excited to see her again. 

Jax tilted his head, confused. “She’s not our mother though.”

Sami replied, “But she helped us escape and kept us safe. Mothers try to keep their kids safe.” 

The memory replayed in her head of when her mother tried to keep her away from the strange man who was trying to take Sami away. Everything else was a blur after that. She laid her chin on Baryn’s head gently, trying not to cry. 

Eva nodded. “I have a friend who always celebrates her dad for Mother’s Day. Dr. Karr has been so nice, and Omega said she’ll be coming on that day to visit.”

Sami thought for a moment. “Should we ask Omega? She could give us advice. Dr. Karr is her sister.”

“I think she’s near the docks right now. Dr. Karr did try to protect us Maybe it could be fun,” said Jax. He missed his mom a lot, as he would always make drawings and pick flowers for her.

Eva knew how he felt. Eva missed her mother and father so much, and she prayed it was only a matter of short time before getting to be reunited with her again. Dr. Karr had given her the hay doll Eva grew to love so much, reminding her of the small plush dolls her mother would buy for her to feel happy and safe.

“Let’s go find her.”

***

“That… sounds really nice, Omega.” 

Omega had commed Emerie to talk about Mother’s Day for Echo, sitting in a corner near the docks on Pabu. She was really excited, and Echo was bringing Emerie along too during his annual visit. Omega wanted her to be a part of her plan. 

Emerie found this Mother’s Day interesting. Just like every other clone, she never had a mother, nor any parents. Nala Se may have taken care of her for a short period of time, but she wasn’t quite someone who you would call caring and nurturing. Hemlock may have raised her after taking her in, but he didn’t fit any of those categories either at all.

“I knew you would like it!” Omega said. She was about to tell Emerie more, but she heard an outside voice calling her name. 

“Sorry, Omega,” Emerie turned with a frown. “I have to go take care of something. But I promise to keep it secret.”

Omega smiled. “It’s okay. We can go over the plan later.”

Emerie gave her sister a nod. “Be safe, Omega.” 

The call ended, and Omega tucked in her holo-comm into her pocket. She turned to see Eva, Jax, and Sami coming over. Baryn was awake, snuggling with his toy. 

Omega noticed Eva had a nervous look on her face. “Hi! You guys doing okay?”

The kids nodded. Eva held her hands together behind her back. “We wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure, what is it?” Omega gave the young ones her full attention, feeling a little concerned. 

“Well… everyone says Mother’s Day is coming. Our moms aren’t here, but we felt like giving a gift to Dr. Karr.”

“She’s been nice to us, it’s the least we could do,” Sami added. 

Omega’s eyes widened. “That sounds fantastic! I’m going to do something for one of my brothers, and Emerie is going to help. She’ll love your surprise!”

Eva smiled. “You really think so?”

Omega nodded. “Emerie never had a mother either, but I know she will love your gift.”

The kids were happy that Omega liked their idea. Now they just had to think of the perfect gift. 

***

It was perfect timing. Mother’s Day was today. Omega had been wide awake since the sun rose, awaiting Echo and Emerie’s arrival. She had her brothers help her paint banners, pick flowers, and cook some food. She had drawn a picture of her and her family together for Echo to keep with him, and she had Lyana help her frame it. 

Omega had gotten Mox, Stak, and Deke to join in, who were helping the Batch set the table. They had decided to make handmade bracelets for Echo to have on his missions, adding touches to his new painted armor. 

Lyana came over, informing Omega that the ship was arriving. Omega ran out, Hunter exclaiming to tell her to be careful. Batcher followed her, wanting to see Echo and Emerie. 

The ship landed, and Omega ran to Echo, leaping into his arms. 

“Whoa, good to see you again too kid!” Echo returned the hug, carefully setting Omega down. Omega gave Emerie a hug next, as Emerie knelt down to give her sister a tight one. Omega was still getting used to seeing Emerie without those rose-tinted glasses, but she looked pretty either way. 

Batcher nuzzled herself on Echo’s legs. Echo smiled, giving her some pets. She came over to Emerie, who slightly flinched. Batcher tilted her head and sat down calmly, allowing Emerie to come near her when she felt comfortable.

Emerie was still getting used to Batcher, as she would always see the lurca hounds as these vicious creatures who could easily rip one’s throats with their claws. But there was nothing to worry about with Batcher; she wasn’t one of them anymore. Emerie slowly reached her hand out, gently petting Batcher’s head. She smiled, enjoying the feeling. 

“Dr. Karr!” Emerie heard little voices call her name, looking over to see Eva and Jax running towards her. Sami walked over with Baryn in her arms; the baby never wanted to leave her gentle hold. Emerie stayed down on her knees to receive a hug from each of them. 

“Hello, Eva, Jax, Sami. Baryn.” Emerie smiled and scrunched her nose at Baryn, who giggled, happy to see her. “You all can call me Emerie. You don’t have to keep calling me Dr. Karr.”

“Okay. Emerie,” Eva responded, getting the feel of calling Emerie by her first name.

Echo looked around. There was no sight of the Batch. “Where are the others?”

Omega smiled. “Getting ready.”

Echo raised an eyebrow. “Ready for what?”

Omega grabbed Echo’s hand, pulling him to go with her. “Come with me. You’ve got to see this!”

Echo laughed, following his sister to where she wanted him to go. Emerie began to follow Omega, turning to the kids. “Coming?”

Eva replied, “In a bit. We’ll  be there.” Emerie nodded, following Echo and Omega.

“Let’s go prepare her gift,” Jax whispered. The kids nodded, heading off to get Emerie’s Mother’s Day gift. 

***

Omega excitedly led Echo to her family’s new home on Pabu. Echo noticed her being more energetic than usual, wondering where this girl had in store for him. They reached the door, but Omega stopped before opening it. 

“Could you close your eyes?”

Echo scrunched his eyebrows, starting to grow suspicious of what was behind those doors. He hoped it wasn’t one of their pranks they convinced Omega to do with them. Last time he had a whole mishap with his scomp arm and sticky string.

“Please?” Omega held her hands together. As much as he was worried, Echo couldn’t say no to his favorite girl. He shut his eyes, feeling Omega take his hand again and heard the door open. Emerie opened the door so Omega could lead Echo in.

Echo slowly walked, trusting Omega to take him safely. He felt Omega stop walking as he stopped as well. 

“Okay, open.”

Echo swallowed, ready to face anything that was thrown onto his face. He opened his eyes, and all he saw were his brothers, standing together with smiles on their faces. There was a whole table set with food and flowers carefully arranged. A painted banner was hung above on the walls with the words colorfully written in Aurebesh: “Happy Mother’s Day.”

Echo was about to ask what Mother’s Day was, but Omega began, “Everyone may joke that you’re our mom, but in a way you really are. You take so much care of us, and we wanted to thank you for it. Happy Mother’s Day, Echo!”

“Yeah, happy Mother’s Day, Echo!” Wrecker exclaimed, happy to celebrate. Hunter and Crosshair couldn’t help smiling at their older brother. Mox, Stak and Deke came over to Echo, handing him the bracelets they made. 

“For your new armor. It’ll add some color,” Mox said. 

Echo smiled, grateful for all of this. 

Omega walked over to the table, reaching for a frame. She handed Echo the frame, who got to see her drawn picture of him and Omega standing together, the rest in the picture as well along with Emerie. “I drew this for you to have wherever you go, so you have a picture of us for you to look at whenever you miss us on your missions.”

Echo knelt down, holding the frame. He loved it so much, and the picture being drawn by his little sister was the best thing for him. “Thank you, Omega.”

He pulled her into a hug, which Omega returned warmly. Wrecker joined in, and so did Hunter. Wrecker dragged Crosshair into the hug, which he actually enjoyed.

Emerie came over to Echo, holding an untied bracelet. “Senator Chuchi told me about these bracelets that are shared between brothers and sisters. I wanted to make you one as a gift. It’ll bring you good luck.”

Echo looked at the delicate bracelet in Emerie’s hand. He reached out his arm, allowing Emerie to put on the bracelet for him. Emerie smiled, tying the bracelet onto his wrist next to the bracelets the young triplets gave him. Echo loved his gifts, and he was happy that his family decided to do this for him. 

“You should eat, you’ve probably had a long journey,” Hunter suggested. 

“The cake is delicious! Your favorite berry is in it,” Wrecker said. 

Echo nodded, following his brothers and sister to the table. 

Emerie was ready to follow Echo, but she heard Eva’s voice behind her. The kids stood together shyly, and Emerie noticed a red box in Eva’s hands. 

“We… thought of making something for you for Mother’s Day,” Jax said. 

“For helping keep us safe,” Sami added. 

Eva reached out the box. Emerie was shocked. She wasn’t expecting to get anything for Mother’s Day. She didn’t feel she really fit the qualities of a mother. 

Emerie knelt down, taking the box gently from Eva’s small hands. She opened it carefully, revealing a beautiful woven necklace.

“Did you all make this?” Emerie asked. The kids nodded. 

“It was Sami’s idea,” said Eva. “You can wear that on your adventures, and when we go back to our families, you can have that to remember us by.”

Emerie held the necklace, fond of the design. The colors of gold, maroon, and dark blue were so beautifully woven together. She had never received a gift as precious as this. 

"I have some flowers for you too," Jax said, handing her a bunch of colorful flowers he found around Pabu. Emerie took the flowers gently.

“Do you like it?” Sami asked. 

Emerie smiled, tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. Thank you." 

The kids smiled, coming in for another hug. Baryn cooed as Emerie set a hand on his head. She felt grateful to be loved by these children. 

“Emerie, come eat!” Omega called. 

“Come join,” Emerie said to the kids. She stood up, holding Eva and Jax’s hands. She helped Sami set up Baryn so he could eat something good for him. 

The family was happy to be together like this, just like other normal families in the galaxy spending a holiday together. Echo had listened to Omega explain Mother's Day to him and often looked over at his bracelets, loving his gifts. Emerie had Eva put the necklace on her carefully, loving to wear it. 

Mother’s Day had become a new special holiday for them in their hearts, and Omega was ready to celebrate it every year, just like this.

[zmediaoutlet]

hey i saw your post about ao3 house style and i can totally relate to it, so i thought maybe you could share some wincest fic recs? please and thank u 🙏

you know what bud, I will indeed share some wincest fic recs bc you should rec the stuff that is good and leave the crud in the dust, right? Right. So -- here are uhh a number of recs as they occur to me, which actually read like a person wrote them instead of an AO3-trained algorithm of some kind. Plus I only rec stuff if I actually like it so consider these Z Certified or something.

The Fremont Street Experience by @nigeltde-fic -- a quick 1200 words that's a fizzing jolt of champagne right under the heart. New love that's just bursting with all that could be. Anticipation fizzes in Dean's veins, dances in his fingertips. The sand shimmers, hazes, glitters. There's so much sky. It pours into the road at the horizon. -- see?

Miles Ahead by @egipci -- a fully-formed entirely real paragraph of 750 words in which we see Sam Winchester in all his want and wanting, and I want to crawl inside the narrative presented and live there year-round. You were pretending to sleep and every once in a while a car would pass by and the headlights would fill up the inside of the car like midday and then I would look at you out the corner of my eye. All the way I thought about Mexico and you there sunburnt. -- I mean my god.

Countdown by @mollyamory-again -- another tight 1200 of just a normally-tense night that dissolves in sweet established-vibes intimacy. Brothers who feel like brothers and also an earned and real -- not hotness exactly but just adults who have sex who act and think like adults, which is not as common as you'd hope! His fingers skate over Dean's skin in lazy patterns; they find their old places, and Dean shoves up to meet them, asking for more and getting more all at once. Sam missed him, Sam wants him; Sam is here, so they can do this, Dean wants so badly to do this.

Four Winters: I by @lindencypressbirch, who got deleted and so we'll just call her Linden. Stretching all the way up to 4700 words this time, Linden takes us through a godawful piece of shit of a day in which Dean Winchester Is Handling It, until of course he isn't -- but he is, because he has to, because what other choice is there? This one does a great job of showcasing the misery without lingering on it in a maudlin or tedious way. There's just the job, and then the next job after. After another moment or two he scrubbed a hand over his wet face and went looking for his thermos, and the last of the cold coffee it held. Because they had power now, yes, but there was no telling whether they would have power later, and as they were clearly not going to be going anywhere for a few days, he had work to do before it maybe went.

The Fall Will Probably Kill You by killabeez, which is allll the way up to 7k and retains interest throughout. The big strength in this one is that Sam is competent, steady, believable-from-canon Sam when we get so much over-the-top meathead jerk or simpering babyboy who reads 15 when he's mean to be 40. I'm just blown over by all that SAM. This fic is really about Dean's misery in s7 but it's dealt with pragmatically, almost implacably; more ott than the show went on some details, but the overall vibe is nevertheless: they will get through it because this is who they are. I appreciate that always and forever. He's the one with the secret, now. He hadn't meant it to be that way. But Sam asked Dean to trust him, and Dean said okay because he was sorry for using the F-word. Sorry for putting that look on Sam's face, for making him feel like a freak, the way he hadn't been for laying him out with his fist. It's ridiculous, how he still folds like a house of cards where Sam's concerned, no matter how many times he's told himself he won't do it again. But now he's stuck with the lie, and has no one to blame but himself.

That's probably enough to be going on with. If you read these, please leave a comment to tell the author that you appreciate their work, because it should be appreciated.

[dominimoonbeam]

😁 Oh, my lovely, wonderful Domini

I have a dream… of using the combined prompts,

“Well, someone’s cranky today.” and “Well, someone needs to shut the fuck up.” combined with *kissing to annoy a third party*, involving David & Darlin snarking at each other, and upon realizing Quinn is watching, choosing to kiss each other to piss him off 😈 Bonus points if they quickly forget the point of the kiss is to annoy Quinn 🤣 💋

CHAR!! I love it. Thank you so much for this ask!!

I might flesh this one out more before I post it to ao3... We'll see.

David/Darlin

tags: first kiss, idiots in love, drinking, bar fight

MY WHAT BIG TEETH YOU HAVE

David nursed his beer at the bar, making sure to take it slow because Asher was hellbent on dragging him to the dance floor when he was done with this one.

Fuck that.

Darlin leaned against the bar beside him, turned the other way to face the room, their arms pressing back to settle elbows on the surface. “At this rate we’re going to need to carry him home,” the remarked.

David turned enough to look back over his shoulder at the floor and Asher. He bit the inside of his lip to hide a smile. Ash and about half the pack were dominating the dancefloor—not pushing anyone else out but definitely a presence. It was impossible not to be. A fire elemental stepped closer to Asher and even from across the room David caught that look, the curious one asking to get even closer to Asher. He only watched long enough to see the grin on his best friend’s face before looking away again, taking a deep drink off his beer because he would not need to worry about Asher coming back to bother him tonight.

“Doesn’t look like we’ll be the ones carrying him.”

Darlin laughed and then snagged his beer.

“Get your own,” he griped but rolled his eyes when the finished it.

“We’re sharing!”

“The fuck we are!”

Darlin pouted. “Well, someone’s cranky today…”

“Well, someone needs to shut the fuck up,” he countered, but flagged the bartender for another, signaling for a second bottle for the shifter next to him.

Someone else came up to them… or rather, came up to Darlin.

David glanced over his shoulder at the vampire looking Darlin over from head to toe, lingering on their neck.

Darlin, for their part, stared back, mostly bored.

“I heard you’re into biting,” the vampire said, not having to raise their voice to have it slithering in their ears.

David swiveled to the side, more than ready to show this biter just how fast a shifter could move.

But Darlin grinned. “I am. But you can go back and tell him that his little teeth don’t do it for me anymore.”

David raised an eyebrow, not sure what they meant until the vampire hissed and bolted back into the crowd. It was fast enough that he barely clocked them until they reappeared on the other side of the club, at a cluster of couches and next to another vampire.

Quinn.

David turned forward before he could show that he even noticed him, picking up a beer and taking the first drink. He knew Darlin was staring back at their ex from across the room. He’d been a nightmare and the breakup had been violent and ugly, but that was a few years ago now. Darlin was back with the pack, safe and happy, just like he’d always hoped they would be.

David passed them the beer in his hand and they took it like that was always the plan. “Little teeth, huh?”

Darlin sipped and shrugged, turning their head to look back at him. “I know it’s petty but if he’s going to send his creeps to try to make me uncomfortable I figure it’s fair to try to piss him off…”

David shook his head. “It’s not petty.”

Darlin took another swig and then passed the bottle back to him. “He’s always thought you and me had a thing.”

David looked at them again. The idea sent a jolt through him, maybe because he’d always had a soft spot for Darlin. Maybe Quinn wasn’t quite as stupid as David always thought… “Do you want to really piss him off?”

Darlin blinked at him, trying to play it cool, but their gaze flicked to his mouth for a second and then back his eyes. “What?”

David shrugged.

Darlin smiled slowly. “Seriously?”

David shrugged again.

Darlin flashed teeth, tempted. “He might lose it…”

“He already lost it,” David reminded, waiting. And let that biter make a move. David wasn’t worried.

Darlin slid their back along the bar, into his space, and he lifted his arm from the surface to give them that real estate in front of him, his hand settling on their hip.

Darlin curled an arm around the back of his shoulders. “You drunk?” they asked, checking.

He laughed before he could catch it. The idea of them checking to make sure they weren’t taking advantage of him was too funny.

“Shut up,” Darlin laughed while scolding.

He leaned down and kissed them, soft and short first, their lips still close and their bodies practically pressed together.

Darlin blinked, stunned, and then kissed him harder, pulling themself flush against him.

David wound his arm around their back, devouring that kiss like it might be his only.

Later that morning, he’d know that he forgot the kiss was to piss off Quinn the second they slid in front of him, and so had they.

But it had still worked.

Later that morning, he’d hear from Milo how Quinn shot across the room like a missile, fangs out.

He hadn’t known then only because Quinn never made it close enough for it to matter. Asher caught him halfway across the club, shifting into a wolf and closing teeth around his ribcage before he made it.

The whole empowered club erupted into a bar fight that somehow devolved into a flashy show of powers once the vampires were tossed out. The Department arrived late enough to frown in confusion, scold the lot of them, and write citations for risking covert with indoor storms, fireworks, and earthquakes set to the beat of music.

[myosotisa]

Small Things - e.m.

coworker!Eddie Munson x Reader

‖  summary: Insomnia is a bitch and has been really torturing you recently, but your coworker Eddie thinks he might be able to help you get some sleep (wholesomely).

‖  notes: just pure fluff, comfort to undescribed hurt. gender neutral reader, only reference is sitting down to pee (lol). Eddie refers to reader as sweetheart, no y/n. discussions of insomnia, nightmares, various trouble sleeping. sharing a bed :) i was once again possessed by a spirit that demanded Eddie softness. and i am helpless to fight against such a call. the title is based on the song Small Things by Ben Howard. hope you like it!

‖  word count: 3.8k

‖  cross posted on ao3

Another sunrise. The deep maroons that melted into rich oranges and peaks of yellow. Moments of warmth and gold that glowed in the dawn of a new day before fading into the palest and lightest of blues. Mists of grey fog that clouded the streets like ghosts until the sun mercifully put them to rest.

You'd watched too many sunrises recently. Perched by your window, curled up in comfortable layers to fight the chill in the January air, you sat and watched with bleary eyes as a new day began all too soon. It felt like some kind of weird torture to see the world come to life with the sun after hours of oppressive dark and silence. To hear birds begin to chirp, the distant murmur of cars start to kick up, children laughing and talking excitedly as they walked past to reach the bus stop. Feeling entirely unable to do anything else, you watched as the world awoke with a bitter resentment.

By the time you stumbled into the record store that afternoon, you were too bone tired to even hold on to the jealousy of the people around you who slept well. Getting dressed and ready to the bare minimum and inhaling some food was all you could manage before heading to work. You'd been exhausted when you came in to work yesterday too, but another sleepless night between now and then had you an absolute husk of yourself.

"Damn, you look like shit," your coworker, Eddie, said the moment he saw you. There was a grimace on his face and what almost looked like an inch of concern.

"Thanks Munson," you deadpanned back as you threw your bag haphazardly under the counter and stepped up to clock in, "it's nice to see you too."

You and Eddie were friends. Not close by any means, but you worked the afternoon shift together more often than not and spending that much time with someone leads to a certain level of familiarity. Picking up bits and pieces of each other from passing comments and mannerisms, filling silences with stories and conversations about nothing. Friends.

No matter how much he made you laugh and look forward to coming in to work, and no matter how pretty he looked when he had his messy hair pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck.

"I'm not kidding, are you sure you're feeling alright?" He stepped up next to your right side, ducked his head down with narrowed eyes to get a better look at you. You pushed his face away with a palm on his forehead and focused on trying to read through the notes from the morning shift. You knew for a fact Eddie hadn't read it and was just waiting for you to show up and tell him what to do.

"I'm fine. But have you even done any of this?" It came out with more bite than you meant it too, your patience paper thin. "Seriously, you've been here for 2 hours already and you were just what? Doing nothing?"

When your head quickly turned on him, he flinched back, big, brown eyes wide and slow blinking in surprise. You immediately slumped, bringing your hands up to rub roughly at your face as you sighed in regret and frustration. Attempting to bridge the gap he'd very quickly put between the two of you, you tried to soften. "I'm sorry, forget I said that. Let's just… Get to work. Okay?"

Although still hesitant, looking like he was battling between worry and caution, he agreed. "Yeah, sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say."

Grateful for his cooperation, you went through the list and divided up tasks as normal. Set yourself into the familiar role of work, turned on the autopilot. Eddie didn't put up any fight when you told him what you wanted him to do, even sucking up the complaints he normally gave about certain repetitive tasks. When the two of you broke apart to get started, you noticed him over by the record player that was connected to the store's shitty speaker system. He wordlessly swapped the vinyl that wasn't even finished playing and placed in another – one that was way more your taste than his.

Choosing not to think too much about it, you turned off your brain and started organizing.

The next time Eddie spoke to you was almost two hours later. An extended silence like that was nowhere near the norm, he would spend the entire shift talking without a second thought if you let him and you liked that about him. It made the time pass quickly; he had a nice voice and a certain way of speaking and telling stories that drew you in and made you want more. While the silence today had felt empty, you were grateful for it. You didn't have the energy to try to keep up with his enthusiasm right now.

"Sooooo," Eddie began casually when you both found yourselves behind the counter again, "are you gonna tell me what's wrong? Or are we just going to awkwardly not talk for the rest of the day?"

Taking a deep breath to remain calm, you replied, "Nothing's wrong."

"Oh, so we're lying. That's cool." He hopped up to sit on the counter, the rips in his jeans at the knee widening further as he swung his feet. "As long as we’re doing that, I've been wanting to let you know that I'm actually undercover for the government and we'd like to recruit you to be the next President of Space."

You couldn't stop the amused snort that left you, the small smile that came to your face. Tried to ignore how easy it was for him to make you laugh even when you were downright miserable. "You lost me at working for the government.”

He snapped his fingers in a dramatic swing of his wrist, folding his arms over his chest in an exaggerated pout after. “Knew that anti-establishment vibe I gave off would come back to bite me eventually.” When you didn’t respond again beyond shaking your head at his antics, he seemed to quiet down. “But really, you look like you’re dead on your feet. Got me a little worried, is all.”

Meeting his eyes for the first time, you noted the earnest glow in them. He was genuinely worried about you and you couldn’t help but listen to that nagging voice in your head that told you to make it smaller, ease his mind. “Just haven’t been sleeping well. No big deal,” you shrugged your shoulders, averting eye contact as you blew his concern off.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

He asked so easily, like it wasn’t a question that dug too deep, like it didn’t threaten to make your eyes water. You weren’t used to it – being cared for, someone worrying. Someone noticing. It felt strange, uncomfortable, unsafe.

But when you looked in his eyes again, you felt yourself crumble instantly. You’d always been weak when it came to him and now would prove to be no exception.

“Almost 3 days ago,” you admitted quietly. Tried to keep a strong facade, remain unaffected as his face fell. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw as the muscle there rolled with tension.

“Just can’t fall asleep?” He asked, voice kind and gentle. Non-judgmental. “Or nightmares?”

“Both.”

Looking a bit unsure at continuing to poke, to ask for more, he hesitated before adding, “Is it the quiet?”

When your only response was to press your lips tight together, feeling embarrassed to acknowledge that truth, he began to slowly nod his head. Almost like he was coming to some sort of understanding. “If… If you want to come over to my place after work, I think I can help.”

“Eddie…” Your voice trailed off, trying to fight the butterflies in the pit of your stomach when your mind went straight to the gutter. “If this is some kind of ploy to get in my pants, I’m really not-”

“No!” He interrupted loudly, surprising both himself and you, before he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Nothing like that, no funny business. Scouts honor.” And he held up under your inspection as you studied him, checking for sincerity. In a show of good faith, he used the tip of his finger to draw an ‘X’ over his heart, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile as he did so.

Weak, exhausted, desperate for rest, you had little fight left to give. “You really think it’ll help?” All he did was nod confidently, not offering anything further. Reluctant to accept his help but at the end of your rope, you agreed. After work, you would get in your car and follow him back to his place.

And the rest of the shift proceeded as close to normal as it could. The two of you weaved around each other as you prepared the store for the weekend rush, ordered takeout to eat during your breaks, and ran through the motions of closing up the store as you had 100 times before. When the door was locked behind you, both of you standing outside in the cold night air, you hesitated. And he noticed immediately. “Do you trust me?”

Not expecting the question, you blinked owlishly at him, pulling your jacket in tight as a shiver ran down your spine. “Yeah,” you said honestly, “yeah, I do.”

His keys spun around his fingers, clanking together with themselves and the silver of his rings as it made contact with his palm. A disarming smile directed toward you and he was waving you to follow. “Then come on.”

The drive to his house on the edge of town was longer than you thought it would be. Honestly, you had no idea where he lived before now. He’d mentioned before that he used to live at the trailer park in Forest Hills but hadn’t explained what happened to get here. He pulled into the grass beside the modest house, half hidden in trees, and you parked your car behind his van. “Home sweet home,” he said with a grin as you exited your car, gesturing to the quiet and dark house.

“Do you live here alone?” You asked, falling into step with him as he led you up the small stairs to the porch.

“No, with my Uncle Wayne.” The screen door squeaked loudly as he pulled it open, his too-full keychain making a mess of noise as he unlocked the front door. “We used to live in a trailer on the other side of town, I think I’ve mentioned that before?” When he looked at you for confirmation, you nodded and followed him inside, the screen door slamming shut behind you. “After the earthquakes, our trailer basically didn’t exist. One of many casualties, I guess. I’m just glad neither of us were home when it happened.” He flipped on a warm toned lamp in the living room, giving a bit of light to the space. It was pretty barren – a new looking leather couch, a TV on a homemade stand, a few newspapers and magazines laid out on the glass coffee table. “Somehow we lucked out getting some big government pay out for the damages and bought this little house. Just a living room, kitchen, bathroom, 2 tiny bedrooms. It’s small, but it’s ours.” You paused your study of the room to turn to where Eddie had walked off to and spotted him bent at the waist in front of the open fridge, arms spread wide.

“I like it,” you offered, feeling out of place in his home.

“It’s alright,” he agreed, although it came out in a happy sigh. “Haven’t had much money to decorate since we had to replace pretty much everything we owned… So it’s a bit plain.” His eyes crinkled in a wince as he tilted his head toward you. “Do you want something to drink? I’ve got water or soda or some lemonade?”

Taking a few cautious steps toward him, you gave him a grateful smile. “A water would be great, thank you.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Coming right up.” And if you hadn’t been so sleep deprived, been so sure you were making things up, you could’ve sworn he blushed a bit as he turned away. You watched as he moved around his kitchen in total ease. As if there wasn’t a borderline stranger in his home. It didn’t seem to bother him at all as he poured himself a glass of lemonade and presented you with some water. You thanked him, taking a small sip as you clutched the chilled glass between your hands. “Let me give you the grand tour,” he said with a slight bow, gesturing for you to continue further into his home.

While he was right about it not being very decorated, there were still signs of life everywhere. A flannel overshirt laid over the back of the couch, a partially filled ashtray on top of a magazine, a pair of work boots kicked off in the corner. There were used towels in the bathroom, a cup with 2 toothbrushes on the sink, a broken up bar of soap on the edge of the tub. Wayne’s door was mostly closed and you wanted to respect his boundaries, but could just barely see the corner of a hastily made bed, a pair of fluffy slippers on the floor. And you should've expected that out of the whole house, the most personality was definitely in Eddie’s room.

Your attention first caught on a deep maroon electric guitar displayed in the corner, a tiny amp tucked behind it. It looked well loved and cared for. There were pieces of paper stuck to the walls here and there – blank sheets with sketches of what looked like fantasy creatures on them, lined pages torn from a notebook covered in scribbles of writing. A few photos placed up with thumbtacks, a small bookshelf crowded with paperbacks and vinyl records. There was a dresser to make up for the lack of a closet and a record player sat on top, one you recognized as a model you sold in the store. There was a pile of clothes between the dresser and his guitar, a missing sock beside his bed, some sneakers sticking out from under it. The bed was unmade with cream colored sheets that didn’t look dirty, but had definitely been slept on once or twice. It felt warm and cozy and it smelled like Eddie. Since when do you recognize what Eddie smells like?

“It’s not much,” he commented when the silence stretched too long for his comfort, walking around you to kick the discarded sock out of sight. “At least, not compared to my old room. But it’ll be covered in posters and other bullshit again soon.” You nodded numbly, eyes still scanning and consuming what he offered. You didn’t really know what to say, just allowed him to fill the silence to his contentment. Taking a few steps further into the room, you set your glass down on the stool that acted as his bedside table, wiping the cold condensation off on your pants. His eyes tracked the motion and seemed to come to some realization, taking one long legged step over to his dresser and beginning to dig through drawers.

A few moments later he was holding a bundle of black and grey out to you. “What’s this?” You asked, taking it from his hands on instinct.

“Just a tshirt and a pair of sweatpants. Probably wouldn’t have much luck sleeping in your jeans.” You looked down at the fabric in your hands with wide eyes and then back up at him. “You can, uh, go change in the bathroom if you want?”

Feeling confident enough to ask now, you hesitated. “What exactly am I doing here?”

“I’ll explain after you change, okay? It’s nothing weird and I won’t make you do anything you aren’t comfortable doing.” He looked resolute in that fact, absolutely serious in his claim. It helped settle your nerves a bit as you toed off your sneakers by the wall and then turned back toward the bathroom across the hall.

Slowly, meticulously, you took off your own clothes and folded them into a small pile on the counter. You pulled on what Eddie had given you, unable to stop yourself from inhaling the woody and herbal scent of him. Because of how concentrated it was on his clothes, it overwhelmed you, sending your tired brain spinning. Trying to settle yourself, you put the toilet seat down to pee, took your time washing your hands, and then pressed a bit of warm water to your face. By the time you were collecting your clothes and padding back across the hall in your socks, there was soft instrumentals coming from the record player on Eddie’s dresser and he had also changed into something more comfortable; a pair of red and black flannel pants and a grey crewneck that had faded red lettering spelling out ‘Coca-Cola’ on it. He was barefoot, hair still in the same bun as before, bent slightly forward as he thumbed through his bookshelf. As if sensing your arrival, he straightened up and turned toward you, his lips stretching into a toothy smile as he took you in.

“My clothes suit you,” he said, a bit smug and teasing. You rolled your eyes, hoped to god you didn’t blush visibly. As you crossed over to set your clothes over by your shoes, his eyebrows pinched together in concern. “I forgot how cold it is, do you think you’ll be alright? I can pull out another sweatshirt if you need it.”

“I’m fine for now,” you rushed to placate, still feeling plenty warm in the heated walls of the small house. “If I get cold, I’ll let you know.”

His smile returned, this one almost sickly sweet. “Sounds good to me.” He adjusted back toward the bookshelf, eyes scanning rapidly back and forth for a few moments before he grabbed one of the well-worn novels between his fingertips and pulled it out. “So, here’s the plan,” he said, coming back around to sit on the edge of the bed facing where you remained in the doorway. “You’re going to lay down and try to sleep, and I’m gonna sit next to you and read.”

You tilted your head to the side, unable to hide your confusion. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He confirmed, giving his bed a little tap to invite you over.

Still unsure, you crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, some safe space remaining between the two of you. “I don’t understand, how would that help me?”

Restless hands tapped against the paper cover of the novel in his hands, The Sword and the Stone by T.H. White, as he appeared to collect his thoughts. “After the earthquakes,” he began, taking a pause to clear his throat as his voice caught, “I struggled to sleep for a real long time. Nightmares, insomnia, waking up in the middle of the night, the whole thing.” His tone was soft, vulnerable, almost a bit embarrassed as he explained. “I tried alcohol, weed, sex, working out, going for walks, almost everything and nothing helped. After a really rough night, I was just laying on the couch when Wayne came home from work. We didn’t say much, and he just started to cook some food for himself before he went to bed.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, obviously appreciating the memory. “I don’t really know for sure what did it, but something about just listening to him do something, just having someone else around put me right to sleep. And I thought maybe it was a fluke, I’d just passed out from exhaustion and it was a coincidence. But it happened again and again. Whether he was thumbing through the newspaper, cooking, reading, whittling at a stick, anything quiet really. As long as he was there, I could get to sleep.”

“So,” he nudged his elbow into your arm, bringing your eyes to meet his, “I’m going to sit here and read next to you and you’re gonna get some sleep.”

It still didn’t make much sense to you, couldn’t get your tired brain to pick up the threads on why that would be so. But you were desperate at this point, just wanting to be able to close your eyes and find some peace. As your fingers curled in the hem of your shirt, his shirt, you softly asked, “You really think it’ll work?”

“I figure it’s worth a shot, sweetheart.”

And then you were nodding, and he was giving you that look to check if you were serious, if you were comfortable, and then he was shifting up on the bed. It was full size, so just barely enough for the two of you to be side by side and not really be touching. He sat up, leaning back against the headboard and motioned for you to lay down next to him. You did so carefully, pulling the heavy quilt and top sheet over you as you settled on your back next to him, hands resting on your stomach and eyes on the ceiling as you tried to ignore your discomfort.

As soon as you stopped moving, he adjusted himself a bit, balancing the book using his knee and one hand, the other arm draping itself over the pillow your head rested on. You held your breath as his fingertips pressed into your hair, immediately moving into soothing circles on your scalp. As much as you wanted to feel weird about the intimate touch, it had you melting into his sheets, your held breath releasing in a shaky exhale.

“Is this okay?” He asked quietly, looking down at you in a way that was just filled with softness. Already fighting the heavy feeling in your eyes, you nodded, drawing the blanket up further around you. He smiled, his thumb stroking across your hairline for a moment before he went back to the gentle circles from before. “Now, try and get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”

And you didn’t know if it was the placebo effect from him telling you it worked for him, the confirmation that he was watching over you, the soft sounds of his deep breathing and the gentle turn of pages, the warmth and smell of him being nearby, or the way he mindlessly drew patterns into your skin, but you were fading fast. “Hey Eddie?” You said in a whisper after a few minutes of peace.

“Yeah sweetheart?” He replied just as softly.

“Thank you.”

He hummed a deep baritone of acknowledgement as your breathing began to slow, to draw deeper. “Sleep well.”

And you did. All the way through the night without a single dream.

thanks for reading!! please give it a reblog and leave a note if you liked it :)

tagging my muses: @blue-mossbird, @hauntingbastille, @fracturedarkness. @abibliophobiaa (i promise i will sleep at some point)

[myeuphoricmindset]

Haunted by you | Eddie Munson

Summary | Eddie Munson's ghost is haunting the house recently occupied by Daisy Morgan. Having been deceased for years, Eddie becomes visible only to her. As she adjusts to sharing her living space with an otherworldly presence, their relationship develops into a compelling yet forbidden romance between the living and the dead. But, how could that ever truly work?

Pairing | Eddie Munson x OC

Warnings/Tags | 18+ only, Strained parent relationships with significant focus on maternal issues, Themes of feeling unwanted and abandoned are central, Cheating -though not involving Eddie Munson or the main character, alcohol and drug use, Profanity, Sexual content, and Mental health themes.

Fic Notes | This fic is set after the events of Stranger Things season 4. Seven years have passed, and everyone has moved forward since the defeat of Vecna and the closure of The Upside Down. This story won't revolve around Vecna or The Upside Down. While there might be occasional appearances by other Stranger Things characters, the narrative centers on normal life, void of supernatural plots except for Eddie's ghostly presence.

I don't have a fixed posting schedule, but I'll aim for weekly updates. I might post more frequently, but I'm keeping the dates flexible for my mental well-being. Rest assured, I won't leave this fic unfinished.

Word count | 4k

Read on ao3

August 1993

Embedded within our very DNA is the innate longing for maternal love and acceptance. When that love is withheld over time, our minds adapt, convincing us that we can do without it. However, a persistent yearning for that inherent love remains, a constant reminder of the void that's meant to be filled.

Even in death, Daisy’s mother couldn't find it within herself to love her daughter.  Grace’s final moments weren't filled with apologies or declarations of affection for Daisy; instead, there was only a will assigning property to her. 

With a chuckle, Daisy twirls the keys around her finger, amused by Grace's belief that a house could mend the chasm in her heart.  It’s a testament to how detached she was from what love between a mother and child should be.

For the past six months, Daisy has been stuck in limbo, her presence tethered to this seemingly senseless house following her mother’s passing. Today, at long last, she clasps the keys in her hand—a significant stride towards ending this dreadful chapter of her life. Whether driven by resentment or anger, Daisy raises her middle finger to the sky, smiling with satisfaction as she bids farewell to Grace. 

In the parking lot, a few passersby cast concerned glances her way as Daisy releases a breath. It's not just any breath; it's a sigh that unburdens her from a lifetime of pain. The ache will persist, but it no longer shackles her to Grace; now, her mother can only haunt her dreams. And she will take that as a win. 

A huge smile is plastered on her face as she walks to her car and calls her realtor. The line rings twice before she hears his eager voice on the other end. 

"Hello, Ms. Morgan."

"Walter, it's all set. You can move forward with putting up the for-sale sign. I'll send over the necessary paperwork soon. ” Daisy says. 

"Absolutely, ma'am. Sounds great.”

“Oh, I’ve also turned on the electricity under my name while we work on getting it sold.”

“Wonderful. I'll arrange an open house for next weekend." 

This house holds no appeal for her; it seems Grace hoped to tether herself to Daisy through the property. The faster it’s sold then the faster she can move on with her life. 

"Thank you, and please, call me Daisy."

"Certainly," he replies apologetically. 

She gives him a kind smile, almost as if he could perceive it through the phone, and says goodbye.

Music blares as Daisy speeds out of the lawyer's parking lot. Her sunglasses shield her eyes from the summer sun, her brown hair wiping in the wind, and her engagement ring glimmers brilliantly as her hand tightens on the steering wheel.

Things are finally looking up.

She planned to stop by the bridal store and try on her dress for the last fitting, but she could do that tomorrow. She just wants to relax at home with Nick and watch Pretty Woman. Maybe even recreate the bath scene, singing Prince while drowning in bubbles. That’s a perfect night.  

*

The apartment's lights are on even though her fiancé isn't due back until seven. 

"Nick?" Daisy's voice echoes through the apartment as she opens the fridge, her mind set on preparing dinner. A craving for pasta, rigatoni specifically, with grilled chicken, mushrooms, and onions fills her thoughts, her stomach voicing its approval with a rumble. Unfortunately,  they are completely out of chicken and pasta. Wonderful, just wonderful. 

Luckily, their apartment lies within walking distance of one of Nick's favorite Chinese restaurants. The prospect of takeout lifts Daisy's spirits as she heads to their bedroom to ask Nick if he wants his usual Kung Pao chicken. 

The sound of the shower greets her before she enters the room. 

"Nic—" Her words halt as her gaze falls upon the disheveled bed.

What in the world? The comforter hangs askew and pillows litter the floor in disarray. It’s an absolute mess and she could have sworn she made the bed this morning like she always does. 

Before she can call Nick's name once more, noises emanate from the bathroom. Daisy cautiously pushes the bathroom door open. The sight before her is surreal: Nick and his coworker Mia are in the shower together. His hand rests on her thigh, the same hand that's wiped away Daisy's tears. His lips pressed against her neck, the same lips that proposed to Daisy. Mia's moans fill the air, reminiscent of the sounds Daisy herself has made. Her mouth goes sour at the sight.

Daisy remains rooted in place as if observing the scene from outside her body. 

This can’t be happening. 

Time slows as Nick becomes aware of her presence, the shower door flinging open, Mia futilely reaching for a towel, and Daisy retreating.

Nick's voice calls after her as she assembles a small bag. She can't answer, gripped by a numbing shock. The room's movements feel surreal, and Daisy navigates it like a phantom, a silent specter swallowed by her own detachment.

Pushing the front door open, the summer air snaps her back to reality as she approaches her car. Nick's voice recedes as she leaves him standing, towel wrapped around his waist and their shared future at his feet, symbolized by a single apartment key.  

“Daisy!”

Betrayal is no stranger to Daisy, but it doesn't blunt the pain of misplaced trust. A sense of foolishness washes over her, as Nick held the secrets of her past, her vulnerabilities, her fears. Tonight he reinforced her sense of being an unwanted burden.

It’s too much to bear. She has to get the hell out of here. 

*

Hawkins lies eighty miles from Indianapolis. Unintentionally, Daisy found herself heading north on Interstate 65, steering aimlessly while her thoughts were lost on autopilot. At some point during the drive, Daisy stopped for gas and picked up McDonald’s despite lacking any appetite. She mechanically consumed it, then pulled over on the highway only to throw it all up. All of this occurred while she was in a haze, unable to recall the process. She moved through these actions like a mere shell of herself. Reaching a new city without a memory of the journey ignited a surge of panic within her. 

Daisy wasn’t just in Hawkins, Indiana; she found herself parked outside her mother’s house, now her very own. Mixed emotions surged within her as her hands tightened around the steering wheel, her focus unwavering on the imposing iron gate adorned with the “Morgan” insignia.

She will never admit that she'd memorized the route to her mother's house. A house she never intended to visit. It was always decided after the accident that she would never contact Grace again, but it gave Daisy a sense of control knowing where her mother was and not doing a damn thing about it.

Until now. 

She would have driven to Sloan's place, relying on her childhood best friend's kindness to give her a place to stay while she figured out what to do next. Sloan had always been there, a constant pillar of support. But, tonight was not the night to ask for support. Sloan happened to be attending a significant work event with her girlfriend, Robin at her side. Months ahead of time, she had planned a stay at a luxurious hotel for this very evening. Even on a subconscious level, Daisy understood that intruding upon their special night wasn’t an option, even when her own life was unraveling at the seams.

Left with no other options, Daisy finds herself in an unexpected predicament—having to accept help from her mother, the last thing she ever wanted. Daisy understands her mother's presumed satisfaction in the afterlife, and it's a painful realization. Even though the house was hers, the idea of depending on Grace’s help for her own well-being bothered her, making her upset. She was meant to sell the home and ever step foot on the property.

It felt like her mother had won, even though the game ended when Grace died. But Daisy reminded herself that the stay isn't indefinite; it's just a temporary solution until she figures out her next step. 

Her hand trembles as she inputs 0527 on the keypad. Time seems to freeze for a moment, and Daisy holds her breath. The tension snaps as the gate loudly creaks open, breaking the silence.

The driveway stretches, winding its way around towering trees and clusters of flowering bushes. Daisy remembers the land from before the house was built—a trailer park with families that got wiped out by a natural disaster in ‘86. Grace saw the chance, bought the land, and replaced the trailers with a mansion. The families from the Forest Hills were paid to leave, a deal they took because their homes were falling apart. They didn't have many options and didn't want to end up homeless. Most of them did not have insurance to take care of their homes and Grace paid more than they could ever offer. 

One person with too much money took over a place that used to be home to many families. Instead of helping them rebuild, Grace paid them to go away. Daisy wonders about those families and the kids who used to play here; their laughter once echoed between the trees and now it’s silent. Hopefully, they managed to reconstruct their lives using the resources she provided.

As the sun set, its light bathed the house, creating a gentle radiance along its edges. The home stands on a grand scale, boasting windows that envelop both the lower and upper levels. Despite only being built seven years ago, Grace held a deep appreciation for history and it shows in the architecture. The Victorian-style home was crafted in a manner that exudes the aura of centuries past.

The focal point, the entryway, is crowned with two grand wooden front doors, standing tall and imposing, their well-worn elegance inviting all who visit. Ironically, Daisy can only assume that visitors to the house were few and far between during Grace's time.

Effortlessly, the key slipped into the lock, and upon entering, Daisy’s bag dropped onto the wooden floors, the sound reverberating through the expansive, vacant house. 

"Hello?" Daisy's voice echoed through the space, although she knew well that no one would answer.

Still, she waited for a reply that never came—only the structural creaks and the soft hum of air circulating through the vents persisted. It was eerie, but at least she was not on the streets and the house itself was undeniably beautiful and fully furnished. Daisy had to admit that Grace possessed a talent for home decor. An artist at heart, Grace's creative vision shone through, not just in her painted canvases but also in the ambiance of her house.

Daisy admired the exquisite crown moldings that decorate the ceilings, intricate panels adorn the walls, and ornate chandeliers cast a warm, gentle glow. It was inviting even if she didn’t feel welcome. 

Stained glass windows, with their kaleidoscope of hues, scatter fragments of sunset light. The grand staircase, an artful masterpiece that anchors the foyer, leads to the upper floor, its handcrafted banisters a tangible testament to the commitment to the minutiae.

All of it was stunning. It’s hard to believe that Grace was living in this while Daisy endured nights on a couch, lacking a proper bedroom, in a family that seemed indifferent to her presence.

She debated unpacking her bag but was overwhelmed by the day's events. She wanted to take the edge off, to forget. She figured Grace might have left some wine in the kitchen. Grace was rarely without alcohol nearby.

The kitchen was pristine. The house staff, paid ahead of time, had maintained the house and yard even after her death. They hoped to impress a new owner. Daisy wondered what they'd think when they saw the for sale sign at the end of the weekend. She couldn't worry about that now; it might push her over the edge with all that’s on her mind.

Daisy tossed half-empty wine bottles into the trash and found a corked bottle on the rack. She wiped the dust off a Pinot Noir named Goldeneye.

Never heard of it, but it’ll do. 

 “Aha,” Daisy muttered with satisfaction as the cork popped.

Holding the bottle, she walked to the living room. Taking a hefty sip, she hoped the wine would numb her. The smoky black cherry flavor lingered on her tongue. The house was quiet. Daisy kicked off her shoes, drank some more, and collapsed onto the couch.

"Fuck," Daisy muttered, looking around at her situation. Emotions surged, and she used the wine to drown them.

“Fuck!” She shouts into the emptiness, fighting tears.

Amidst denial and disbelief, laughter bubbled up, an unexpected reaction to her turmoil. Could this really be happening? Maybe it was a terrible nightmare, and she'd wake up soon. She gulped down more wine, trying to steady herself. She pinched her arm, in a desperate attempt to wake up, but the pain was real. She choked back a sob with alcohol.

No, Daisy told herself, forcing herself off the couch. Sulking wasn't the solution. What did she need now? Besides wine, music. Daisy searches the living room and it doesn’t take long for her eyes to spot the record player sitting pretty on the oak table behind the couch. The vinyls are displayed perfectly on a shelf. Daisy’s fingers brush the stack until she comes across Tell Mama by Etta James. 

With steady hands, Daisy placed the needle down in the record, and the resulting music gently cradled her frayed nerves. She’s thankful she paid to have the electricity turned on or she would have been sitting in the dark. 

For the first time in hours, a smile graced her lips as she raised the half-empty bottle, playfully spinning around the room.

“Sing it, Etta,” 

The house came alive with echoes of the music. It felt different, there was a shift in the air. 

But a sudden whiff of smoke caught her attention, and she slowed down. She frowned, puzzled.

Was that the smell of cigarettes?

It couldn't be. Chalking it up to the wine's effect, Daisy walked to the window and opened it, welcoming a draft of fresh air. She was beginning to feel hot and that was a sign that she’s had too much too quickly.  

Examining the bottle in her hand, she was met with a shocking sight that widened her eyes—within its brown-tinted glass, a man leaned against the wall, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on his lips. 

The sight paralyzed her momentarily, her scream of terror overpowering the music before the bottle crashed to the floor.

Dizziness engulfs the room, and she clings to the couch for stability. Her gaze shifts to the spilled wine staining the wooden floor, and then swiftly looks up to find the man. 

But, he's gone.

"Who's there?!" Daisy's voice trembles as she retreats toward the kitchen, tripping over her own feet in her haste.

The music persists, accompanied by the lingering scent of smoke. Daisy snatches the phone off the hook, her fingers fumbling with the buttons as she struggles to dial 911.

"Get out now! I'm calling the police!" Daisy's voice wavers as she shouts, her unease palpable.

As she waits for the line to ring, Daisy stretches the phone cord to its limit as she reaches for a kitchen knife.

There is no ringing. The line is dead.

Daisy's heart sinks, and her face slumps as she presses the numbers again in frustration. 

No. She forgot to set up a new landline under her name.

“No!” Daisy's exclamation filled the room. 

A voice emerged from behind Daisy, “You can see me?”

Daisy spun around, stumbling backward. The same man stood over her with a confused look—a figure both captivating and haunting.

He was taller than Daisy, lean and lanky in build. His dark, tousled curly hair framed his face, the locks falling gracefully over his forehead and partially obscuring his eyes. Those deep brown eyes gazed down at Daisy with curiosity.

“Get back!” Her knife trembled as it rose toward him. “Get out of my house!”

His lips curled up as he leaned down, his face mere inches from the knife's tip. His gaze shifted from the knife to Daisy's widened eyes. 

“You’re in my house, sweetheart.”

Without hesitation, Daisy thrust the knife into his neck.

A gasp escapes her lips as she realizes what she had just done.

But there is no blood, no cry of pain from him. The knife left no mark.

The man straightened, appearing unaffected and unperturbed. His fingers brush over his neck, and he examined them. A laugh erupted from him as he confirmed his lack of harm. The sound of his laughter startles Daisy. She struggles to comprehend how the knife had passed through him as if he were air. 

“Impressive, but you have to try harder than that,” He remarked.

Daisy recoiled, her veins flooded with an icy rush, as he moved through her and vanished.

Through her... he had walked through her as if he were the wind rustling the leaves in the trees.

What the actual fuck is going on? 

Gasping for air, Daisy struggles to catch her breath, her attempt to regain composure falling short. Her chest feels constricted, as though it might collapse under the weight of her racing heart, while her head continues to spin with disorientation.

This is it. She’s going to die.

In the same house as Grace? Hell no. The thought of that alone has Daisy scrambling to her feet. 

Her eyes dart around, and he is nowhere to be found. A surge of adrenaline has her running to the front door. There is a phone in her car. She just needs to make it there and call 911. I’ve got this, she thought. 

Daisy didn’t turn around once she made it out the door. She’s seen too many scary movies and they never survive when they slow down to check their back. 

She closes the car door with a strong thud, locking it forcefully. Her phone is in the glove compartment, rarely used. It’s a new addition, and she isn't entirely used to having a phone on the go.

With shaky fingers, she dials 911. The operator's voice on the other end is a lifeline, reassuring and guiding her. The calm instructions provided a semblance of order amidst the panic that threatened to engulf her.

Dispatch is en route to her location and that helped Daisy breathe a little easier. Following the operator's directions, Daisy remained in the safety of her car. 

She settled into the driver's seat, eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of the intruder who had shattered her sense of security while she waited for the police to arrive. The absence of the man did little to quell her unease; if anything, the tension remained palpable, coiled within her like a tightly wound spring.

Time seemed to stretch as she waited, every passing second laden with apprehension.

The flashing lights of the approaching police vehicles pierced the darkness, casting an eerie glow on the scene. Relief mingled with lingering fear as Daisy watched the law enforcement officers spring into action. Even though the immediate threat might have dissipated, the aftershocks of the intrusion still reverberated through her, leaving her on edge.

As the officers began their investigation, Daisy recounted the harrowing encounter, her voice shaky but resolute. She cooperated with their questioning, hoping that their presence would help dispel the lingering shadows that had taken hold of her mind.

However, the man who had broken into her home remained elusive. Even though the immediate danger had passed, Daisy couldn't shake off the feeling that she was being watched, which kept her on edge.

As the investigation reached its conclusion, Daisy's version of events started to unravel. No signs of forced entry, no trace of an intruder—her story seemed to be falling apart.

Doubt crept in, exacerbated by the officers' questioning of her sobriety due to the spilled wine and the discarded bottles. Frustration surged within her. They didn’t believe her. Of course they didn’t. 

Internally, Daisy wrestled with the wild scenarios her mind had conjured in the heat of panic, like the memory of stabbing the man who simply walked away unharmed and how he disappeared in thin air. She kept these details to herself, focusing on the central truth: she had indeed seen a man, an intruder.

“Perhaps the alcohol took its toll and played tricks on your perception. We've all been there before, Ma’am. It's understandable,” the officer offered, his tone laced with a well-intentioned reassurance.

“No, that's not what happened!” Daisy's frustration surged forth. Her voice held a mixture of anger and determination. “I had maybe half a bottle. I’m not intoxicated. I saw a man, and he was in my house.”

A glance exchanged between the officers told Daisy all that she needed to know, and now her patience is wearing thin.

This day had tested her resilience. Her emotions teetered on the edge of tears, a precipice she was desperate to avoid.

Hold it together, Daisy. Tears will only add to their assumption that you’re insane. 

“We're here to help, Ms. Morgan. Let us accompany you inside,” The officer suggested kindly. “It's getting late and about to rain.”

Walking back inside, Daisy's thoughts were a whirlwind of disbelief and vulnerability. As she stepped in, the house no longer felt safe. The officers' presence was comforting, yet it couldn't hide the truth: Her space had been invaded, not just by a stranger but also by doubts that made her question her reality.

“We've checked your home thoroughly. There is no one here. I can promise you that. Now, If you come across anything else suspicious or unusual then give me a call. Here is my card.”

The officer hands over the card, offering well wishes for the evening, then heads towards their car and drives away.

Daisy lingers in the doorway as rain begins to fall. She wonders if she’s losing her sanity—could she have imagined everything? Doubt sneaks into her thoughts like an unwelcome intruder, picking at her beliefs. Yet, the uncomfortable sensation in her gut persists, a reminder that things aren’t right. Her emotions converge, forming a bubble of anger in her chest. She’s tired of looking like a fool. 

With a forceful slam, the door shuts behind Daisy as she enters the living room, her steps heavy and furious. She scans the room, finding it empty and shrouded in silence. The music has stopped, leaving only the wine stains as the only reminder. She scowls, her eyes fixed on the red-stained wood.

“Where are you?” Daisy’s voice reverberates through the room in a shout.

No response.

“Show yourself! I know you’re here.”

Silence. Total silence. Daisy’s face glistens with dampness, and she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand. The tears, once contained, now break free like a dam bursting open.

Daisy pulls out her cell phone, her vision blurred by tears and sobs catching in her throat. With shaky fingers, she dials ten digits, and amidst the ringing, she eases down the wall, finding herself on the floor. Even though she doesn’t expect an answer, hearing Sloan’s voicemail gives her a small sense of comfort.

“Yeah, you reached Sloan. Leave a message and maybe I’ll get back to you.”

A loud beep sounds, and Daisy takes a moment to collect herself. “Sloan,” her voice quivers, “I need you. Please call me back when you can.” 

Daisy draws her knees close to her chest, enveloping them with her arms as she lowers her head. This, she acknowledges, is her lowest point. Here it is, the culmination of losing her fiancé and her sanity, all within a single night. 

Daisy’s attention is grabbed by a heavy sigh, causing her to look up. Everything in her freezes. There he sits, on the counter’s edge opposite her, absently twisting the ring on his finger. 

“You know, there’s something about a girl crying,” he murmurs, drawing a breath before slapping a hand over his chest, “It just tears me up.” 

Though his words carry a genuine tone, his eyes hold an elusive expression she can’t quite place. Daisy remains frozen, her gaze locked on him.

Their eyes meet, and he speaks softly, “You’re killing me, Daisy. And I’m already dead.”

Chapter two coming soon

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