#so this isn’t canon to my little made up universe

[quinn-pop]

shoutout to that one mtdd confession comic i drew last year that i never posted because uhh

it was unscripted so the ideas were pretty disjointed and it showed a lot. anyway:

[luveline]

I wanted to know how Aaron Hotchner would react to discovering the existence of a daughter (something from college perhaps), she would be his copy both in appearance and personality

—Hotch has a surprise visitor and the world spins on a new axis. daughter!reader, 2.2k

readers physical traits like hair and skin colour are not mentioned, but she is described as looking like her mother (also not described) and as sharing some characteristics with Hotch!<3 I also altered canon so that Hotch and Haley take a break at college 

“There is a kid in your office.” 

“Morgan?” 

Hotch pulls his phone away to check. D. Morgan blinks on his phone screen. It’s a slightly absurd sentence. 

“There’s a child in my office?” he asks, returning the phone to his ear. 

“I’m standing with her right now. She won’t tell me who she is. Anderson let her in.” 

“How old?” Hotch asks, scratching his cheek. God forbid he steal two minutes of peace in the bathroom. 

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m twenty two,” a feminine voice says. 

“You said kid,” Hotch says, frowning. 

“Anyone under twenty five is a kid to me. Are you on your way?” 

He sighs. “Yeah,” he says, and hangs up, dropping the small body of his phone into his pocket. Twenty two isn’t a kid, it’s a year younger than Spencer was when he started at the BAU; Hotch doesn’t underestimate the intelligence of young adults. Why you’re in his office is another thing. He can’t have one day without inconvenience. 

Hotch makes his way into the BAU office and up the stairs to the half level where his own office resides. Morgan leans against the door with his arms crossed, standing to attention when Hotch passes. 

“Thanks, Morgan,” Hotch says. 

Morgan nods, sending a curious gaze at you before he leaves. 

You’re dressed very formally for someone your age, but it’s not as though this is different from the norm of the building. You have on a dark shirt with a starched collar and a fitted blazer, a crisp skirt, and leather Mary Jane heels, one pressed flat to the back of the other. 

You stand when he comes in. 

“Mr. Hotchner?” you ask. 

“Yes?” he asks. 

You have a small file in your hand. Paper with worn edges pokes out of one side as though you’d been looking through it and put it hastily away, and the Manila file itself is fresh.

“Do we know one another?” he asks. 

You look familiar. It’s possible he would’ve known your parents —it could make sense. A colleague or acquaintance assumed he could help you with something, and you in your naivety you made your way in. 

“I think you know my mother.” 

“And she was?” he prompts. Not impolite, but needing to move forward. He’s very busy. 

You take a small step back. “Mr. Hotchner,” you say again, something nervous in your eyes as you lift your chin, “I don’t want to waste your time. I’m aware I might sound foolish, or that this… might not be something you want to hear, but. My mother told me you met in college, and that…” 

You bite your lip. 

He’s incredibly confused now. Not one to let a stranger suffer whether in real pain or awkwardness, he opens his hand. “Can I?” 

“Yes, sir,” you say.

You don’t want to pass it over, but you do as he’s asked. 

The photograph is a shock, held with a paperclip to a magnolia sheet of paper. It’s of Hotch, undoubtedly, a much younger Hotch sitting on a bench with a woman he recognises immediately. He only looks at her, and he knows why you’re here, and he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

“Do you remember her?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer.

“She says you’re the only man that could… possibly be my father.” You hold your hands behind your back. 

He lifts the photograph. There’s not much else to look at, only your photo ID, your birth certificate where he is glaringly not listed, as well as your mother’s birth certificate, and proof of her enrollment at George Washington University. 

You look a little teary. Trying very hard to be sober, as you have been since he laid eyes on you, but clearly getting more and more upset as time goes on. He’s feeling a similar ache, a searing pain in his chest, staring at you from over the Manila folder to really, really look at you. He swears he can see something of himself in your face, though he’s not sure what. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking. 

There’s certainly some of him in your frown. 

“I think you should sit down,” he says softly. 

You sit down immediately in the chair you’d inhabited a few minutes ago. 

He’s not sure what to say. Are you sure it could only be him? Is your mother? But you’re looking at him with an expression he practically trademarked, whether he wanted to or not, and the proof is in his hands: you’re your mother’s daughter, and Hotch would have slept with her almost twenty three years ago. He doesn’t need much time to do the math. 

“I realise my word alone isn’t a lot to go on, sir, so– so if you’d want to, I’ll of course submit for a paternity test. Or if you want nothing to do with me, that’s okay too.” 

“It’s not okay,” he says, closing your folder. 

Your eyes widen just a touch. 

“Can I sit with you?” he asks. 

You push your chair back to make lots of room. He sits in the chair besides yours, cautious that being across a desk from you is insensitive, or cold, at least. 

He looks at you and he’s sure that you’re his. The longer you sit there, the more sure he becomes.

“I do want a paternity test,” he says, watching your tight nod. 

He believes you. And truly, if he was unsure of what you’re saying he’d still give you grace now, because the first time you meet your father should be full of love. He should’ve been there to hold you in one arm twenty two years ago, he should’ve been there for you through everything he’s already missed. 

“But I believe you,” he says.

“You do?” 

“I’m a very good judge of character. I know that you believe what you’re telling me completely,” he says.

“How?”

“When you’re nervous your hand drifts to your chest, but you didn’t move when you suggested I’m your father. You haven’t once checked the door or looked toward the camera in the corner of the room.” And the full truth. “I want to believe you.” 

“Why?” you ask.

“You look like your mother, but…” He lets himself smile. “You sound like me.” 

You laugh under your breath. “Hopefully not so deep.” 

“I’ve had it described to me as mellifluous.” 

“I’ve wanted to hear your voice since I can remember. My mom didn’t talk about you much, but I’ve always wondered. She told me she didn’t know who you were, and…”

“And you believed her. Any child would do the same.” 

“She’s made mistakes.” You look to him with eyebrows gently pinched, asking him to understand. “But I looked you up. When she told me your name, I looked for you online, and… I always thought I never needed you, even if I wanted to know you. I thought you might want to know me. I thought that a man like you would want to know.”

There’s something you’re not saying. Hotch doesn’t mind. “Of course I want to know you.” 

You chance a smile at him. “You really believe me?” 

“You were expecting me to turn you away.” 

“No, just– I’m not a kid, even if your colleague said so. And I’m not an image of you, I don’t have your eyes. All I have is that photograph. There's not much evidence to go on.” 

He sees no reason why a young girl like you would walk into his office and tell him who you are. Self preservation insists on a paternity test, and soon —UnSubs haven’t ever done something so conniving as imitating a family member yet, but there’s no prediction for evil— but Hotch has an inherent sense of the truth.  

“What do you do?” he asks. 

You frown. “Sorry?” 

“What do you do?” he asks again, “You’re dressed like a lawyer.” 

You nod with a smile you’re pushing into a flat line unsuccessfully. “I’m at GWU. For law, like you and my mom.” 

“She only just told you who I am?” He speaks each word carefully. 

“The photo fell out of an old album, and I had a funny feeling. I asked her about it and she said I’m too much like you. She admitted it like the secret had been eating her alive.” You look at your hand on the armrest. “We aren’t getting along right now.” 

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell you. Or me,” he says honestly. 

“I don’t know either.” 

Hotch is expecting a lot more awkwardness than he feels as he puts his hand over yours. You stay very still. 

“Thank you for coming here today.” He gives your hand the barest squeeze and stands. “Have you eaten? I could take you out for dinner,” he suggests. 

You stand with him. “Are you serious?” you ask, gentle and pleased at once. 

“I think you have a lot to tell me, and I’d love to listen.” 

“You’re not working?” 

Sometimes, sometimes, there are things that can be worked around or held on the back burner. You and Hotch go for lunch. 

—

Aaron Hotchner knows many important people. Your paternity test takes a day, less than twenty four hours from the time you both submit samples, but you have a class you can’t miss and he’s sure you’re nervous, so you don’t meet again for two days regardless. By then, you both know the results. (And Aaron’s had to have a very strange conversation with his wife, in which she doesn’t believe him, and then has to sit down.) 

He can admit to being far more protective of you once he knows the truth for sure, though he knows it before the results come back. You’re his daughter, and he’s left you without a father for two decades of your life, your formative years, time he can never get back. 

He doesn’t even know what to do. How can he make up for it? Twenty two years of birthday cards? He feels like buying you a diamond necklace with a stone for each year, and then he wants to buy you a house, but mostly he wants to give you a hug. He thinks about it for so long the morning before he’s scheduled to meet you again that it makes him as upset as he’s ever been in his life, desperate to say sorry to you and your mother and furious with her for keeping you a secret. 

He thinks of all those years without an inkling of your existence, and now you’re the only thing he can think about. His remorse makes him sick. 

You’re smiling when you see him. For a millisecond, you look like Jack. 

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner!” you say, standing from the table, your formal dress and cardigan pressed neatly, your hands held behind your back.

‘Mr. Hotchner’ will need to be fixed quickly, though he won’t force you to call him anything else. He can’t help himself, however.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly. 

You pause, and you laugh. “This is weird.” 

He doesn’t mean to make it weirder, but he opens his arms, and he waits for an indication that you might not want a hug before he leans in to hold you. You’re still so young. There’s still time for him to be a good father to you. 

He can’t say everything he needs to in his hug, and at the end of the day he’s a stranger to you; you probably don’t want him to hug you for too long. But he rubs your back, and he promises himself that he won’t let you down twice.

Your arm curls tentatively behind his back. For a second, you press your face to his shoulder and breathe. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling away. 

Your lip twitches to one side like his would when presented with such heavy sincerity. “I’m okay. How did, um, Haley take the news?” 

“She just wants to meet you, okay? You’re part of my family now.” 

You give no indication you’ve heard what it is he’s saying to you, or whether you like it as you sit down at the dinner table. He quite likes that some way, somehow, you’ve become like him, but he wonders if he might not love it so much when he asks how your mom is taking this new development and you just smile. 

“We’re going to tell Jack about everything this weekend,” he adds. “He’ll be excited, if no one else.” 

“And Haley doesn’t mind?” 

“She’s not going to ask you to babysit anytime soon, honey, but no, of course she doesn’t. He should meet his sister before she’s too old for legos.” 

You actually laugh. 

Dad humour transcends age, and for that, Hotch is grateful. 

—

only after I finished did I wonder if I misinterpreted the request and this was supposed to be x reader with a shared daughter so if that’s the case I’m sorry original requester!! and I can totally write that if that’s what you meant 🫶❤️

[rhaenyratargcryen]

you're my shotgun lover and i want it all | tyler owens (twisters)

masterlist ❈

summary: Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells. author's note: i...wrote this...in one.......single......afternoon. my fingers hurt anyway he's so hot i have had a crush on glen powell since 2018 (set it up supremacy) but this movie reawakened something in me. i should probably watch top gun now

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader word count: 9,123 (...oopsie) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), alternate universe: canon divergence, friends to lovers, friends with benefits

also cross-posted to ao3 okay love you bye xoxo your comments and reblogs are appreciated but not required i will love you all the same i hope u like !!!! <3

all characters are 18+ these are 18+ activities minors pls do not interact my eye is twitching as i write this 

It has been one hell of a week.

The tornadic activity has been off the charts – more storms built up under ideal conditions for weather hell-bent on destruction in a multiple-day stretch than you can remember ever tracking before. Your team had obviously been up for the chase, but now that the storms have passed, and the sun shines on the cleanup efforts, you can’t help but wish you’d chosen a different life path. You love what you do, but God, were you tired. Blisters have formed on the palms of your hands despite the gloves you’d donned. You could practically feel the knots forming in your neck. You shovel one more load of leaf litter before heaving the blade into the ground and leaning against it. Across from you, a backhoe is demolishing and excavating the remains of a house.

You close your eyes and try to just let the sun warm your face, thinking about how fast it can all just be gone. Mother Nature’s a beautiful force, but she can be cruel.

“Hey, don’t be slowin’ down on me,” Tyler jokes, clapping a hand between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t heard him approach, and his voice has startled you, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re ‘bout halfway done with our part, I think.”

“No,” you reply, swiping the back of your arm across your forehead, trying in vain to clear your bangs from your eyes, but they won’t budge. Tyler reaches up and, almost as if he isn’t even thinking about it, takes the unruly pieces of hair between his thumb and forefinger and tucks it behind your ear, underneath the temple of your sunglasses, to make sure it stays this time. The action is so intimate it sends a flush crawling up your neck. You chance a look around to make sure no one else has seen. “Not slowin’ down, I promise. Just thinking about how lucky we are to be alive. How sad it is that all these people just lost everything.”

You’ve known Tyler since the two of you were in college together, fast friends who’d stuck together through a lot that could've put a strain on any other relationship, although you hadn’t studied meteorology – you’d been in school to be a librarian. 

One night, he’d asked you to stay up and help him with a lab he’d missed for one of his classes, and he loves to say he knew it then – that you were hooked – but you were too far along in your degree to do anything about it now. Switching from an arts degree to one in STEM? You’d have had to start over from scratch. 

Tyler had formed his team while you were in grad school and he was working as a cowboy for the rodeo back home, and you’d dropped out without a second thought when he asked you to be a founding member, to travel the country with him every tornado season. Said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about doing it without you. You’ve been riding with him ever since.

The two of you share everything, always have, and sometimes you wonder if it might be too much for the professional relationship you’re supposed to have.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tyler grins, the hand still glued to your back rubbing gently, sending goosebumps across your skin under your shirt. “To help ‘em feel like their luck is turnin’.”

Always the optimist, Tyler Owens. He clears his throat, the hand on your back pulling away, and steps slightly closer to you.

“One of the folks over there gave these to me,” he says, gesturing to a group of people gathering in front of a house that looks like something had tried to suck it into the ground from dead center. “I saved their cat from their screened-in porch, poor thing had been yowling all night apparently. Know these’re your favorite, so, here you go. I think you earned it.”

You take the tin from him and open it, your mouth instantly watering at the sight of the small, round butter cookies inside. “God,” you groan, picking one up and taking a bite, savoring it over your tongue. You can feel Tyler watching you carefully. “Thank you. You get me.”

“Do we get cookies, Tyler?”

Lily’s voice sounds from your left, and you glance over at her. The shit-eating look on her face tells you she did see Tyler fix your hair for you. Your stomach somersaults.

“If you’re good,” Tyler says, smirking, “after the sun sets, we can head back to the motel, find some shitty bar, and drinks’ll be on me, okay? How’s that sound?”

Lily whoops, turning to Dani, who’d since appeared beside her, and the two snicker and fist bump. 

“You need any help over here?”

You look back at Tyler, cupping one hand above your eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Despite your glasses, it shines bright from directly behind him, and you can hardly stand to look at him. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” you murmur in reply, bending down to toss some siding that had been blown off one of the houses on this street into the wheelbarrow you’ve been using. “You should go see what Boone’s up to – I don’t think anyone has seen him in a minute.”

No doubt Boone was hiding somewhere with one of the breakfast burritos Lily and Dani have been rolling since early that morning, seeing how long he can get away with not doing his part. He’s a good guy, but the manual labor side of the job isn’t really his thing.

“Eh, he’s better off wherever he is,” Tyler laughs, and a small smile takes over your face, too. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? You don’t need a break? You can take a minute to yourself, no one’ll judge. I know how this can all get to you a little more than it gets to everyone else.”

You know him well enough to know he’s not calling you weak-stomached, that he’s genuinely concerned for how you feel, but he’s right. It does all get to you. Settling in to help survivors of these natural disasters is just something that comes with the chasing – there isn’t one without the other for you and the rest of the crew. You nod, glancing back up at him. 

“I’m okay, Tyler. Go off and be the face of the operation – you don’t have to worry about me.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between your eyes, trying to find evidence you’re withholding the truth from him, but he seems to find nothing. With a minute tip of his head, he turns to resume working through a long-term plan for rebuilding the town with the mayor and some other members of the local government. 

This is something else you know he loves to do – shmooze with higher-ups, show off his people skills. Not only are they higher-ups, they’re small-town folk. His kind of people. He knows how to get through to them, how to get them to trust him. You love that about Tyler. He’s never condescending – he always has a genuine desire to help. He’s been through this hundreds of times, and these people may only have been through it this one time. You look around at them, at the people of all ages picking up the pieces that remain of their community, then cross your fingers and send a thought out to anyone listening:

Please let it be the only time.

After a few more hours of genuinely back-breaking work, you hear Tyler’s sharp whistle and know it’s time, meandering over to his truck where it’s been parked for almost eighteen hours. Using your teeth, you pull your gloves from your hands and hiss. They’ve been rubbed raw, the skin blistering where each finger meets the palm. You try to ignore the throbbing sensation, leaning against the passenger side door and closing your eyes. The rest of the crew sidle up to you, taking long drags from water bottles and cigarettes and trying to make peace with how you’re leaving this place tonight.

“Does anyone else want to break off to shower first?”

It seems Dani’s the only one, and they shrug, putting their hand out, palm up, to Dexter, who hands them the keys to the RV.

“Meet y’all there,” they say, stifling a yawn, and you know it’ll be a bit before you see them. The rest of you will have to pile into Tyler’s truck, and before you can object, the other three crawl into the back seat and leave you on the front bench with Tyler. You let yourself in and close the door behind you, buckling and watching as Tyler shakes someone’s hand and hustles to meet the rest of you. His Texans cap hits the bench before he does, between the two of you, and he turns his keys in the ignition, buckling his own seatbelt.

“Where we headin’?”

“There’s a place with a mechanical bull nearby. I vote there.”

“How nearby is ‘nearby,’ Boone?”

“Uh,” he pulls his phone from his pocket, does a quick Google to double-check. “Forty-five minutes?”

Dexter leans over and grips Boone’s phone, reading the screen. “In the opposite direction of the motel, Boone.”

Everyone groans, objecting, and you press your hand against your temple to alleviate the pressure there. The noise, God, the noise.

“Could we go somewhere closer to the motel, maybe?”

“It’s got a mechanical bull,” Boone stresses, and everyone rolls their eyes.

“Boone, you know damn well we’re not making it back to the motel if we go that far away.”

He groans, and you pull your own phone out, checking Maps to see what’s around the motel.

“This one’s three minutes from where we’re stayin’,” you say, showing Tyler your screen, and he nods, shifting into reverse, backing out, and starting down the one lane of the street that’s been cleared of debris. 

“Hey Boone,” you toss over your shoulder as Tyler shifts into second gear. “By the way. Long time no see.”

Lily snorts, smacking you on the shoulder to let you know she thought that was a good one. Boone shakes his head. 

“Hey, just because you didn’t see me all day doesn’t mean I wasn’t out there, too. How do I know you were workin’, weren’t sitting on your ass in the shade somewhere, hm?”

You hold your raw, red palms out for him to inspect and that shuts Boone up quick. Tyler whistles as he gets an eyeful of your skin.

“God damn, girl,” Lily murmurs. “That looks like it hurts. I think I might have Aquaphor in my bag back at the motel if you want some.”

“I’ll be alright,” you reply, knocking your elbow against her knee behind you in thanks. “Appreciate you.”

The rest of the drive is taken mostly in silence, everyone in the backseat trying to rest their eyes, but you stay up, your eyes on the road, so Tyler isn’t the only one making the thirty-ish minute drive back to where you’re staying, where you checked in only after it’d been decided which towns had been hit the worst, so you could reach all of them easily by truck.

“What’s goin’ on in your head? Hm?”

You turn to look at Tyler and he glances at you from out of the corner of his eye, then at your lap, at the fingernails you’ve picked down to the quick. “Real quiet over there.”

“Nothing,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t let Boone get to you,” Tyler says, tapping his right fist on your thigh once, twice, then letting it rest there. You brush your knuckles against his and he opens the fist immediately, taking your hand in his but not squeezing, careful not to put pressure on the blisters on your palms.

“It’s not that,” you start, then realize your mistake, your admission. “I really – I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

You’re acutely aware of your hand in Tyler’s. It’s not like you’ve ever been shy around him – your cheeks flush at the thought – but this is…different. Sweet. More.

“Yeah, that it has,” he sighs, adjusting his left hand on the steering wheel so he can drive a little more comfortably, but his right hand stays in yours. 

You settle back into silence, Tyler seemingly having dropped the subject, and your eyes return to the road, but you feel him looking over at you, checking on you, every once in a while. You try your hardest not to meet his gaze. 

Soon enough, Tyler is putting the truck in park, then shutting the thing off. The noise – or lack thereof, you guess – wakes Dexter in the back, then Lily, who snorts when she sees your hand in Tyler’s. You pull away and unbuckle your seatbelt, watching as Tyler, with a hurt look on his face, wipes his hand on his jeans and swings himself down and out of the truck.

“C’mon, Boone,” he shouts, slapping a hand on the door that Boone has his head resting against, and the man sits up straight, wiping sleep from his eyes. “The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. Drinks on me, pal!”

The motel really is that close to the bar, so you all decide you’ll leave the truck parked there and walk home at the end of the night. The unspoken verdict is that you will all be getting shitfaced tonight.

The lingering smell of cigarettes in the air seems to rejuvenate everyone and Lily pumps a fist when she spots the old-fashioned jukebox across the room, then claps a hand over her mouth when she realizes there’s a TouchTunes sitting right next to it.

“Oh, I am so forcing you fuckers to listen to Chappell Roan all night,” she says gleefully, and you laugh along with her, looping your arm in hers and letting her pull you across the room while the boys settle in at the bar.

“So what was that all about?”

“What was what all about?” You play dumb, shrugging when Lily gives you a hard look and unhooks her arm from yours.

“Girl, seriously,” Lily scoffs, bumping your hip with hers and slipping a twenty dollar bill into the TouchTunes. Evidently she wasn’t joking when she meant you’d be listening to Chappell Roan all night. “I saw that thing earlier, the hair thing, don’t think I didn’t. And y’all holding hands in the truck. What’s going on there?”

You shake your head but she grabs your wrist. “I’m serious, Lil. Nothing’s going on. We’re friends – good friends. He noticed I was having a hard time today, and wanted to make sure I was alright. That’s all.”

You can tell she doesn’t fully believe you, and when she opens her mouth to object, you cut her off.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”

Lily watches you, trying to read the small line between your eyebrows, but eventually she nods and lets go of you, letting you turn away from her. You push through the door to the women’s restroom, your nose wrinkling at the smell, but you ignore it. Standing in front of the sink, you watch yourself, hands shaking. This isn’t you. You’re better than this at shoving these feelings for Tyler down, way down – or, rather, you had been, up until this week broke you, apparently. Turning the knob for the cold water to the left, you let it run over your sore hands, hissing at the feeling. Carefully, you cup your palms and watch them fill, then splash the water onto your face, soothing the flush. There. That should help.

There’s a cold bottle of Coors in front of the seat next to Dexter when you arrive back to the group, “Red Wine Supernova” playing from the speakers. You almost snort at all the old men – regulars, no doubt – groaning out their distaste for whoever chose the music all across the room.

“Thanks,” you toss over your shoulder at Tyler, sitting on the other side of Dexter and Boone. He nods and nurses his own. You frown and settle onto the stool, leaning an elbow on the bartop so you can turn and face your friends. The cold beer against the palms of your hands feels so nice.

What’s wrong with him? He won’t make eye contact with you, and you notice his jaw clicking as he grits his teeth. What’s got his panties in a twist?

As the night unfolds, you find yourself laughing more and more, loosening up, letting the stress of the last week fade into memory. Someone has produced a deck of cards from God knows where and Dani – who did join the group eventually – is showing off card tricks you didn’t even know they knew. You feel a warmth spreading through your body, and you can’t stop thinking about how much you love all of these people. Your friends. Your family. Empty bottles are swiftly replaced with full, cold ones without notice, and everyone is languid, relaxed, unburdened by the work that you’re all doing.

You take a pull from your drink, using the cover of the bottle to risk a glance to Tyler three seats down from you to find that he’s already watching you, and the look in his eye tells you exactly what he’s thinking. That somersault-y feeling is lower than your stomach now. You’re only three beers deep, but the air in your head reminds you that you’ve barely eaten all day, so you’re a little more affected by the alcohol than you’d usually be. Impolitely, you reach across Dexter next to you to grab a handful of peanuts from the basket to his left.

Glancing back up at Tyler, you meet his heady gaze again, and he smirks around the lip of the bottle against his mouth. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. You swallow nervously around another sip of beer.

Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells.

“Alright, y’all,” Lily says, slapping a hand on the bar, startling you out of your thoughts. You watch her, popping a nut into your mouth. “Think I’m gonna head out. I suggest you all do, too, fuckers, it’s late.”

Everyone starts to protest, but one glance at the clock tells you you’ve all stayed much longer than you thought – it’s a quarter past midnight, and you’ve got to be up with the daylight. You balk, but if you want to talk to Tyler tonight, you know you’ve got to shoulder your exhaustion and stick it out a little longer.

“I think I might stay for a bit,” you murmur, watching everyone stand and gather their things. You glance over at Tyler, who you can see clearly now that everyone’s out of their seats, and he’s watching you, too. The look on his face reads plain, now – he wants you.

“I’ll stay with her,” he says, eyes on yours. The green in them has disappeared almost completely, you notice, his pupils blown wide. “Walk her back. Y’all head back if you want.”

“I might stay, too –” Boone’s voice cuts off, coughing as Lily elbows him in the stomach, maybe a little too hard. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re going to bed, too, Boone,” Dani interrupts, a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. They poke him once when he starts to protest. “C’mon, now.”

Everyone shuffles out the front, Dexter calling good night, and all of the sudden, it’s just you and Tyler. You don’t know why, but your palms begin to sweat at the thought of being alone with him again. He stands, palming his drink, and slides onto the seat next to you, his body angled towards yours.

He’s never made you nervous like this. You don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“So,” Tyler starts, grinning at you. “You come here often?”

You snort, emboldened by the booze, and he chuckles in response. “Idiot.”

“God, but I do love making you laugh.”

You blush under his scrutinous gaze, and take a quick swig of the dregs of your drink, unsure what to say to that. He mirrors you, taking a sip of his own while his eyes bore into yours. Accusatory.

“You don’t do it much anymore, you know that?”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

You press your fingertips to your mouth and Tyler’s eyes follow your hand. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” you start, sighing deeply. “Tornado season’s been hard this year, and you know how much that – it gets to me. As much as I love what we do. You know. Remember that family a couple weeks back whose daughter was stuck under her bunk bed when it pressed on her too long, lost her leg below the knee? That got to me, Tyler. It did.”

“It gets to me, too,” he murmurs, knocking his knee against yours. “I guess I’m just better at hiding how bad it affects me. You can talk to me about it, though. You can talk to any of us.”

“I know I can,” you breathe, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “I know. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, though, you know, what is there to say? It’s not fair to complain about how sad it makes me to watch these people lose everything.”

“You’re allowed to feel sad. And to feel frustrated. It’s not fair, you’re right, but we’re doing good work, yeah? Fighting the good fight. Figuring out what makes these things tick, how to warn people when they’re in the path, get them outta the way and safe. Maybe they lose their house, their car, but they won’t lose themselves, or each other. That’s what matters most. Just remember that.”

You look up at him, set your elbow on the bartop, and prop your chin on your open palm. Your hands don’t hurt so bad anymore, you notice. “Thanks, Tyler.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, but you shake your head. 

“Seriously. You always know what to say.”

A look crosses his face then, too quick for you to read, and he sets his drink down, flagging the bartender over to close out the team’s tab. You frown, wondering if you’d, ironically, said the wrong thing.

“What’s up?”

Tyler looks back to you, and this time, the look in his eyes is unmistakable. It burns. “Taking you home, sweetheart.”

The walk back to your motel is done in silence. Tyler’s hand swings next to yours, and you feel it searching for yours more than once, but you don’t take it. You climb the stairs together, slowly, and he walks you to your door. His room is one more floor up.

You can tell he thinks you won’t invite him in, that you’ve changed your mind – or maybe that you never made it up. He hadn’t, after all, told you plainly that that was why he’d stayed with you at the bar. You unlock the room with your key card and step inside, opening the door only far enough for you to fit through it. You turn back to look at him, his face awash in the street lights shining into the hallway. You flip the lightswitch on next to you, illuminating the room behind you, too.

“Well,” he murmurs, making to head back down the stairs. “Good night.”

“Tyler?”

His head turns back to look at you, watching as you hold out one hand and he takes it, letting you pull him closer to you. You press yourself into him, push your whole face against his chest, your hip keeping the door from closing on the two of you. You inhale deeply, the smell of him overtaking your senses. His cologne, yes, but underneath that, the smell of dirt, earth. Home.

You feel his arms wrap around your back and you turn your head to the side, press your ear to his heartbeat. Your hands come up to scratch down his back and you feel it when he shudders.

“Stay?”

You hear his breath hitch in his chest, then the deep rumble of his voice as he says, “Alright, baby.”

With a short inhale, your eyes flutter, nearly closing at the term of endearment. You step back, pulling him with you, and as you close the door behind you, he pushes one hand up into your hair and pulls your head toward his.

“I, uh,” you whisper against his lips when they get close enough to yours, “I think I might shower first, if that’s okay with you?”

“Alright,” he murmurs, unlacing his hand from the strands of your hair before toeing his boots off and carefully setting them under the chair next to the front door. “You want company?”

You swallow. You’ve never done anything like that before. It’s always been quick. When you do this with him, you hardly ever have time for a chat before he’s got your shirt over your head and his mouth on your skin.

“Sure,” you reply. You feel him watch as you turn around and pull your shirt off, reaching back to unclasp your bra. The modesty feels redundant, but you can’t help it.

“Not gettin’ shy on me now, are you? S’not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles, and you throw a look at him over your shoulder just as he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. He left his hat at the bar, you think. You’ll have to go back in for it when you pick up the truck.

“Tyler,” you scold, and he laughs at you, steps across the room to wrap an arm around your torso and press a kiss to where your neck meets your shoulder. The place he knows makes you melt. You sigh and push back against him, the feeling of his hard chest against your bare back a welcome one. This feels more like what you know, what you’re used to.

“Shower,” you remind him, and he nods, his forehead pressed into that spot now, and he pushes his fingers underneath the waistband of your jeans, running them along the bit of skin there around to the front, where the fabric splits at the button. He pops it undone, then uses his thumb and forefinger to grip the zipper and slowly – so slowly – pulls that down. He can’t help himself, you know that, and so you hold your breath and wait for him to push his hand into your panties. Ever a predictable man, he does just that, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm hand against you.

“Are you sure?” Tyler’s breath against your neck makes you shiver, and you press your ear to the side of his chin. He runs his fingers along the seam of you, finding first your clit, your legs twitching at the sudden rush of pleasure when he brushes his hand against it, then pushing down to find you wet and wanting. You cry out softly. “You don’t sound sure. You don’t feel sure.”

You hum, your neck stretching back until your head is pressed to his chest, and he pulls his hand back up to start working small circles on your clit, your wetness on his fingers allowing for smooth movement, with just enough friction to have you panting for more. 

“Sounds more to me like you kinda want me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Tyler,” you whimper, telling him with just his name that you are getting close. He smiles against the side of your neck, pulling his hand away and shoving your jeans and underwear down just enough that his hand has room to smack your clit lightly. You squeal, right leg kicking out at the feeling, and he continues moving his hand in circles to soothe the hurt.

Your breath is coming out of you in short huffs, and before you can come, Tyler takes his hand off of you and wraps it around your stomach to join the other. You pant and whine, rubbing your thighs together to chase the feeling he’d had you practically pressed up against, now ebbing with the loss of his fingers.

“You said you wanted to shower,” he whispers in your ear, pulling your panties back up, and you scowl, pushing away from him. He laughs and holds his hands up in defense as you pick your t-shirt up off your bed and crack it at him like a whip. “Let’s shower, baby.”

“I might kick you out right now, Owens,” you snark, but the small smile on your face gives you away, and Tyler unbuttons his own jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed. Your jeans join his, and you’re both left in your underwear.

“You wouldn’t,” he replies, pulling his briefs off slowly, biting his bottom lip as you watch him. “You like this cock too much.”

You can’t help laughing at him, but the sight of him bare in front of you does have you biting your lip. You step forward to cup his growing length in your hand. Before you can move it, Tyler puts a hand on your wrist.

“How’s your hand?” He makes to pull it away, presumably to turn it over and appraise your blisters, but you shake your head.

“S’fine,” you whisper, tightening your grip. You tug once, twice, and press a kiss to his bare chest, then tip your head back to search out his lips. He leans down to oblige you, his lips parting against your mouth as you twist your fist. You love these moments you share with him, when you’re both bare, physically, emotionally, away from the real world, and you can pretend this is an everyday thing. When you’re not trying to tell yourself you feel nothing for him. Like this is just how it is between you.

Tyler groans when you pull your hand away from him and you click your tongue, press that same hand against his bicep.

“Doesn’t feel so good, now does it?”

Before you even know what’s happening, Tyler is picking you up, one arm underneath your back and the other around the backs of your knees. You look up at his face and laugh. “Put me down, Owens!”

He grins and carries you the few paces into the bathroom, placing you on your feet in front of the tub. Tyler leans down and pushes his thumbs underneath the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to put your hands on his shoulders and step out of them.

He lets you pull away from him to turn the hot water on, adjusting the cold side until the temperature is perfect, before pulling you against his chest once again. This time, you can feel his hard cock pressed against your backside, and you hum appraisingly. You reach behind you to fist him again, but he shakes his head – you feel his chin brush against the top of your head – and he groans out, “Mm-mm.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna shower, baby, c’mon.”

You glance back towards him and watch as he flicks the overhead light on. “So we don’t slip and die,” he says, and you laugh, pushing the shower curtain to the side. Holding Tyler’s hand, you step over the lip of the tub and under the steady stream of warm water, inhaling deeply when it hits the sore muscles in your shoulders and back. Tyler groans at the feeling, too, when he steps in behind you.

“Here, switch with me,” he murmurs, guiding you by your waist until you’re the one underneath the water. You let it fall onto the top of your head, over your face and down the back of your hair, for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the feeling. Tyler reaches both hands up and brushes the water out of your eyes, runs his hand over the top of your head. 

“Shampoo?”

You open one eye, the other shut against the water, and nod. You gaze up at him, heart squeezing at the way he’s watching you. His smile widens and he takes the tiny bottle in his hand – it looks even more comically small now – and dumps the product into his other palm, setting the bottle down onto the edge of the tub and rubbing his hands together.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, inhaling sharply through your nose when you feel his hands run through the hair at the crown of your head. Your stomach aches with longing as you register how unnaturally intimate this is. His fingers feel so good against your scalp, which is slightly sunburnt, you’re now realizing. He massages the shampoo further into your hair, running his fingers down the back of your neck and across the tops of your shoulders. When he’s satisfied with his shampoo job, he steers you by your arms to face him again, then carefully helps you tilt your head back and rinses it all from your hair.

You watch him pick up the other small bottle from the shelf, warm water still running down the back of your head. 

“I’ll do my conditioner,” you murmur, taking the bottle gently from his hands. “It’s a – it’s a science.”

“I am very good at science, if you can recall.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s something I’ve gotten perfectly right. It’ll take just a sec.”

So you work the conditioner through the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze as he watches your hands first coat your hair in the product, then rinse it out. He reaches forward to run his own fingers across it, as gently as he can.

“Hm,” he makes the noise in the back of his throat, pulling his hand away. “Soft.”

You can hardly look at him, the twisting feeling in your stomach shifting to something warmer, something further from apprehension, something that feels a lot like want. “You?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m good. Here,” he says, rubbing his hands across the plane of your upper back. “You’re tense. You worked hard today. Let me help.”

You weren’t going to protest, but before you can, Tyler guides you forward and out of the direct spray of the shower, then presses his thumbs into your muscle. You groan, your head falling forward onto his chest at the feeling, and he chuckles at you, continuing with his hands. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you whimper, and you feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

“You fucking dog,” you joke, and Tyler laughs against you, pushing your hair off the back of your neck and pressing his thumbs in there, too.

“Hey, what can I say? I like making my girl feel good.”

You freeze. His girl? His girl. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, and he keeps pressing his fingers into your sore muscles, pulling one hand away briefly to push the showerhead down and away from the two of you. You glance up, already missing its warmth, but you find that the steam rising around you is doing a good enough job at that.

“Here, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding you to press your hands against the tiled wall to your left, running his hands down your back.

“What are you –”

Before you can finish the thought, you feel Tyler’s fingers parting the seam of your cunt from – from behind, and you groan at the feeling of his middle finger slipping inside of you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his knees hitting the floor behind you. You toss a glance at him over your shoulder and your own knees nearly buckle at the way he’s looking up at you – with hunger, and with reverence, and with something else entirely unrecognizable. He looks wild. He looks in love.

One of Tyler’s hands clamps down around your hips and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh as his finger starts to shift in and out of you. You shiver and push your face into the cool tile, groaning softly when he finds that rough bit of flesh inside of you, the one that makes you come undone if he works it long enough.

“Yeah?” Tyler sounds fucked out already, his voice breathy against your skin, and you can picture the look on his face, the concentrated expression he gets when he’s trying to make you come. You try to focus on the feeling of the shower’s spray where it hits the edge of your foot rather than how good his finger feels inside you because if you think too closely about how good it feels, you’ll get lightheaded. And nobody wants that.

“Yeah,” you reply weakly, and for a few minutes it’s just like that, the only sound in the bathroom the shower, your panting moans, and the noise your pussy makes as he pulls his finger in and out.

“Sound so good for me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh again, and you whine, trying to protest when he slips his finger from you. He laughs deep in his chest and lightly smacks the swell of your ass.

“Don’t complain when I’m doin’ somethin’ nice for you,” he jok, and you can feel then that he’s shifting himself around. You want to look over your shoulder, want to see for yourself what he’s doing, but freeze when you feel his palms cupping your ass, his nose pressing against the inside of your thighs.

Your mouth forms the word oh, but no sound comes out until you feel his mouth press against your cunt, tongue pushing inside of you, and then you cry out, chest heaving, when he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your clit. You pull your face from where it’s still resting against the tile and look down at Tyler to find he’s already looking right up at you. His grip on your ass tightens when you make eye contact with him, and he spreads you open wider for him, eyes narrowing as his tongue flicks again, and again, and again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans against you, the vibrations causing your legs to twitch. You already thought you were going to burst, the steam from the shower, the way he’d washed your hair, the fact that he was in your room at all – it all made you feel slightly insane. To add insult to injury, he’s just pushed two fingers inside of you and immediately found the spot that takes you out, and you start to shake a little.

“Tyler,” you whine, pushing one hand down to grip his hair. He groans when you tighten your hold on it, fucking into you a little faster. “Tyler, fuck, gonna come.”

“So come, baby,” comes his reply, and you do, you come so hard that the toes on your right foot curl until you’re on tiptoe and Tyler has to reach up and grip your waist to steady you. You feel it crest, and peak, then subside, but he keeps working you through it, his mouth moving against you still, and a second, smaller – though still good – orgasm wracks your body right after the first.

You breathe through it, push your foot down so you’re standing flat on the surface of the tub again, and wait for Tyler to pull his fingers out of you. 

“Baby,” Tyler groans, squeezing your hips, his fingernails biting slightly into your skin. “You gotta let go’a me, if you want me to get up.”

His voice, fuck, his voice, you think, releasing your grip on his hair and turning to watch him rise from his knees, the tile cold against your back. You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth and he catches you, smiles against you when you part your lips to taste yourself on his tongue.

“Was that good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, pressing one, two, three more quick kisses to his mouth, before he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “So fucking good.”

Neither of you bother with a towel, instead opting to stumble toward the queen bed in the middle of the room and climb right underneath the covers.

“Hi,” you whisper when you’re settled in, the duvet pulled up under your chin. Your eyes rove over his face, then glance over to the alarm clock behind him. 1:56 in the morning. “You still wanna fuck?”

Tyler snorts, reaching over to poke you in the side, gripping the skin there until you start to laugh. “You still wanna fuck?”

“Yeah,” you reply, grinning, when you catch your breath. “Wanna?”

He’s quiet for a second, watching the duvet rise and fall with each breath you take, before he peels it off of you, using his elbow to push himself up until he’s leaning over you. There’s a rosy flush on your chest, your breasts heaving and it’s all he can do not to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth, the one closest to him. Instead, he runs the back of his other hand across your chest, catching against the hard peak, and watches your breath stick to the inside of your throat. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning toward him as his face comes toward you. You want him to kiss you, but instead, he angles his mouth to kiss the skin below your chin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your neck, pressing his open mouth to you there, and you gasp at the feeling – of his mouth against you, and of his praise. It all feels so nice. He just made you come in the shower, and now he’s going to make you come in this bed, hopefully more than once. 

You wrap your hands around his back and pull him toward you, watch as he settles in between your thighs. You can feel his thick cock, heavy, insistent, where it presses against you, and you want to take him into your hands, but he has other plans. 

With one hand pressed into the pillow on either side of your head, Tyler uses his knees to knock your legs out further, sitting back against his heels when he’s satisfied. He wraps his big hands around your thighs and pulls you closer, smiling down at you. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blush when he repeats himself, suddenly feeling very bare. He’s just as naked as you are, but you can’t help but feel like he’s seen your whole hand, meanwhile you hardly have any idea what cards he might hold. In the dim light from the lamp beside your head, you notice that you can see the green of his irises again. It seems like the shower sobered the two of you up very quickly.

His gaze locked on yours, Tyler takes himself into his hand, groaning at the pressure of his grip after neglecting his own want for so long, but he suddenly curses, pausing just as he’s about to press inside of you.

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes, sitting back again. He runs one hand through his hair, visibly weighing the options.

“It’s okay, Tyler,” you murmur, leaning up onto your elbows. “It’s okay. I have an IUD, and I got screened after the last time I was with someone. I’m good. I’m good if you’re good.”

Tyler heaves a heavy sigh, running his hands up your thighs. “You’re sure? I’m clean, too, cross my heart. But only if you’re sure.”

You nod. “My head is clear. I think I shook off my drunk an orgasm or two ago.”

A grin crosses his face, and you roll your eyes at him before he even opens his mouth. Two? he mouths, then whistles lowly. You smack his stomach, and he grabs your wrist in his hand, lightning quick, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there. Your jaw falls slack, and you go all soft and pliant, letting him pin your hands above your head. His body comes down over yours, and his mouth presses to your cheek, then your forehead, and when your eyes flutter shut, the ghost of a kiss crosses them, too.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmurs, and normally if a man were to say that to you, you would immediately regret letting him into your bed. But for some reason, when Tyler says it, it sends that familiar warmth spiraling down into your gut. You know he means it.

Slowly – too slowly – he guides himself back to your entrance, shifting his hips so they’re resting comfortably against yours, and he presses himself inside of you. You hiss; the girth of him, although a welcome stretch, is also a bit of an uncomfortable one. He leans down to kiss you, working you through it with a thumb pressing circles into your clit, sliding himself in bit by bit until he’s fully seated. 

A groan pushes out of him when you clench around him, testing the waters.

“Careful,” he murmurs, easing his hips back. “I’d like it if this lasted longer than ten seconds, please.”

You laugh against the side of his head, pull your hands down from where he’d left them above you and wrap yourself around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Tyler grips your thighs and starts to work himself in and out of you, carefully, gently, but you squeeze his waist with your knees. Encouraging him. Asking him to pick it up. You can handle it.

His hips start to pull back and snap against yours quicker and quicker, Tyler panting in your ear, lifting up onto his palms and pushing himself off of you. He sits up onto his knees and tilts your hips up for a different angle, one that sets sparks dancing in front of your eyes. You groan, head tossed back, and dig your nails into his thighs as his pace picks up.

“Fuck, yeah, that it, baby? I can feel you – fuck, feel you squeezin’ me.”

You hardly have a voice with the rate he’s slipping in and out of you, barely enough to squeak out, “Fuck,” before your cunt has him in a vice grip, working through another orgasm.

“Ohhh, that’s it, huh, that’s it.” His mouth is going a mile a minute, neither of you really paying much attention to anything he’s actually saying. You’re both focused on his own mounting orgasm – you don’t feel like your body is capable of much more than that – and you weakly clamp down around him once more. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips stutter, and he grits out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” before he slots against you and you feel him filling you. You run a hand down his back, soothing him as he comes, biting your lip at the feeling, foreign but enjoyable.

Tyler groans and glances down to where his cock is softening inside of you. He eases his hips back, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead as he does. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You nod meagerly, pressing the back of your hand against your warm cheek. He watches you and, assured that you’re not going to pass out on him or anything, stands and hobbles into the bathroom. The sink turns on out of sight, and you close your eyes, listening to the water run. Tyler returns with a warm, wet towel and wipes the inside of your thighs, swiping gently across your cunt, before folding the towel and letting it fall to the floor at your bedside.

You feel loose, calm. Safe. You hardly notice him turn the light off, but you do feel the bed dip beside you as he rejoins you under the covers and pulls you into his arms. You melt against his sturdy chest, his heartbeat under your face a comfort, the rhythmic tick tick tick of it lulling you to sleep. But there’s still one thing you have to know before you can relax completely.

His breathing has started to even out, but he hasn’t snored yet, so you know he’ll still hear you when you ask, “Are you gonna leave?”

He grunts an acknowledgement of your question, nuzzling down into the top of your head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You know your answer, but you still bite your lip, considering the question. You hadn’t thought before that maybe he left after every night you spent together because he thought you didn’t want to wake up with him. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then I’ll stay.”

If he’s at all worried about what will happen when you wake up tomorrow, he doesn’t show it, but anxiety courses through you at the thought of anyone finding out. Does he want the others to know? Because that’s what it feels like.

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispers, like he can hear your thoughts racing. “It’ll be fine. Just go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say. He’s out like a light. And you’re left alone with your thoughts until you fall into fitful, dissatisfying sleep sometime around when the world outside starts to turn blue.

A pounding on your door wakes you from deep sleep – the deepest you’d gotten all night, at least – and you try to sit up but find there’s a heavy weight on your chest blocking you. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing down at the sleeping body next to you. It takes a second for it to register: Tyler’s here. 

Tyler’s here. Sidled up against you, arm thrown over your stomach like this is where he belongs. He didn’t leave. He stayed, like he said he would. His face looks so peaceful – so beautiful – you almost hate to wake him.

“Come on, sleepyhead! Time to get a move on!”

Almost. You scramble to push Tyler off of you, ignoring his noises of protest, jumping out from under the covers and grabbing various articles of clothing off the floor to pull over your naked form. You plop back down on the bed, this time on his side, right next to where he’s starting to wake.

“Dude, get up, they’re gonna know you’re not in your room. They’re gonna know you’re in here.”

“So what,” he grumbles, rolling over as you push him and settling deeper into the bed. “Let ‘em.”

You sit up straight, one hand on his arm. “You mean that?”

He hums and turns his neck to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re my girl.”

Your face flushes a deep pink and Tyler grins, reaching over to wrap an arm around you and drag you back down into the bed, pinning you under him and peppering an assault of open-mouthed kisses all over your face. You grin, thinking that you could get used to this – just not right now.

“Seriously, Tyler,” you laugh, pushing a hand against the side of his face. He squeezes your hip. “We have to get up. We gotta get back out there.”

Tyler sighs, loosening his grip on your body and kneeling over you. “Yeah, you’re right. Alright, alright.”

He stands and takes the top sheet with him, wrapped around his waist, and heads to the bathroom. To brush his teeth, you hope. God.

“You know,” he says, head popping back out into the room, mouth full of toothpaste. “Yesterday. I wanted them to see us holding hands.”

You watch as he smiles at you and disappears back into the bathroom, then fall back onto the bed, hands pressed over your eyes. 

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are dressed, teeth brushed, hair taken care of, day packs slung over your shoulder, and you’re pulling the door closed behind you when you hear a whistle that pulls your attention to the parking lot.

“Damn, Owens!”

The voice makes you jump, and you groan. You thought you were going to get away with the sneaking around, but the rest of your team is watching from next to the RV as the two of you descend the stairs together.

Lily and Dani turn to Boone with smug looks on both their faces, and he rolls his eyes and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. They hold their hands out for him to slap two twenty dollar bills down into.

“What’s that?” You ask when you get close enough to them.

“We had a bet that you and Owens would come out of that room together. Well, that one or his. Didn’t matter which.”

“A bet I just lost,” Boone groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I thought for sure…”

The rest of the crew snickers, including Tyler, who won’t look at you. You poke a finger into his chest.

“Did you know about this?”

“No, I swear,” he says, hands up, and you don’t know why, but you believe him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t drunkenly confess to Lily weeks ago that sometimes we, you know…”

You scoff, almost mad, but then Boone shouts and the scoff turns into a snicker because, hey, you love him, but you can’t help but relish in his defeat.

“So they knew?! That’s cheating!”

He storms off while the rest of you laugh, Dani clutching their side and following him around the side of the building to try to make amends, trailing off, “If it makes you feel any better…”

Lily looks over at you, then at Tyler, a grin swallowing her face. “So, are you guys, like, together now? Or something?”

You look up at Tyler, who’s smiling softly at you, clearly deferring to you to answer that question. You feel a surge of affection for him swell in your chest. Clearing your throat, you turn to Lily.

“Or something.”

[morning-star-joy]

half asleep, half awake

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader, ASHWAH Universe

Summary: Every time Joel Miller realizes he loves you. Every time he wants to tell you, and the time he does.

Warnings: Brief smut (unprotected p in v, possessiveness, creampie), brief reference to canon-typical violence, longing, Joel can’t communicate his feelings until he can, lots and lots of love. Multiple specific references to the main series. Joel's POV.

A/N: I’ve gotten asked a few times when Joel realizes he loves Reader in this series, and the inspiration hit me the other day to write out my answer to it. Because it could be one scene, but so many before, and so many after when he wants to say it. I miss these two and I love these two and I hope that this little companion piece to the fic makes somebody as happy as I was to write them again!

Wordcount: 1.8k

gorgeous dividers by @saradika

Important: Please read this post and how to help Palestine.

The first time Joel feels it—really feels it, settled into his bones with an undeniable weight, tugging at his heart with an unimaginable lightness—is the night of his 57th birthday.

Months of staying out of his bedroom, of keeping you off his bed, dissolve into a forgotten time the moment you tug the glass of whiskey from his hand.

Move over, you’d said, making room for yourself amongst the place where he laid his head every night. You finish off the drink, take the rest of the poison he’d been diluting his veins with to drown out the pain of all he’d lost, and settle next to him.

He thinks he wants to see you there every night.

You ask him things like his favorite fucking color, things that don’t matter. Not to him, not to you—but you ask anyway. You meet his eyes readily, open and honest and searching his soul for the same old breaks in your own, and he feels it.

You hold his hand, and it fits there. You would fit into his side too, he muses, if he pulled you in.

He wants to pull you in. He wants you in ways nobody’s ever had you—he knows they haven’t, can feel the trepidation in your soul when he looks at you for too long, or lets his touches linger.

You’ll fuck him like there’s no tomorrow, because maybe there isn’t, but you won’t let him hold you tender. Not that he’s tried, but he knows you. Not everything about you, but enough.

And that night, there’s more. More to you, wounds open and pain spilling out, and it looks like his own. It is his own.

I should probably go, you say when it’s become too much, and he feels the urge to ask you to stay.

Joel asks if you want a drink instead, because he’s an idiot, and you say he’s had too much, because you’re right.

He watches from his window as you walk home under the streetlights for once instead of sticking to the darkness, and though he won’t call it what it is, he knows it’s love.

Joel’s loved you longer than that, though. Somehow he knows it, but he can’t place when.

In front of his fireplace, maybe. You’re shivering from god knows how long you had spent in the rain, in the graveyard, in your own mourning. Broken, and he wants to find each piece of you that you’ve lost and put you back together.

Or at least hold you tight enough that you feel okay again. He just knows that he misses your damn smirk, your fucking laugh, and maybe that was love too.

Or maybe it’s when he wants you to be his, his, his only. When he wants to erase the image of that man’s hand on your back with his own on your skin, fingertips digging into your hips and pulling them back to slap against his.

Maybe it’s the skirt of a temptress bunched up around your waist, each desperate thrust of his cock into your needy cunt, dripping and squeezing as you say, moan, scream his name, his, his.

Maybe it’s when you’re half-naked after, admitting you don’t know what the fuck this is, don’t understand what it’s become, and he doesn’t know either. But it’s something delicate. Maybe it’s love then.

Maybe it’s love on the bathroom floor when he realizes you’re the first friend he’s made in years.

Maybe it’s love when he wants to kill every single bastard raider who took you from him, wants to tear them apart with his bare hands and make them bleed and bleed for how much blood they’d taken from you. Precious blood, blood that kept you alive, kept you snarky and angry and wrapped around him each time he took as much pleasure from you as he gave back.

Or it’s Halloween, the bright lights, loud music, and clothes of a bygone era. None of it real until Maria shoves the truth of the matter into his face. She tells him he’s an idiot and just what it all means, what you mean to everyone, and to him, and he finally accepts it.

That’s the first night he has you in his bed. The first night he sees all of you, feels all of you, skin against skin, and you come again, and again, and again. It’s not enough, he needs to keep feeling it, needs you to fall apart in his hands so he can put you back together. A single thread he weaves through you and tugs with each ripple of pleasure, pulling you apart again with each clench of your cunt around his cock, until you pull it from him too.

You fall asleep in a matter of minutes after. Lips parted, and he wished he could watch them swell after a kiss, but you were still holding back.

So he settles for his palm on your cheek, stroking the scar that he still doesn’t know how you got, and feels so much longing, so much love when you sink into his sheets, wrapped up in his favorite color that you knew because you cared to ask. Settled by just the touch of him.

Joel thinks you tried to say something that night, but he’ll never know what. He does know what he wants to say, but he holds back. He’d wait for you, even if you never wanted this too. He’d be whatever you did want him to be.

Time passes in a blur after that, as you tangle yourselves together in ways he never would’ve once thought possible. He doesn’t move, and you lean into him. He doesn’t move, just lets you come to him, too scared you’ll run away again if he holds you too tight, or at all.

Then that night. A meal shared with the family you’d found. He tries to go home alone after, and you chase after him, hold him tight, and he knows. He knows what he feels, and he knows you feel it too.

He doesn’t have to say it, but he wants to. Night after night he wants to, the more that you settle and the more that you’re his. The more that he is yours.

You kiss him, finally—or he kisses you, he can’t remember which. And it says it all.

Still, the words are trapped in his throat as his home truly becomes yours.

His body had already been your home for a year.

His heart, for longer than he would ever know.

But his house. Four walls that didn’t mean anything, not really, not until you lived within them and your sister’s art was on the mantle, your photograph of your parents was in your room that was his room, all your mugs in the kitchen and his coffee was your coffee—he needs to tell you.

He tries to every morning, in his kitchen with your cups of coffee—or tea, with complaints falling from both his mouth and yours if you were out of your preferred beverage. He doesn’t, but he knows you can taste it in the drink he brews for you, perfected to your liking.

He tries to before every patrol, in case somebody takes you from him again. He doesn’t, but he knows you can see it when his eyes seek yours, when he gives you a nod and a lingering gaze before you’re out of the gates and on your way. He knows you can feel it when you both get home, his arms wrapped around you tight and the tension seeping from his body when you’re pressed to him.

He tries to every night, but it’s lost on his tongue every time it slides into your mouth. He knows you know with every kiss, every thrust of his hips from where he’d found a home nestled between your thighs, spilling himself into you as you welcomed him in and made the most beautiful music every time.

You’re comfortable in bed months after the holidays, after that first kiss. Winter is warming into spring, the air feels like starting again, and he tries to tell you.

You’d been reading when he crawled into bed behind you after a shower. His face buried into your neck, each drop of water onto your skin so cold it makes you shiver. But your nails dig into his forearm when it wraps around your waist, the book tumbling from your fingers as you grasp at the nightstand with each drag of his pulsing cock inside your tight heat.

The lamp on the nightstand rattles with each thrust, sending waves of warm light flashing across the room. He’s mesmerized each time it washes across your face, pinched in the familiar climb for pleasure you trusted him to guide you through. He mouths at the scar on your cheek, caressing with lips and tongue as you gasp his name.

You’re so beautiful. His moon, his heart, his home, his everything.

Joel wants to tell you when you come, your eyes fluttering open and seeking his. Seeking that connection between you, as hungry as you are reverent, and he doesn’t deserve it, that undying loyalty. But you think the same for yourself, so what did either of you know, besides what this was.

Love, and he wants to say it. Wants to say he loves you when each flutter of your pussy around him sends him spiraling into an orgasm, a blissful moment of release he now only ever associated with you.

Half asleep after, you’re content, the warm light of the steadied lamp caressing your skin as he cleans it. You know what he wants to say, he thinks. Your eyes are heavy and lazily watching as he kisses the inside of your thigh, peppers his love up your body to your lips.

Half awake, Joel watches you reach for him, pulling him down into a soft caress of your lips against his, with more tenderness either of you ever thought you were capable of.

He won’t say it. You know he won’t.

But you know he will. Someday.

And that one morning amongst many that belong to just you and him, when you ask about other lives, when he realizes you’d want him in more than just this one—in every one—he says it.

You say it back, and everything is right.

When you ask him when he first felt it, he tells you the truth; that he hadn’t felt it just yet on that snowy street a year ago, but a part of him always knew he would love you.

And now, Joel knew he always would.

[im-subtextsexual]

I’m glad so many people picked up on the vibes between Eloise and Cressida. Not a ship I ever considered before, but the tension was palpable. I’ve been a Queer Eloise truther since reading the books. Her portrayal on the show only made it more obvious in my mind. I didn’t think the writers would ever go there, but the set up is just so explicit, now I’m not sure. I don’t think they’d actually make Eloise / Cressida canon, but I do think they’re testing the waters for wlw Eloise. And it makes perfect sense. 

First off, the character is queer (I’ll hold off from labeling her a lesbian outright, because there’s definitely room for other identities like bi, demi, ace…. etc.) Even in the books. I legitimately think Julia Quinn accidentally wrote a sapphic character and then didn’t know what to do with her. So what we got is “To Sir Phillip, With Love”, widely considered to be one of the worst in the series. Believe me, if there’s any story that could stand to deviate from the books, it’s this one. And the story could so easily be adapted to a wlw romance, it would be a wasted opportunity not to do it. Like… the story would be better if they tweaked it to fit a queer canon. AND it could be done in a historically accurate way to shut up the naysayers that “a lesbian storyline wouldn’t fit in this universe.” How? Allow me to explain.

*SPOILERS FOR BRIDGERTON SERIES BOOK 5*

In the book, Eloise strikes up a correspondence with Sir Phillip Crane. Yes, THAT Phillip, the one currently married to Marina from season 1&2. Marina kills herself because she can’t stand to be married to Phillip and deal with their children in the wake of her lover / his brother’s death. His initial interest in Eloise is to find a mother for his children. She is intrigued by his intelligence and decides she doesn't want to be alone, but isn’t necessarily eager to marry or have a family. Due to romance novel shenanigans, she runs away to Phillip's house and is forced to marry him. Even as they grow to kind of love each other, it's far from some grand romance. It’s the very definition of “settling”. The most interesting part is the narrative structure of their story being told through letters in the beginning. We could keep all that, but make it gay. 

*Imagine*

Eloise meets some dapper gentlemen new to the marriage mart. We’ll call him Emmett. Very little is known about Emmett and his family as they keep largely to themselves at their estate in the countryside. The only thing that’s widely known is the family suffered a tragic accident where the man of the house and his oldest daughter died, leaving his son (the other twin) to take on the responsibility of rank and title very early. Emmet is making a rare appearance in London to find a wife (there are rumors of stipulations in his inheritance requiring a match). ALL the debutantes are fawning over him because he’s mysterious and extraordinarily good-looking. One might even say “pretty”… To everyone’s great surprise the season’s most eligible bachelor takes a special interest in Eloise after overhearing her talking about her disdain for the social convention of marriage, and how she would only consider it if it were an in-name-only, marriage of convenience. Emmett strikes up a conversation with Eloise and she is taken by his humor, wit and shockingly deep empathy for the limitations society puts on women. They continue to gravitate to each other through the first few events of the season, but Emmett has to return home suddenly because of a family emergency. Eloise is shocked to find herself disappointed, but they promise to write. Cue the correspondence romance.

Eloise grows more and more smitten with Emmett every letter she receives, but still has the same reservations about marriage especially when she thinks of the intimacy a relationship like that would require. When Emmett hints that he may want more than friendship, Eloise's feelings get the better of her and she goes to visit Emmett unannounced. He is shocked to see her, but let's her stay and she gets to know his mother and two younger sisters. The Bridgertons go looking for Eloise, worried something has happened to her. When she is found to have been staying for days in an unwed man's home without a chaperone, the potential scandal causes Anthony to force Eloise and Emmett to marry. Surprisingly, Emmett actually agrees so Eloise does too (all of this is essentially what happens in the book).

Eloise confesses to Emmett that she's nervous/resistant to physical intimacy, but he assures her they never have to be together that way. In fact, he would prefer the marriage of convenience they always talked about. Eloise is relieved until their kiss at the wedding sparks an attraction she wasn't expecting. They spend the first month or so of their marriage sleeping in separate rooms, enjoying each other's company, and letting the tension build. One night, Eloise's control and curiosity finally snaps and she goes to Emmett's room to initiate a physical relationship. She catches Emmett off guard in his sleeping clothes which makes it VERY clear... Emmett is a woman (cliffhanger of episode 4, and where we deviate from book canon to make it queer).

After the initial shock, Eloise allows her new "husband" to explain. Emmett is really Emma, the daughter believed to have died in a carriage accident with her father so many years ago. It was her twin brother that actually died, but since there were no other male heirs, Emma's family fortune would have gone to a distant uncle who is cruel and abusive. To save them of that fate, Emma's mother conspired with the local coroner to make it look like Emma was the one who died, so "Emmett" could inherit everything. Emma has been living as Emmett ever since, successfully keeping up the deception by keeping a low profile in society. The only reason Emma came to London that year is because her uncle died, and a cousin had come around asking questions hoping to inherit. She thought getting married would help secure her identity as Emmett and the cousin would back off. At first Eloise is outraged. She feels betrayed by Emma's duplicity, and is terrified if any of this ever got out everyone they know would be ruined forever. She agrees to keep the secret to save her family's reputation, but shuns Emma. Eventually, Emma (already aware that she's in love with Eloise) attempts to make amends and Eloise is charmed enough that she relaxes back into the relationship they had before the Big Reveal. The only problem is the attraction is still there, even more so now that Eloise knows the truth. Things come to a head, and they go at it Bridgerton style.

Emma and Eloise live happily in a true marriage for a bit until Cressida and Penelope come for a visit. They both find out about Emma, but are sworn to secrecy. Pen easily swears her loyalty (having already suspected Eloise), but Cressida is sickened. In a rage, she threatens to out them all, and storms back to London. Eloise follows her and begs Cressida to keep the secret, and tries to explain why the "wrong" feelings she has for Emma are very right for her. To Eloise's surprise, Cressida isn't upset about what she's doing with Emma, but who she's doing it with. She didn't know what they're doing was an option; that she was an option. Cressida confesses that if she'd known a life with Eloise was a choice she could make, it's the life she would have chosen. Eloise lets Cressida down easy by explaining they didn't have that choice. Everyone in the ton knows who they are. The only reason her relationship with Emma works is because of the ruse that allows Emma to be Emmett. Cressida takes this in stride, and vows to keep the secret, but her mother overhears and causes the biggest scandal London Society has ever seen.

The Bridgertons and a few friends (like Lady Danbury) are as understanding as possible, but the rest of the ton is rabid. Things escalate to the point where Emma and Eloise have to appear before the Queen. Emma pleads her case about pretending to save her family, and insists that Eloise didn't know until well after they were married so she's innocent. Eloise can't help herself and gets on her soapbox about the way society limits women, and that the Queen should understand their plight. Shockingly, she does. She annuls their "marriage" (because they didn't consummate anything... RIGHT?!) but she agrees to let Emma control her family's estate until one of her sisters produces a male heir. After that, she and Eloise will receive a pension from the Crown so they can live independently (the real Queen Charlotte actually did this for suspected historical sapphic couple The Ladies of Llangollen). Since Emma and Eloise would never be able to find husbands now, they decide that they'll just be two spinsters growing old together in their house in the countryside. You know... just two gal pals. No one believes that shit, but they rarely interact with the ton, so they're largely left alone to live as they please.

Happy ending, close to canon, historically accurate, and super gay. It's not that hard. You're welcome.

[mononijikayu]

req - jjk characters (gojo lol) saying 'i know, baby, i know' when babying/comforting yn. ervyabebwyrogbrw

please feel no rush/pressure for this and look after yourself :)

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ જ⁀➴ '𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰' ╽ jjk + men

< satoru, suguru, kento, yuuji and megumi x comforting you >

GENRE: jjk men x reader

WARNING/S: alternate universe - canon convergence, romance, lovers, domesticity, fluff, comfort, hurt/comfort, crying, cuddling and snuggling, humor, teasing, pet names (love, babe, baby, etc), mention of period pains, mention of crying, mention of discomfort, mention of weariness, depiction of sad moments;

WORD COUNT: 3.3k

masterlist

note: im going to be out for a bit cause of my brother's birthday, so i wanted to write this to leave you with something lovely everyone~ thank you anon for your request~ i hope you like it~ ily <3

(˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩ

when your favorite cafe snack isn’t available — gojo satoru.

you had been looking forward to your favorite snack all week—a sweet, indulgent treat from your favorite café that never failed to lift your spirits. but when you arrived and scanned the display case, your heart sank. the spot where your beloved snack usually sat was empty, replaced by a small sign that read, "temporarily unavailable."

your disappointment was palpable, and as you turned away from the counter, you couldn't help but feel a little downcast. you knew that it was a small thing, but sometimes the little comforts made all the difference when you’ve been dealt hard missions.

gojo satoru, your partner, accompanied you to the café. its late at night, so he didn’t want to see you go by yourself. when you lowered your head, he immediately noticed your change in mood. he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his thumb gently rubbing in circles. 

"hey baby, what's wrong?" he asked softly, concerned about lacing his voice. 

"they don't have it," you sighed, trying to brush off the disappointment but failing to keep the sadness from your voice. "it's silly, i know, but i was really looking forward to it."

your satoru's eyes softened with understanding, and he pulled you into a gentle hug. "it's not silly, baby." he murmured, holding you close. "i know how much you love it."

you sighed and leaned into his embrace, taking comfort in his warmth and presence. "i guess i just had my hopes up, babes." you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed by how much it affected you. “it is pretty late.”

satoru chuckled softly, resting his chin on top of your head. "it's okay, baby. i know," he said reassuringly. "we all have those little things that make us happy. i’m sorry they don’t have it today."

you smiled against his chest, feeling a bit better just being in his arms. "thank you, babes. you always know how to make me feel better."

he pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with a playful glint. "how about we go find another café that has something else you love? Or maybe I'll even try to make it for you at home. could be a disaster, but i'm willing to give it a shot, baby."

you laughed at the thought of your satoru in the kitchen, knowing full well his culinary skills were hit-or-miss. "that sounds perfect, babes." you agreed, the disappointment starting to fade away with his support. "i'd love to see you try."

gojo satoru grinned, his enthusiasm infectious. "then it's a date, baby!" he declared, kissing your cheek. “come on, baby!” 

taking your hand and leading you out of the café, ready to turn your day around with his unwavering love and optimism. you were lucky to have him.

(˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩ

when you’re very overworked — geto suguru.

these past few weeks had been a whirlwind of missions and responsibilities. they’ve given you mission after mission and you hated it. this leaves you feeling like you were about to get sick — feeling exhausted and worn thin. as a jujutsu sorcerer, you were no stranger to hard work, but lately, the demands had been relentless, leaving little time for rest or self-care.

one evening, as you returned home from another long day, geto suguru to immediately notice the way your fatigue was etched all over your beautiful features. your suguru was sitting in the living room, surrounded by books and papers, researching his next mission. he notices when you come home all the time, so he looked up as soon as you walked in, concern flashing across his face as you stood there.

"you look exhausted, baby." suguru said softly, rising from his seat to greet you. his purple eyes, always filled with warmth and tenderness, mirrored the concern you felt but couldn’t voice. "have you been overworking yourself again?"

you sighed, running a hand through your hair, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on you. "yeah, baby. it's  just been... a lot," you admitted, your voice weary.

your suguru approached you, his expression shifting from concern to determination. "come here, baby." he said gently, guiding you to the couch and urging you to sit down. "you need to take a break."

you couldn’t help but just sink into the cushions, grateful for the chance to rest. your suguru sat beside you, his presence comforting and reassuring. "let me take care of you tonight, baby" he offered, his voice filled with quiet resolve.

you couldn’t help but smile, touched by his love and care. “you don't have to do that, sugu, baby."

your suguru shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "but i want to. you already do so much for everyone else. let me do something for you."

your suguru got up and disappeared into the kitchen, and you could hear the clattering of dishes and the sound of water running. a few moments later, your lover returned with a cup of tea, offering it to you with a gentle smile. 

"here, drink this. it'll help you relax, baby."

you took the cup, feeling the warmth seep into your hands. "thank you, sugu. baby." you said, taking a sip and savoring the calming aroma. the tea was soothing, a perfect remedy for the day's stress. “you’re so good to me.”

he smiles, pressing a kiss on your cheek. “you’ll do the same for me, baby.”

“i love you.” you smiled up to him, drinking your tea again.

“i love you too, baby.” he grins, his fingers running down your hair. "you’re doing an incredible job, baby." 

“thank you baby.”

“but take care of yourself, hm? your health matters most.”

you nodded. "i know. i just... i feel like there's always so much to do."

he  gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. "and you'll get it done, i have no doubt. but you don’t have to do it alone. let me help you, okay?"

his words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, filling the cracks that exhaustion had left behind. "Okay, baby." you agreed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

as the evening wore on, your suguru kept his promise, ensuring you were comfortable and cared for. he drew a warm bath, cooked a simple but delicious dinner, and made sure you took the time to unwind. with each small act of kindness, you felt your energy slowly returning, the weight of the day lifting from your shoulders.

by the time night fell, you were curled up on the couch with your suguru, your head resting on his shoulder. The room was quiet, filled only with the soft crackle of the fireplace and the rhythmic sound of his breathing.

"thank you for taking care of me, baby" you murmured, feeling a deep sense of gratitude. “you’re so good to me.”

suguru smiled, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer. "anytime, baby." he replied softly. "i’m here for you, always."

(˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩ

when your favorite character dies — nanami kento.

the moment you heard the news on twitter, your heart sank. your manga favorite character, the one who had inspired you and brought so much joy into your life, was gone. you’ve never felt like this before. this felt like a piece of your world had shifted, leaving behind an unexpected emptiness that you couldn't quite comprehend.  

slowly, as the reality settled in, you found yourself sitting on the couch, clutching a pillow tightly, tears welling up in your eyes little by little. you didn’t want to be dramatic but the loss of a beloved character was a reminder of the fleeting nature of life, even in the world of fiction, and it weighed heavily on your heart. it felt like the sun will never shine again.

nanami kento noticed your quiet distress as he entered the room. getting home, he was really worried. on thursdays, you get quiet when spoilers for your favorite manga drops. but you immediately reply to him. it’s been hours now and he was concerned.

your beloved nanami kento had always been perceptive, understanding the small things that brought you happiness and, in turn, the things that could break your heart. he approached you with a calm presence, sitting down beside you.  

"hey, baby." he said softly, placing a gentle hand on your back. "’heard about what happened. i'm sorry, baby."  

you looked up at him, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "it sounds silly, doesn't it? being so upset over a fictional character, ken-ken." you said, trying to brush it off, but the pain in your voice betrayed your true feelings. “this is horrible, ken-ken.”

your nanami shook his head, his expression kind and understanding. "it's not silly. we can form connections with stories and characters because they mean something to us. so, don’t worry about being sad. it's okay to feel like this too."  

you nodded, feeling a bit reassured by his words, but the grief was still there, a persistent ache. Without another word, your nanami pulled you into a gentle embrace, wrapping his arms around you securely. you were so lucky to have him, your 2d man. your truest love.

"it's okay to cry, baby." he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to your heart. "i'm here. you can let it all out."  

and you did. you let the tears flow, feeling the weight of your emotions being shared with someone who understood and cared. your nanami held you close, offering quiet comfort and a safe space to grieve your beloved manga beloved.

after a while, when the tears had subsided and your breathing had steadied, your nanami pulled back slightly, looking at you with gentle eyes. "feeling a little better?" he asked softly.  

you nodded, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "a little bit, ken-ken." you admitted, managing a small, grateful smile. "thank you, ken-ken. it really helps having you here. it makes me feel better."  

your lover smiled back, a warm, reassuring expression that made you feel valued and understood. no one had made you feel this comfortable being like this, ever. only him. Your beloved. 

"anytime," he replied, reaching out to brush a stray tear from your cheek. "and if you need to talk more about it or anything else, i’m always here to listen. about this manga husband of yours or someone else."  

nanami shifted his position, reaching for a cozy blanket and draping it over your shoulders. "why don't we watch something together, baby?” he suggested, gesturing towards the television. "something light and uplifting. it might help take your mind off things, hm?"  

you nodded, appreciating the distraction. "that sounds nice, ken–ken." you agreed, settling back against the cushions.  

(˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩ

when you watch too many cute videos and you get overwhelmed — yuuji itadori.

It had been one of those days where you found yourself falling down a rabbit hole of cute cat and dog videos online. your little brother had sent you a video that led to another, and soon, you were lost in a world of fluffy kittens and playful puppies, your heart swelling with each adorable clip.

as the hours passed, the sheer amount of cuteness became overwhelming. you found yourself tearing up, emotions bubbling up unexpectedly as you watched a video of a tiny kitten being rescued or a puppy reuniting with its owner. you couldn't help it; the happiness was so intense that it left you feeling a bit frazzled and emotionally raw.

yuuji happened to walk into the room just as you were openly crying, your face buried in your hands. his eyes widened in concern, and he quickly came over to sit beside you.

"hey, babe, what's wrong?" he asked, gently rubbing your back as you sniffled and tried to compose yourself.

you let out a shaky laugh, feeling a little embarrassed for getting so emotional over cute videos. "it's just... i don't know," you hiccupped, wiping away your tears. "i've been watching all these cat and dog videos, and now i'm just so overwhelmed by how adorable they are!"

yuuji grinned, clearly relieved that it wasn't something more serious. "ah, i get it. they're so cute that it just hits you right in the heart, huh?" he said, giving you a sympathetic pat on the back. "i didn't know cute overload was a real thing until now!"

you nodded, chuckling through your tears. "yeah, i guess i wasn't prepared for this emotional rollercoaster," you said, feeling a bit more at ease with his lighthearted approach.

"well, how about we take a break from all the cuteness for a bit?" yuuji suggested, his voice cheerful and comforting. "we could go for a walk or do something else to clear your mind. what do you think?"

you nodded, grateful for the suggestion. "a walk sounds nice," you agreed, feeling a sense of relief at the thought of stepping away from the emotional overload.

yuuji stood up and offered his hand to help you off the couch. as you took it, you felt a wave of warmth and comfort from his touch, his easygoing nature already helping to soothe your frazzled nerves.

as you both headed outside, yuuji started talking about random things, trying to distract you with stories about his day and sharing funny moments that had happened recently. his energy was contagious, and soon you found yourself laughing along with him, the heaviness in your chest starting to lift.

"see? you're already feeling better, babe!" yuuji said with a grin as you walked through the park, the fresh air doing wonders to clear your mind. "sometimes you just need a change of scenery."

you nodded, appreciating how effortlessly he knew how to make things better. "thank you, yuuji," you said sincerely, feeling lucky to have him by your side. "you're always so good at cheering me up."

he gave you a warm smile, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you continued your walk. "it's easy when i'm with you, babe." he replied, his voice full of genuine affection. “i love you, hm?”

you giggled. “love you too, babe.”

by the time you returned home, you felt much more at ease, the overwhelming emotions from earlier having subsided. yuuji made you a cup of hot cocoa and some snacks. both of you settled down together in a snuggle pile on the couch, determined to keep the good vibes going.

"remember, no more cute videos for a while, babe!" he teased gently, nudging you playfully. "or at least take it slow next time!"

you laughed, grateful for his support and understanding. "i'll try, babe." you promised, snuggling closer to him, feeling comforted and content.

(˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩ

when you’re on your period and its been painful — fushiguro megumi.

the cramps had started early in the morning, a dull ache that gradually intensified until it felt like a storm was raging inside you. this was one of those cycles—one of the bad ones. you really tried to go about your day, but the pain and discomfort were relentless, leaving you feeling drained and frustrated. tears were brimming through your eyes all day. you haven’t told megumi, but it’s rough to disturb him when he’s training.

so, you decided you would find dealing with this by yourself the only choice. you were curled up on the couch, a heating pad pressed against your abdomen, trying to find some relief. the room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to keep out the harsh light, as even that seemed too much to bear. but you’ll get through it. you always have. and you will again.

fushiguro megumi walked in, his expression softening with concern as soon as he saw you. kugisaki had called him, because you weren’t answering the knocks on your dorm door. he had noticed the signs earlier, the subtle winces and the way you held yourself, and he knew you were in pain. he sighed and shifted your hair away from your face, eyes narrowed tenderly.

"hey, dummy." he said, his tone gruff but filled with concern as he sat beside you. he presses his palm against your forehead. "how are you feeling?"

you let out a small sigh, giving him a tired smile. "not great, babe." you admitted, appreciating his presence. "this cycle is rough. it hurts so bad."

megumi nodded, a little furrow of worry on his brow. "why didn’t you tell me earlier?" he muttered, reaching out to gently brush your back as you sniffed some air. “you know i don’t like it when you’re sick, you dummy.”

“but you were busy.” your lips echo a tender pout, eyes brimming with wetness.

“i don’t care if i’m busy.” he sighs, brushing your face softly. his tender eyes were always so loving to you. “i want to take care of you, i always do. so let me, okay?”

you sniffed your tears away. “hm, okay.”

"is there anything i can do to help?" his thoughtfulness was a balm to your discomfort, and you felt a little lighter knowing he was there to support you. “what you need me to do to care for you, babe?”

"could you maybe make some warm tea?" you asked, hoping the warmth might help ease the cramps a bit. "and get snacks? please?”

"yeah, yeah. i’ll be right back." he replied, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

you could hear him moving around, the sound of water boiling and the comforting clink of mugs being prepared. he rummaged through your cabinets to get you some snacks. he already knows what you like. but your mood changed a lot when you get your period. he had to be sure.

"you want chocolate, right?"

"yeah, babe. i’d like those. thank you, babe.” you said, a bit more relieved. you could see his red ears from all the way here. you grinned slightly. “it’s cute how you’re blushing.”

“i–i’m not, shut up!”

“how cute my boyfriend is!”

“cut it out, you dummy!”

he returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup of herbal tea and a couple of snacks, including your favorite chocolate bar. he set them down on the table in front of you, giving you a small smile as you took his hand and squeezed it. you knew you’d always be cared for, because he’s always here. he’ll never make you feel anything but happy, loved and comforted.

"here you go," he said, sitting back down beside you. "and i brought some snacks too, just in case you’re hungry."

you smiled at his thoughtfulness, taking a sip of the tea and feeling its warmth spread through you. "thank you, babe. you have no idea how lovely this is. this helps a lot."

he nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "it’s nothing, dummy. let me know if you need anything else, okay?"

as the day went on, megumi stayed by your side, quietly taking care of you in all the ways that mattered. he made sure you were comfortable, adjusted the pillows behind your back, and even put on one of your favorite movies to help distract you from the pain.

when the cramps became particularly intense, he would sit close, offering gentle words of encouragement and occasionally rubbing your back in soothing circles. his presence was a steady anchor, helping you feel less alone in your discomfort. he kissed your temple tenderly, as soft as a feather. everything about his gentleness made you feel so loved.

"remember to drink plenty of water, okay?" he reminded you gently, handing you a glass. "and don’t hesitate to tell me if you need anything else."

"thank you, megumi," you said again, feeling overwhelmed by his love. "i’m really lucky to have you."

he gave you a soft look, his green–blue orbs full of love. "....i’m just glad i can be here for you, you know that." he replied, his voice sincere. "i like taking care of you."

"i know you do." you whispered, leaning forward to kiss the corner of his lips. "love you, babe."

he blushed slightly, looking away. "…love you too."

[winterrrnight]

midsommar with bsf!Rafe and reader who at a certain point sneak out and start reminiscing how they would always do the same when their were little.

I'm in love with the way you write them, I'm truly in awe at the level of intimacy you can create with those two. expect so many more asks from me because I'm hooked and ilyyy

since we’ve now established this is the sweet sweet🦉anon, I really love this req (and all the other ones you sent) so so much 💘🥹✨ I loved writing this sooo much and I hope you like it tooooo xx thank you so so much for your sweet words I love you from the bottom of my heart 🥹

bsf!rafe who sneaks out of midsummer with you for some alone time… <3 listen to sexy to someone by clairo, cause, well, it’s clairo!!!! <3 cw: suggestive content (as always, no smut!), mentions of skinny dipping, weed consumption, references to canon events from the midsummer episode in S1 <3 for @ladyinbl00d who today absolutely made my day with her beautiful words and who was also honored with the sneak peek to this 🤭 i love u davi you’re my whole world 🤍

part of this little universe <3

it’s that time of the year again; peak hotness accompanies the sixth month of the year, as everyone dress up and come together for the awaited holiday: midsummer.

you are accompanying rafe; as you always do for this holiday, your arm looped into his as you both walk out along with the rest of the camerons. both of you are adorned in matching shades of baby blue, and you have a little flower crown fixed on the top of your head. rafe passes you a small smile as he leads you along with his family, everyone around you all clapping and cheering for the most powerful family on the island.

the celebrations continue to happen around you, and in between you and rafe get separated; him going with his friends for some ‘business’ (you caught the air that he got JJ kicked out), and you with your friends just simply talking and chatting, sipping away on your mocktail.

amidst your conversation with your friends, you feel an all too familiar hand brush your side, slowly trailing under the slit of your dress to gently graze your bare thigh. you feel him breathing down on your neck, and for a second, just for a second, you feel yourself completely lifted away from the conversation with your friends – but you quickly ground yourself back.

“hey,” he says softly into your ear. the conversation between your friends doesn’t essentially stop; this isn’t a rare sight for them.

“hey,” you murmur, rafe’s arms now wrapping firmly around your waist from behind, his chin resting on the crook of your neck.

“come with me,” he says softly, pressing the most subtle kiss behind your ear. his tone isn’t a request and it’s also not a command; but you know there is absolutely no room for argument. you give him a nod of your head and excuse yourself from your friends and follow him out, him making sure no one, especially his dad catch you both leaving.

he leads you to the nearby beach which is almost completely empty as everyone is gathered for midsummer, where you both sit down next to each other on the sand, the waves lapping up till your feet under the darkness of the night sky.

a breeze blows past you two as you both sit silently next to each other on the beach, the sound of the waves filling your ears. you hear the flick of a lighter and turn your head to rafe to see him lighting up a weed joint, watching the momentary golden glow. he hands you the joint after taking a hit himself, and you take a deep drag, blowing out a plume of smoke after that.

“I fuckin’ hate midsummers,” rafe mutters, as you pass him the joint and he takes a hit. “all that attention to my dad, everyone is always asking me when i’m going to start at the company… same bullshit each time. I’m so sick of it.” he takes another hit of the joint, letting out a cloud of smoke before turning his attention to you. “but this…” he says, his voice now starting to take on a softer tone as his fingers curl around yours, “this is the only good thing each time.”

you smile softly at him, squeezing his hand back as he hands you the joint back and you take a hit. he watches you intently; watches how your lips wrap around the end of the joint, how you take a deep drag, and how you let the smoke roll off your tongue releasing it into the air. he takes your intertwined hand and presses a soft kiss to the back of your knuckles.

“thank you for coming with me, seriously,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the back of your hand before letting it go.

“of course,” you smile, handing him the joint back. “there’s nothing you have to thank me for,”

rafe acknowledges your smile with one of his own before hitting the joint. a beat of silence passes over you two before rafe speaks up again.

“I love how we do this each time,” he says with a smile, the joint dangling in between his lips, “this sneaking away from everyone. right now, my dad must be giving some lame ass speech using words like ‘power’ and ‘integrity’, and will smother all his love on ms. sarah there, and everyone would practically be eating out of his hand.” he snorts, shaking his head. “it’s nice to get away from that suffocating place to get a breather. you’re the only one who understands.”

you scoot closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder, and his hand comes to rest on your thigh right under the slit, where he gently traces small circles against your flesh, his touch almost featherlight.

“you remember when we sneaked out from the celebration the first time?” you start. “we were, what, 8? and your dad was so desperate to make you meet all his business associates but your little antisocial ass was just not having it,”

he lets out a chuckle at your words, nodding. he pulls the joint from his lips and slots it in between yours. “I had more than enough of business talk that night. and you were the only one who caught the look of uncomfort on my face. you helped me sneak out from there and we came right to this beach, and we shared a pack of sour patch kids.”

you laugh softly at the memory, letting out some smoke before holding the joint between your fingers. “yeah,” you say. “and it just became a tradition over the years. we used to share candy, and now we’re sharing a weed joint. we really leveled up our game huh?”

rafe chuckles with you, both of your laughters mixing together in a symphony just like they always have all these years. “we certainly did,” he says. “I’m proud of us you know?” he teases, his fingers continuing to trace circles on your thigh.

“I am too,” you grin, taking a hit of the joint again.

“but my favorite one was when we were 18,” he says. “when we went skinny dipping in the water,”

you laugh at that, nodding. “that was… that was really something huh?” you murmur, getting comfortable against his shoulder.

“mhm,” he hums softly, looking at your head resting on his shoulder, and leaning down to kiss your temple softly. “it was really good,” he murmurs.

you look up at him, your eyes flicking down to his lips for just a second before going back up to his eyes. “you know…” you start speaking, and you can feel the subtle start of the influence of the thc over your thoughts, “i wouldn’t mind doing that again,” you whisper.

rafe looks down at you and catches your subtle glance at his lips. “you wouldn’t?” he whispers back, a smirk starting to slowly pull his lips.

a coy smile spreads on your face and you shake your head. “I wouldn’t, no,” you murmur.

the small smirk on his face turns to a full grin as his fingers reach out to your shoulder, trailing over the strap of your dress. he starts to slowly tug it down, the strap now hanging off your shoulder. rafe feels his heart starting to thump in his chest, and he knows, oh he just knows what the night has in store for you two.

“well then…” he mumbles, leaning down to press the softest kiss on your exposed shoulder.

“... what are we waiting for?”

[imagineinside]

Eternal Claws (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

A/N (PLEASE READ): Hey guys! This is my first time writing for Wolverine... so please be nice, I am at your mercy lol. This is also an A/O/B fanfic, where the mutants also have a secondary gender that would have developed at the same time as their mutations (this is not the main part of the story though). My intention is for this to be a longer running fanfiction, as well as a verryyyyy slow burn :). If that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, then I will also be working on some oneshots soon, which you are more than welcome to give me some ideas to write about! Please let me know your feedback, I sincerely appreciate it!! :D

Summary: At a young age of 16, you find yourself saved from a group of hunters by no other mutant than The Wolverine, who reluctantly becomes your protector during your first heat. As weeks pass and you recover, a complex bond forms between yourself and the powerful mutant who had saved you.

Seven years later, now a confident young woman with refined mutant abilities, you encounter Wolverine again. Despite your growth and newfound strength, old feelings resurface as Wolverine returns from a secretive mission. As you navigate the challenges of your powers and your unspoken connection with him, you must come to terms with your past and the burgeoning feelings that might redefine your future.

Current Applicable Warnings: 18+ (not an explicit story yet, but there are hints of things in the upcoming chapters), canon-typical violence, age gap (like 200+ with a 25 yr old), Alpha!Logan, Omega!Reader, a/o/b universe, more to come.

Word Count: 2,884 we just getting started pookie

It was your unlucky day that The Wolverine was the mutant to find you alone out in the woods.

But it was lucky he got to you before the four hunters found you first, the sour tang of their arousal burning his sensitive nose. When he saw you laying in the fresh layer of snow, your body coated in sweat from your first heat (at least he guessed it was your first by how small and frail you were at the time), and your own honey-sweet scent drifting through the trees, he knew he was already in too deep with you.

“No,” you groaned, pushing against his chest in an attempt to protect yourself. The Wolverine would never admit it, but he actually felt a surge of empathy for the frail thing he held in his arms. 

He would definitely give Professor X a piece of his mind for selecting him of all mutants to go on this fetch quest to get you. Of course, there was no way of knowing you were on the brink of heat with a hoard of hungry men after you.

“The snow…” you mumbled as you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt with what little strength you had. You were so precious, your face flushed a bright pink, an image he would never forget. “It’s too hot…”

The Wolverine groaned in frustration as you pushed yourself out of his arms and flopped back on the cold, hard forest floor where the four hunters' dead bodies lay not far from you now. He watched as you slowly made a circle of snow around yourself, most of it melting to the touch with the heat of your body temperature. He had seen this dance too many times to feign ignorance.

“Hey, bub,” he called out as he squatted on a nearby fallen tree, “I need to take you out of here before more charming men come to find you.”

It was as if you didn’t even hear him as you continued your work on the ground, bunching the snow up to help with your heat.

The Wolverine sighed and hung his head, accepting his fate as your caretaker for the next week in the unforgiving Alaskan wild…

* * *

It’s nearly an exact week later by the time you are back to your full senses. And it isn’t alone, either. From behind you there’s a rhythmic breathing and a cold presence sedating the still-burning embers inside you. All your joints are sore and there is still an empty aching from deep inside you, though you do your best not to focus on that specific ache.

In one quick flourish of movement, you quickly grab your shirt that you had at some point ripped off from excess heat and shuffled away from the… beast laying next to you.

“Relax,” the giant man groaned, rolling onto his back, “I was just here to prot-”

Acting on pure instinct, having just woken from a daze, you reached out and slapped him–hard–across the face. Enough to make the man, who is at least a good foot taller than you, stop dead in his tracks.

You watched as the muscles in his jaws flexed over and over before he slowly flicked his eyes back to you, “Fuck you sure got a powerful slap on ya there.”

Catching your breath, you looked around at your surroundings. There were deep gouges in sets of three on the nearby trees, on the ground, markings left in the general area… the smell of a strong male everywhere. “You were protecting me…” you mumbled more to yourself than him, yet he still caught the comment from under your breath.

“Glad you caught on, sweetheart,” he grumbled as he stood and slung on his leather jacket that was laid across a nearby stump. “Listen, I chased you and those four guys,” he said, gesturing with his shoulders to a group of four very dead men on the outskirts of your nest, drawing a gasp from your lips, “through these woods to save your sorry ass. And now I’m going to take you back so I can be done with this mission.”

“I am not going anywhere with you,” you all but growled as you slung on your shirt in as much grace as you could muster with how your legs and arms still felt as if they were made out of Jell-O. 

“Uh, yes. You are.” The man insisted, quirking his thick brow at you.

“Listen, whatever you came here for, you obviously got the wrong person–” a sharp pain to the back of your head is the first thing you registered as you were shoved up against a nearby tree at what felt like the speed of light. Despite knowing it’s futile, you fought against the hold he held across your chest, wriggling to be free.

“I’m gonna cut right to the chase. You just presented as a young Omega, which also means you are a mutant. Now I don’t need ya’ to show me what you do or whatever, I don’t really give a fuck, I just need to get you to safety since. That. Was. My. Job.” He growled back at you, spit flying in your face with each punctuation.

He must have watched as the fire in your eyes died out, since his grip loosened and he set you back onto the ground, turning slowly to retrieve the rest of his belongings.

“You’re The Wolverine, aren’t you?” You called out after him, just as you moved to gather the remaining's of your bag’s contents which had been spilled out across the ground–a hairbrush, tampons, two small bottles of shampoo and conditioner, and you’re only reminder of the life you once had before your mutant abilities took it away from you, a picture of you and your brother. 

You heard a deep grunt sound off behind you before an even rougher, “I am.”

A shiver ran down your spine at knowing who you were in the presence of… who had taken care of you during your first heat.

“We didn’t,” you cleared your throat as you turned to look at the mutant behind you, “we didn’t… do anything, right?”

“No,” came the quick response as The Wolverine lit a cigar and leaned up against a tree. He must be waiting for you to follow him, most likely. “I don’t find satisfaction in taking advantage of people. Not like those four over there.” He once again gestured towards the four rotting corpses lying face down in the snow.

A gag threatened to spill what little food and water you had ingested over the past week all over the ground.

Heaving your bag over your shoulders, you took a few steps towards your savior–captor?–and began following him through the dense trees, out towards either your salvation or your doom. You weren’t sure which it was going to be yet.

* * *

It ended up being about an hour walk to a beat up old Chevy that was parked on the side of the road. Following your captors lead, you slipped into the passenger seat and watched as the world you knew went by in flashes of snow and trees.

It took another three or four hours–you weren’t really sure how long, since you were in and out of sleep for a lot of it–to reach one of the few airports in Alaska. Along the way, you also learned The Wolverine was taking you to a school for young mutants like yourself, where you could learn more about your abilities and how to use them. 

You weren’t sure you really liked the idea of using your powers ever again…

“Does it ever get easier?” You asked quietly with your head resting up against the window as you pulled up to the rental car return.

You heard him pull the parking brake and let out an exasperated sigh. Yeah, well I’m not a huge fan of you either, you wanted to snap at him. “What does?” He asked with a sidelong glare.

“Killing,” you whispered, as if the mere mention of it would bring death upon you. Flashes of your brother's screaming face play behind your eyelids every time you blink.

There was a long beat of silence, so long that you ended up looking over at the driver seat just to make sure he hadn’t gotten out of the car and left you there alone. “No, it doesn’t,” he whispered back.

You grabbed your only belongings and followed after your captor onto the tarmac, where the classiest and sleekest silver plane you have ever seen was waiting for you. If you weren’t so damn terrified of flying, this would probably be one of the coolest moments of your so-far short life. The second you boarded the private jet, The Wolverine beelined for the crystal jar full of some type of whiskey. You mentally gagged at the mere thought of the terrible taste of that amber liquid.

“Want some?” your captor asked as he poured himself a generous quadruple shot.

You shook your head violently as you took a seat towards the front of the plane against the wall, so you had a clear line of sight of the rest of the aircraft. The Wolverine sat on the opposite side of the small cabin. Or maybe he just made it look small with how his head scraped the top of the ceiling, and his broad shoulders were spilling over the seat.

“What will happen to me when I get there?” You dared to ask.

“Professor X will take care of you.” Perhaps he heard how your heartbeat picked up its pace as your hands gripped the armrests tighter, making the leather squeak under your sweaty hands. “Relax, not like that.” The man sighed in frustration as he chugged down his liquor and went for a second glass. “Here’s what will happen. Professor X will give you a chance to go on special mutant-safe inhibitors for your new…” the man flicked his gaze to you, “secondary gender, if you so wish. He’ll ask to see your abilities to see the extent to which we will need to keep you and others around you safe.” Once he finished pouring his glass, he returned to his seat, staring at you from across the cabin.

“There’s no one around me that I care to keep safe anymore, sir.” You whispered to him. “I failed all of them.”

The Wolverine seemed at a loss for words after your admission, instead he simply said, “Best for you to get some rest.”

And flicked off the lights.

* * *

You weren’t necessarily sure what you were expecting, but a giant mansion that looked like it was born for the Old-Money-Rich generation was not it. It felt like your head was on a swivel as you drove towards the complex. You saw people–mutants, like you–out playing in the spacious yard, in the pond, others in the sky. Which made you suddenly jealous of your own powers.

An even greater surprise were the friendly greetings thrown your way, or rather to The Wolverine standing beside you. You knew he was a well-respected mutant, but you thought it was in the way of “don’t cross me and I won’t kill you” way. Not in the, “six year old's love me” type way. Which was very much the case with the way the younger mutants were running up the grisly man and crawling up his legs.

“Not now, alright,” he grumbled as he peeled them one-by-one off his legs and proceeded to guide you towards a large door hidden in an alcove to the right. “Professor X is just through that door.”

He said it in a way that had your alarm bells ringing, and as he turned to walk away you reached out and grabbed his arm without thinking. “Stay.” You demanded, and then thought better of yourself and added, “please.”

You watched the debate go on behind his eyes, but with a deep sigh, it appeared this gentle giant decided to be your protector a little longer. Reaching forward, you balled your hand into a fist to knock. But before you could, a gentleman's voice called from behind the door, “Come in.”

Swallowing, you reached for the handle and strode into a quaint office room. The man who sat behind the desk was not at all what you had expected. You were expecting the monsters… the men who had taken your best friend… You shook your head to rid yourself of the thought. “Professor X, I’m–”

“I already know who you are,” the elderly man said, moving a joystick on his wheelchair to maneuver around his desk. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod.

“I can sense your unease, but I promise you do not need to hide here. We are mutants, just like you.” The Professor moved his wheelchair further forward, until he was within reaching distance. “I know you have a power that is greatly sought after. May I see?” He asked, and tapped his head.

You quickly pieced it together he must be one of the psychic mutants, and you dully nodded your head. You closed your eyes as he reached forward, his pointer and middle finger coming to rest against your left temple. For a brief moment, you are fearful you will have to relive all the memories he is about to see. But when nothing comes flashing behind your eyelids, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.

After a couple moments passed, the Professor dropped his hand and opened his eyes, “I am sorry for the pain you have experienced in your short life so far.”

“I didn’t know at the time…” you began, but a sob threatened to come up your throat.

“You don’t need to talk to me about it, only if you are ready.” You nodded to him in gratitude before he turned back around to grab something from behind his desk. “I believe Logan should have told you about this,” Logan, that must be Wolverine’s real name, you thought to yourself, “but these are inhibitors for your secondary gender which would have presented the same day as your mutation. Please, only take these if you are comfortable. If not, we can make separate arrangements for your safety from other mutants.”

You reached forward and grabbed the small silver tin of round white pills and stuffed them in your bag. “What do you mean for my safety from other mutants?”

Professor X let out a sigh and eyeballed Wolverine–Logan–from over your head, “I see you left some of the harder questions for me to answer.”

“She wasn’t asking these questions to me, Professor,” was the snarky remark Logan bit back.

Professor X began calmly, “Well, you see, other mutants will have also displayed a secondary gender. Most of us are Betas, we do not experience heats or ruts and we are normal for everything but our mutant abilities. However, others are Omegas and Alphas. Omegas, such as yourself, need extra protection such as the inhibitors or being placed in a separate wing from the Alphas. The Alphas may also go on inhibitors, like Logan there, so an Omegas heat will not affect them.”

You shook your head violently, the words becoming jumbled in your mind. “I don’t understand. So I’m some fucked up other breed?”

“You are not ‘fucked up’, you are an additional step to evolution. Omegas are…” the Professor clears his throat, “meant to be very fertile, same with the Alphas.”

“I don’t want this,” You murmured, a single tear sliding down your face before you were able to swipe it away.

“I know,” the Professor replied solemnly, as if he could feel your pain and still-fresh grief. “All I want is to keep you safe.” Your mouth felt like it was running dry, your brain throbbing with all the information. “Now, would you be willing to show me what you can do?”

* * *

You had agreed to show the Professor your ability. He and Logan had taken you out to the courtyard, where a dead and brittle rose plant lay amongst the foliage.

“All I need you to do is revive the rose plant.” The Professor called out to you. Him and the Wolverine had stayed a good few yards away, upon your request. You didn’t need another person standing near you while this happens.

“Surely she can’t revive a dead plant…” came a response from Logan that had you gritting your teeth together. “That would mean she could revive a dead person.”

“With enough power and training,” you heard the Professor reply calmly, “perhaps she could.”

Little do they know, you thought spitefully.

Kneeling down to the ground, you placed one hand on the grass beside your feet, the other reaching upwards towards the rose bush. You let your mind fall somewhere between your burning rage and the feeling of cold serenity. As the flow of life began pouring through your arms, you saw flashes--images--of a younger Professor X. A younger garden. When this rose bush would have still been alive. You saw flashes of a blue girl with red hair and…

You felt your connection snap before your eyes opened, the rose bush now blooming with flowers and life. Revived from its grave.

But underneath you… the ground was withered and dead. The dirt like rough sand to the touch.

Your power. A life for a life.

[monstrousmuse]

I am not sure if anyone here has already made this connection or pointed this out (apologies if so), but while doing some research into Flatland/the 11 dimensions the other day, I discovered something pretty interesting…

…

In the ‘Book of Bill’ announcement video, as well as distorted, synthesised background music and the Morse Code (which has already been deciphered), we can also hear several lines of spoken dialogue, the first of which being the line: “some other mystic dimension”.

Timestamp: 0:04

Now, this line already raises several questions - which ‘dimension’ is being referring to here? And why is it considered to be ‘mystic(al)’? Well, we don’t have a definite answer to either of those questions just yet, but if you will humour me for a moment, I have a few suggestions. Either this ‘other mystic dimension’ could be referring to Bill’s own homeland, the Second Dimension (which would naturally be considered ‘other’, ‘mystic’ and generally unfamiliar to us, the readers), or perhaps, it is referring to the Third Dimension itself, or what is known as Spaceland (Height/Up) in Abbott’s novella. I think the latter to be far more likely, especially with what I am about to show you. This is where my excessive YouTube deep-diving habits came in useful.

…

During my research quest, I stumbled upon this video of the famous astronomer and science communicator Carl Sagan (take note of this name) explaining the concept of the Fourth Dimension, as well as other Flatland-adjacent things. And lo and behold, at 4:37, what do we hear?

“And the poor Square has to say: ‘Well, I was in some other mystic dimension called Up…”

Yes, that’s right. The exact words that were used in the promo video.

To provide you some context, here Sagan is recounting the experience of A Square who, with the guidance and revelations of A Sphere, has just returned from a recent foray into the Third Dimension, and is trying to explain his sudden disappearance and newfound knowledge of Height to his friends. So saying, it is likely that the ‘other mystic dimension’ being referred to in the BoB video is in fact, the Third Dimension, since this is a book that has been written from Bill’s perspective, and it seems that he will be filling in the role of A Square in this narrative, discovering the Secrets Of The Universe and all. Although, I must emphasise that this is still just speculation on my part, based on the assumption that Bill’s backstory will be pretty similar to, if not a direct retelling of Flatland:

“Flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams.”

Who knows, Alex Hirsch may just subvert our expectations entirely.

“I liberated my dimension (…)” / “Saw his own dimension burn. Misses home and can’t return.”

…

Anyway, I have another little piece of the puzzle to share. The line spoken in the announcement video isn’t merely a word-for-word recreation of what Carl Sagan said, It is Carl Sagan. They used a direct clip from an episode of Cosmos. This has me giddy with excitement, because Carl Sagan, a man with much notoriety within the scientific community, and many achievements and accolades to his name, is known to be one of Ford’s scientific idols.

The level of detail in this show, and I guess now in its extended literary canon’s advertisement material, is insane. Do with this information what you will. Perhaps there’s a connection here that will be expounded upon in the book. Perhaps it’s just a cool reference. Even so, it is a very intriguing one nonetheless, especially with the tie-ins to Flatland, theoretical physics and Ford’s hero-worshipping. It’s clearly intentional.

…

(If anyone is interested, here is an excellent meta which provides a very detailed exploration and analysis of Ford’s respective connections to Sagan and Tesla.)

[narcolini]

white room - pt. 2

johnny davis x gn!reader, 18+, canon typical themes and language, 4.3k words, 2 of ? part one here a/n: tw for reader talking about their dad being dead (sorry pops) & thankyou darling kay (hausofmamadas) for the gif <3

Your idea of nice and his idea of nice are two whole different things. Not to say it isn’t a nice place, you know, it’s cute, but it isn’t nice nice, in the fancy kind of way. Which is probably your own fault for letting so many hotshot advertisement guys take you out and getting you used to it—and that’s no good at all, cause all they wanna do is impress you into sleeping with one of them, and all Johnny wants to do is eat pizza by the slice. Apparently.

He says “they got the good stuff here” as he holds the door open and by the time you’re sitting with a pie in front of you, yeah, you gotta say, it’s a Hell of a piece. So cheesy you gotta stretch your whole arm up to get it away from the plate, and when Johnny does it, you hook a finger around the stringy bit and pull it right into your mouth. Half thieving, half flirting. You figure he won’t mind so much about that, considering how good you’re looking for him, and he don’t. He’s even smiling as you chew it up. 

“You said you work in an office?” he asks, before taking a big bite of that piece you stole from. Washing it down with a Dr Pepper too, cause this place is too family friendly for anything other than a good old fashioned soda pop. 

“Mhmm. One that does them ads in the paper and on leaflets and stuff.”

“You write ‘em?”

“I wish,” you drag out, fighting the urge to roll your eyes all the way into the back of your head. “I sit in meetings and take notes, then I sit at my desk and I type up the notes. Then I go take it to my boss and he says, ‘thanks, doll, ‘nother meeting at twelve’. Then it all goes fuckin’ round again.”

He snorts, cause you’re funny and he sees it, not like those other guys. “You don’t like it then?”

“Oh, I like anything that pays me to do nothin,” you say. “The other week, they gave me overtime to sit and watch the phone incase some big important call came through. Well, that thing didn’t ring once, not from the moment I sat down, to the second I got up. Easiest buck I ever made.”

He blows out again, laughing over the neck of his pop, and you put the corner of your own slice into your mouth. You shouldn’t talk while you’re chewing, and you don’t ever do it, promise, but you’re nearly done with the eating part when you ask him, “And what d’you do?”

Well, you’d’ve thought you’d asked him the answer to the universe from the way he’s thinking about it. You wait for him and he takes another drink, then another bite, and then he itches his jaw with the end of his thumb, though no-one ever gets no itchy jaw like that, and says, “I drive trucks.”

“Yeah? I figured riding bikes was your job.”

Johnny don’t really say nothin to that, which he does a lot you’re finding. Thinks a sort of a look and a noise like he’s saying something is a fine enough answer for anything that he doesn’t really wanna answer. Like a whole third of your conversation so far has been just that—you talking and him listening, sure, he’s good at that part, but then he hums or something and it’s right back to you talking again. 

Must be how he likes it though, cause he ain’t stopped you yet and you could talk for the whole world if they wanted you to.

“What’s your deal?” you ask, after watching him eat an entire slice without saying a thing. 

“My deal?”

“Yeah.”

“I gotta have a deal?”

“Everyone’s got a deal.” You look at him, really look at him, take all the lifelines and scars in like you never put your eyes on him before. Find yourself staring at his hands too, at the tan line there, or the missing tan, you guess, right there on his ring finger. The rest of him’s done up in that way like he’s been out in the sun too much, all except for that one little bit. The shape of a thing that’s not there no more. “You married?” 

You wanna know, and you’re not afraid of asking about it, cause if he is this is gonna be a real easy fix. You out the door, him taking the bill. 

He sighs, long and slow, then wipes his mouth with the screwed up napkin from next to him. “Divorced,” he says.

“Kids?”

“Two girls.” Which explains the pizza place. He don’t know what nice is anymore, unless you can take a kid there and make them real happy about it.

“Do they like you?” 

One of his little eyebrows tweaks up at that, then sinks again into a mean frown that you’d hate to be on the real end of—cause he don’t mean it now, he’s just prickly about talking about it. You can tell. And who can blame him, you’re asking a lot of questions in the same sort of way that your mother hates so much. No manners, she says, no patience neither.

“Yeah,” he tells you, “they like me.” Then his hand and that napkin comes waving over the table at you. “What—what is this?”

You shrug, not hiding nothin. “Just getting a look at you. Figuring you out.”

He sniffs. Nods. “You gonna go and type all this shit up later?”

You’re thinking he means it like a dig, like you should feel some type of way about the sort of person he’s accusing you of being, but it’s got you smiling still. Cause he’s talking now and with real character too. “I might do. Been a while since I heard something really worth typing up.”

“And what’s yours,” he grumbles, pissier than usual, “what’s your deal that everyone’s gotta have?”

“Dead Pops,” you tell him, and you say it so quick that all the attitude drops right off of him. 

His head shakes—just the one time. “What’s that mean?”

“Well it means he’s six feet under, Johnny.”

“No—why’s that…you didn’t like your old man or something?”

“I liked him fine. Just never saw him enough and then he went and died before I could make it up to him.”

For some reason, he nods like he gets the feeling, but his eyes are all of a sudden shy of looking at you, like you might be upset at him for asking in the first place. You think the noise he makes is him trying to say sorry, or passing on his condolences, but no man you ever met has had any kind of manner when it comes to being sensitive, so you figure that’s the best he can do.

“He was from round here,” you say, “that house of mine was his first, you know.”

Another nod.

“Thought coming back would help me feel like, I don’t know, like I was connected to him or something. Like it might make me feel a little less lost.”

Then his eyes are up again and he don’t look so scared of upsetting you no more. “Did it work?” he asks. “You feel better now you’re here?”

You hum a little, like you need some time to think up the answer that’s been screaming at you since you unpacked the very first box. “Nope.” You shake your head, real sure of it. “Turns out, it just makes you fuckin’ lonely, living in a dead man’s house.”

He lets out a big long breath at that, like he’d been holding it in, and you get to smell the cigarette he smoked half an hour ago, right in front of your face. “Yeah, alright,” he says, “that’s a Hell of a deal.”

You smile. “Now you’re gettin' it.”

He points at the empty bottle in front of you. “You want another one?”

On all them other dates, this is where you’d say no thanks, I’ll take a ride home and an early night, if it’s no bother to you. And every time, all those other guys would be very bothered by it, might even make you pay for your half and a cab too, but not one part of you wants to find out what Johnny’d say to all that. You don’t want another pop and you don’t wanna go home neither. For all his quiet, and his funny ways—like he don’t always look like he wants to be talking to you—you’re finding him awful good to be around.

Makes as much sense to you as it makes no sense at all, but sometimes it’s just like that. People you can be yourself with, you know. People who make you wanna be so much like yourself, that it makes you feel all crazy about it. 

So you tell him that, in a sort of a way. You say, “I’ll be honest, Johnny, I’m feeling like something a little stronger,” and he smiles real big at that.

_________

Then you’re in another bar, and it ain’t the bar you said you didn’t wanna be in, but it is a bar that’s full of Vandals still.

Well, not full, guess you could count five of them if you wanted to. Six including Johnny. And they are all hanging about in that one back corner, while you and him got a standing table somewhere in the middle, so you figure he’s not really broken his promise all the way. Just twisted it a little. Plus with the noise of the place, you can hardly make them out above the rest of it, so you set your eyes on him and forget about them. Who knows, right? This whole town could be swarming with those biker guys, but you ain’t never noticed it before cause you ain’t never noticed him before, and that’s not exactly his fault, is it? 

He’s standing real close to you too now, to the one side of you, instead of opposite like in the pizza place, and you can feel the heat coming off of him like fire. Like those big ones in your Grandpa’s house at Christmastime. All flame and soot and crackling warmth that you wanna put your hands into. 

Something about it makes you a little erratic, makes you blurt out another question with even less manners than usual. And it’s a real mood killer too, “So why’d you get divorced?” you say. 

You asked him that, you really did, and while he’s thinking about how to take it, you drink down half your beer in one big stinking gulp. If your mother could see you now? Jeez.

“You really gonna ask me that before I’ve even…?” He points to the beers, well his beer, cause yours is still in your hands like you’re scared he’ll take it from you. “C’mon,” he says.

He’s got a point, sure, but also you been here a minute and it don’t seem like it’s your fault that he hasn’t taken a drink yet. Too busy smoking one of them cigarettes again, and smirking at you like he finds your dumb mouth all kinds of charming, when he should be judging you like a real gentleman would. 

“You don’t gotta tell me,” you say, shrugging with it.

“Hm.” Another answer without answering—and this time, it kinda sorta bothers you.

He puts the smoke between his fingers, to take a long sip of his beer, and you find yourself reaching across to take it from him. Not a smoker, but you can smoke if the company does, you know. Which happens to be a lot at work, cause those office guys go like chimneys when they’re thinking, on and on and on, until the room’s full of the stuff. And then you don’t even need to have one yourself because you’re puffing it as much as they are, right, but it’s nice to feel included still.

This time, you’re only doing it to give you something to do, and give him something to look at while he thinks so much about all the things he don’t wanna tell you. Which seems to be doing the trick just fine.

“Didn’t work out,” he says, right when you think he’s over it, didn’t work out. “That’s all it is.”

You tap the ash off, feeling him stare as you take a drag and blow it away from him. “Well if your girls like you still, that must be most of the truth.”

“Nah, that’s it. That’s the whole truth, nothin’ else.”

“Alright then.”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

He’s getting antsy, prickly all over again. “I believe you,” you tell him, looking at him all serious like, his face right there next to yours. “Marriage is a crazy complex thing, right? I guess I always assume it takes more than ‘didn’t work’ to put it to bed, but if you say yours didn’t, then it didn’t. Who am I to know?”

He doesn’t nod or do nothin, he just squints back at you and says, “Were your parents divorced?”

You laugh, and it’s sort of rude, cause it’s right in his face. Probably felt the gust of it straight into his mouth. “There you go, treating me like a kid again,” you explain, and he frowns like he don’t get it. Funny, all that wisdom in his big old head, and he can’t seem to work out what you mean. “You figure I couldn’t be old enough to have a marriage of my own? Had to ask about my parents instead?”

And you got him, caught him with his hands all red, cause he gets fidgety with it. “Well have you?” he asks.

You pout to hide your smirk. “No.”

Then his frown is swapped clean out for a laugh, and that smile that you’re sorta growing fond of. “So, just cause I didn’t know that about you, yeah, I’m treating you like a kid, am I?”

“Yeah.” You’re leaning in real close now, shoulders touching and everything. “I would’a liked it if you thought I could’ve had a marriage, and a divorce, just like you, Johnny.”

“Ah, right. Alright.” His head dips a little, and he’s looking all over your face like he’s hungry for every word you ain’t said yet, his voice in almost a whisper. “So how was your divorce?” he asks.

“Oh, awful.” You flash your eyes big, so dramatic. “He took everything I had—and all ten of the kids.” 

He hisses with his teeth, really playing along with it. “That’s a mean fuck right there,” he says, and if you’re honest, you kinda wish you weren’t lying for a sec, cause hearing him say something like that, real ex-husband or not, it kinda does something to you. Makes you giddy in a teenage way. 

“That’s what I told him,” you say back, but you don’t sound serious no more, you’re all breathy and quiet like you’re losing your guts. “Lucky we’re both single again, huh?”

“Lucky," he says, “yeah.”

Boy, you could’ve sworn the whole place went still. Every noise fell away like you were the only two people in there.

And he’s looking at you in that way, the eye contact, you know, in that real eatable way that makes you want take him home right now, or better yet, right into the bathrooms at the back of the bar there. But that’s crazy talk. That’s really real crazy talk. That’s the kind of thing you regret when your heads pounding the next day, and you don’t remember how that tap shaped bruise got onto your asscheek, never mind wether or not you’re seeing the guy again.

So, being good about it, you move your eyes from the door to the group of guys you been ignoring this whole time, and you ask him, “So when are you gonna introduce me to your little friends?”

He goes like a statue—minus his forehead, of course, that thing scrunches up like he lost you for a minute and he’s having to really squint just to see you again. “What I gotta introduce you to them for?”

“They’re your family, ain’t they?”

He holds his hand out, and it takes you a second to realise he’s asking for the cigarette back, the one that’s nearly gone, burning away in your fingers still. You give it to him, half thinking to apologise for wasting it, but he just plops it right back into his mouth like it���s nothin. He gets one pull out of it and then smushes it, dead, into the ash tray. “S’a lot, for a second date, no? Meeting the family.”

You laugh almost. “You counting last night as the first?”

“I’m counting pizza as the first,” he says.

You can’t help it, you’re still smiling at him, and blushing a little too. “Something bout that feels like you’re cheating me outta what I deserve.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” he says, all careful like, “we can count this whole night as the first, if you want, but I don’t bring first dates to the club either.”

“Fine.” He wins. “Then let’s call this one the second, whichever way you wanna look at it, and I still wanna meet ‘em.”

“Nah. Not—not today.”

For the first time in your life, you don’t feel like pushing until you get what you want. He’s still messing with the butt of that cigarette, spinning it round and round in the ashtray, so you figure he got a reason behind that skull of his, and a good one too.

Well, you’re willing to pretend like he might, anyway. 

“Okay. How about some names then? So I know who to picture when you’re telling me your stories.”

His lip quirks up. “You wanna hear my stories?”

“Oh, all of ‘em.” You nudge him, elbow to elbow, and drop your head onto your shoulder, in that real cute way that makes your hair bounce, just to look at him. “Please, Johnny?”

He lets go of the smoke with a sigh that doesn’t really mean what he wants it to mean, and crosses his arms on top of the table. “One on the lefts Corky,” he says, nodding that way. “Then Wahoo, Cal, Cockroach.”

You follow his direction, all good and quiet and listening, and put the names to the faces as best you can. Only then he stops and you have to poke him, “And that tall movie star on the end?”

He waits like he’s thinking about it. “That’s Benny.”

“Just Benny?”

“Yeah. Just Benny.”

But that don’t make no sense to you, cause all these guys are never just anyone, unless they’re someone important, you know, everybody’s got something in a club like that. “He don’t got some funny name too?” you ask, and Johnny shakes his head. “Why not?”

“Cause he don’t need nothin—he’s just, some people are just…” He shrugs, screwing his brows a little. “He’s just Benny.” 

“And you’re just Johnny.”

Who’s just humming in reply now, saying yeah without using his words cause he don’t need to, and you keep letting him be about it.

“Well,” you start, now that neither of you are looking at those Vandals no more, “what name would you give me?” 

He doesn’t even try. “I dunno,” he says. 

“C’mon, Johnny. I know you know, if you thought about it, you probably named all those guys.” Minus Benny. Just Benny.  

He groans like you’re really troubling him by asking for it and reaches for another smoke from his pack. “Let’s see,” he says. Now he’s thinking. “I guess, something short.” The lighter flashes by his chin then goes away again in a snap. “Something like Lips.” 

First time he’s left you speechless. Really cotton mouthed and speechless. “Lips?” you repeat, and you hate to say it, but you’re almost squeaking. Lips?

“Mhmm.”

“Why’s that?” you ask him, more serious now than you have been this whole time, so close that you could burn your nose on the end of his cigarette. “And don’t say cause they look nice.”

“Even if it’s true?”

You laugh like you can’t believe it. “I don’t care if it’s true, that’s not the answer.”

This guy, he has the nerve to smirk like he’s winning, and he shouldn’t be doing none of that until he can give you a real good reason. “Alright.” He lifts his shoulders a little, all innocent like, with the smoke snaking up between you. “Then it’s cause you, you know, you…”

“Yeah?” You nod, pulling it out of him. “Go on.”

“You like to talk a little, you know.”

“Oh, I do?”

“Yeah, you do.”

And you’re not offended but it keeps going like you are, with a laugh stuck behind your teeth. “Always going on, am I?”

He smiles, easy like he’s not even got to try no more. “Got some real lips on you,” he says. 

You snort, big—so attractive, puffing it out your nose like that—and set your head on your hand. Elbow going right into some sticky spill of God knows what, too. “I don’t know if I hate it, or love it,” you tell him. “Feels like an insult and a compliment all in one.”

He points with his smoking finger, but not much cause he knows how close you are, just like you know how close he is. So aware of it, it’s making you breathe funny. “That’s how you know you got a name,” he says. “Half the guys, yeah, they hate what they get called, but no-one ever says anything about it.”

“Well we know I will,” you tell him, and then you’re both laughing. Real close, real warm, laughing like you’ve known each other years, not days—and Hell, it ain’t even that. You guys only just hit the twenty-four hour mark. It may be the most successful date-slash-dates that you’ve ever had, and it’s not even over yet. You don’t even have the guys full name or number.

“Your beer’s going warm, you know.”

Oh. You haven’t even touched it, or thought about touching it, since you started that whole thing about his divorce. But his own bottle goes up and back, then down again, empty, all while you’re watching him do it. So you push him yours after, letting him finish that one too. 

“You better get me a new one, then,” you say, while his lips are on the end still, cause you haven’t had enough of him yet. “Unless you wanna take me home?”

He stops for a second, half-way about to leave with a money clip already in his hand, just to look at you with a sort of smirk, sort of curious thing in his eye. Then he says, all low and cool with it, “That code for somethin?”

Well, you feel like you made a monster. He’s starting to get all sorts of familiar and now you’re him, you’re the wolf in that damn bar. 

“No,” you say, sounding like the liar that you sorta feel like you are, “it’s whatever. I didn’t say you’d be coming in now, did I?”

He laughs out his nose and nods like you said everything he wanted to hear, though really, you’ve got no idea what he wants from you. No other man you’ve ever said that to has cared to ask what you mean by it, even if you wanted it to be something or not, they always assumed it was meant the way they wanted it to mean, but not Johnny. Johnny looked more scared by the idea than he looked excited. Like he thought he was about to have to let you down all gentle like, slow and careful so your feelings didn’t get hurt. 

“I’ll get us some more,” he says, leaving for real that time, and his hand’s on your back until he’s too far away for his fingers to reach. 

It’s only when he’s gone that you figure he must’ve told all those guys to ignore you and him, just like you’d decided to ignore them, cause the second he’s gone they’re looking right over at you. Wahoo, Corky, all of them, but not that Benny. He either don’t care or hasn’t noticed, and for some reason or another, that makes you like him the most. Only one of them that can keep his eyes on his own nose and outta your business. The rest are bold enough to stare like you don’t see them, even talking and laughing the way boys do when the teacher goes for more chalk.

You try not to care but it’s starting to really itch. You’re rubbing your arms like they’re crawling all over you. 

“Here."

And Thank God he’s back. You take the beer and drink it like you’ve had nothing but sand in your mouth for days, which makes Johnny smile like you’re crazy, but you keep going. “That family of yours got no manners,” you tell him afterwards.

He doesn’t even look. “Yeah, yeah they’re like that,” is all he says about it. What a hero, right? He takes a sip of his own drink then wipes his lips dry with the back of his hand, and he catches you staring at him, but he says nothin about that neither. “You doing anything on Friday?” he asks.

“No.” Then you’re smiling and forgetting all about the rabble in the back. “Well, I wasn't until right now, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

He nods. That’s exactly what he’s getting at. Seems like he’s thinking to take up your whole calendar, one day at a time, and you’re not feeling like doing a damn thing about it. Go figure.

_____

part three >>>>>

tagging: @drabbles-mc @hausofmamadas @hoodeddreams13 @businesscalamity @literally-lani

[juuuulez]

📰 | part thirteen: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, no pronouns/no use of (y/n), FINAL CHAPTER, canon divergence (i rewrote the ‘wrath’ episode), non-descriptive violence, blood.

summary: The Saviour-Alexandria war comes to a close in one, final battle.

guys i just wanted to say thank you all SO MUCH for loving this story, because it’s truly my favourite thing i’ve ever written….these two mean the world to me and i’m so glad everyone understands my vision

i actually loved writing this chapter, and i think the ending is really appropriate to the themes and nature of their relationship

i’ll publish an epilogue next, which will be the 6-year timeskip, and just wrap things up nicely so you know what the future held for carl and reader :,)

-> masterlist <-

Truthfully, you were a little nervous. It had taken a week for these negotiations to settle, and you were worried as to what state the Saviours were in. You hoped that Negan was doing alright. Strangely enough, you’d never been away from him for this long, not since getting stuck together all those years ago.

A meeting spot was decided, though everyone was still wary. You’d been cuffed again for safety, and carefully transported alongside Rick, Carl and Michonne. They kept a close eye on you, wanting to ensure that nothing went haywire at the last minute.

It was a large clearing, a small grassy hill with an oak tree. Hanging from a branch was a beautiful stained glass panel, the intricate design having become slightly rusty with time and lack of care.

As you stepped from the car, the adults left your side, trusting you in Carl’s watch for now. He held onto your forearm, walking a few paces behind everyone else, allowing you to gain your bearings.

But something didn’t feel right.

“Carl,” You whispered, garnering his attention. “I don’t.. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

There was a look of worry on your face, one that made Carl’s heart break a little, wanting to assure you that everything is okay, though he didn’t know if that was true. He knew how risky this plan was: a plan that he couldn’t tell you, for you’d absolutely loose it.

“It’ll be okay.” He ends up saying, giving you a small squeeze and continuing to usher you forward.

It wouldn’t. Not for the Saviours, at least.

Fortunately for them, Eugene was still on their side. He’d expressed how the Saviours intended on sabotaging the deal, in hopes of taking power and taking you. This awareness led Eugene to rig the bullets with an explosive mechanism.

Carl had been uncomfortable to hear it at first, but knew that it was necessary in defending their stance. He couldn’t tell you. There wouldn’t be a single universe in which you’d hear him out, and see their side of the argument.

Yet, he understood. If someone was threatening his father’s life, he’d react similarly. So, Carl kept his mouth shut.

As you approached the hill, the Saviours became visible, and it seemed Negan had certainly brought backup. You could identify a few of them as Simon’s men, and wondered how loyal they’d been since his death. Or… murder, you suppose.

The more you focused, the more you realised the sheer amount of guns they’d brought. All standing defensively, weapons at the ready. It started to settle in, and you remembered your long history with the Saviours. They didn’t do things peacefully. They didn’t take deals, there was no such thing as compromise.

“Carl, Carl, I’m serious,” You urged him, suddenly stopping in your spot, causing Carl to stop with you. “This isn’t right. They’re gonna fire, I know they are. We have to—“

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Carl interrupted, trying to calm you. “Trust me, okay? I know. And it’s alright.”

Something about that sent off an alarm in your head, a look of confusion crossing your face. You stared at Carl, eyes darting back to the others, then to him.

“You know?” You repeat, “What do you mean? Carl, they’re gonna shoot you, shoot everyone here. This is bad.”

The more you spoke, the more you seemed to panic, so Carl tried to quiet your tangent with a hand over your mouth. It worked, and had this been another situation, you would have laughed at the irony.

His hand doesn’t move, looking subtly nervous despite trying to calm you down. “You need to listen to me, okay? Just breathe, and—“

Whatever he was suggesting doesn’t matter, as suddenly there is crackling in the distance, loud pops as the Saviours attempt to discharge their weapons. Several guns break down into pieces, flames overtaking their inner workings as the mechanisms shut down and killing several of their owners. Those who survived were injured, their hands crippled and burnt.

You’d cover your ears to protect from the noise, if not for the handcuffs, but Carl seems to have a similar idea. He’s looking around, looking for something, before he pulls you down against the grassy hill, trying to duck and shield your body from something unknown.

“Carl!” You yell over the gunfire, “What the fuck is happening!”

Finally identifying a group of Oceansiders in the distance, Carl cups his hand over your ear, the one uninjured and still intact. You try to squirm away, but to no avail, confused and freaking out, unsure whether his hold was supposed to be comforting or threatening.

As you realised what was happening, it was too late to do anything. Molotov cocktails were used to alight the remaining of Negan’s army, the alcohol splashing at their feet and soaking into the grassy hill, spreading with reckless abandon.

“No! You asshole!” You scream, jerking your head away from Carl and trying to find your bearings. But being handcuffed, and your current lack of balance since the injury, you just end up falling back against the dirt.

“Hey! Listen to me,” Carl interrupts your protests sternly. He clasps his hands on either side of your face, keeping you still despite your attempts at moving away. “It’s over, okay? This is it. It’s done.”

You’re panting, looking practically feral, sweat beading on your brow and skin. Dirt is in your hair, stuck to your bandage, marred over the flannel you still wear. Carl’s flannel. Instinctively, you want to bite his hands, to do anything to get away.

But after everything, you know better. There’s nothing you could do to change this. Whether it be him, or you, someone had to face the music. Someone had to loose.

“Uncuff me.” You demand, chest rising heavily with each breath you suck in, still lying flat against the grass while Carl leans over your form.

He shakes his head, “I can’t do that. Not until we get back to Alexandria. You’ll get a house, your own place, and—“

You interrupt him with a scream, “Uncuff me!”

Though your pleas don’t work, Carl pulls your body up against him, trying to get you into a seated position. If you had control, you’d probably be able to hold yourself up, yet you remain helpless to his control.

“I don’t have the key.” He finally reveals, holding you up by your arms, unconsciously rubbing away some of the dirt that’s stuck there. “Even if I did, we have to wait, alright? I’m on your side, I promise.”

You’re on the brink of agreeing, of finally calming yourself, of accepting that this really is the end. Even your head begins to nod, a small motion, still looking a little breathless and confused.

Meanwhile, the battle isn’t entirely over. The remaining Saviours had seemingly submitted, abandoning any semblance of control under the promise that they would live, if they left for good.

You catch the end of that speech, confusion flooding your featured as they’re commanded to leave. The pair of you still sit in the grass, away from the main commotion.

Carl must have similarly picked up on the sudden shift in tension, his mind finally catching up with everything happening.

The realisation clicks instantly: if the Saviours are disbanding, they had no leader.

At the same time, you’re trying to stand once more. “No, no! Let go of me!” You scream, jerking yourself away from Carl even when he tries to help you up. You only make it a few steps before lack of coordination hits, and despite your hostility, Carl wraps his arms around you in assistance.

Carefully, he helps you over the hill, standing right on the crest. From here, the two of you can see everything. His breath caught in his chest as he realised that Rick had been shot, though he stalled himself from doing anything, understanding there was a much more dire situation at hand.

Everyone stood in awe as Negan essentially choked on his own blood, the liquid seeping from a slice in this throat, no doubt a critical wound. Rick stood above him, hands soaked red, dropping the shard of glass he’d used as a weapon.

It felt like there was no more air in your chest. Like you’d been thrown into space, the oxygen sucked from your form. You stood there dumbly, watching, mouth open but nothing came out. Next to you, Carl was saying something, but you couldn’t hear him.

You couldn’t hear when Rick ordered for Negan to be saved.

Nor could you hear Maggie’s shrill screams, begging and accusing Rick of betraying her.

Everything sort of just stopped moving. All of the noise had stopped, leaving this deafening silence and overwhelming feeling of pure emptiness.

Whatever happened after that didn’t sink in. Somebody had spoken to you, but you weren’t listening, nor did you have any clue where they’d taken Negan. Or where they’d take you. It was likely that you were told, but it didn’t stick.

The entire time, Carl was by your side. After getting into the car, he slid in next to you, a small metal ringlet in his hands. He unlocked the handcuffs from behind you, however had been instructed to cuff you once more from the front, shooting you a sympathetic look as he did so. At least now, he could hold your hand, which he did for the whole trip.

It was mildly comforting, some place in the back of your mind appreciating the gesture, despite the numbness that had worked itself into every corner of your body.

Eventually, you’d arrived at Alexandria. They took you towards the back of the community, to a house standing far from the others. It had been emptied of any objects that could be deemed weaponry, and was fairly bare-bones, but contained the minimum for survival. It was the first time you noticed Carl wasn’t around, a notion that allowed your senses to return slightly, offput by the sudden seclusion.

You allowed yourself to explore the area, opening each drawer only to find them all empty. The windows were barred, the door locked, leaving the house to feel more like a prison than a home.

Unsure what to do, you sat down on the couch, facing the door. It was comfortable. You poked at the fabric with your fingertips, trying to gain your bearings and come back to a place of consciousness, but everything still felt fuzzy and far away. Like you just couldn’t reach reality.

Hours past, though you weren’t too focused on the time. The only way of telling was when the sun had lowered, shadows being cast through the partially obscured windows. You hadn’t turned the light on earlier, causing the room to just become darker and darker, as you had no intention of getting up.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door unlocked with a distinct click, before creaking open. You hoped that Negan would walk in, that he’d be alright and he’d hug you and say you’re going back to the Sanctuary. Together. But that was wishful thinking.

Though when Carl entered the house, you didn’t have the energy to be angry. You probably should have been.

“It’s dark, isn’t it?” He comments, having instantly spotted you sitting on the couch. When he doesn’t get a reply, Carl knows that small-talk won’t cut it, that he’s messed up.

So, he comes over, sitting next to you on the couch. In another life, you would have probably punched him. Screamed and accused him of lying to you. But you couldn’t be that person anymore.

When he wraps an arm around your side, you don’t protest, allowing Carl to pull you against him. You’ve finally begun to realise just how tired you are, as you rest your head down on his shoulder, tucked nicely into his side.

“He’ll live,” Carl whispers, “And they’re gonna keep him in a cell. I dunno how long… but probably a long time.”

You give a small nod, just to acknowledge that you’re listening. It makes sense. As long as Negan was alright, that they’d help him get better, then you could deal with the rest later.

“Can I see him?” You ask, voice coming out a quiet whisper. They’re the first words you’ve uttered since everything went down.

Carl feels guilty for his answer. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, with you. “No. Not for a while. Someone’s gonna come here, live in this house, just to keep an eye on you,” He has to swallow to clear his throat, “And.. it’s gonna be weird, I know, but… you’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

There’s little protesting you can do, not in this state. The shock still hasn’t fully worn off, Carl knows this, so he tries to move away from the heavy conversation.

He shifts on the couch, laying down and pulling you with him. You settle there easily, head resting over his chest, though he’s wary of not putting any pressure on your injury.

“We should get you something to eat.” He suggests quietly, brushing back some hair so he can see your face.

You shake your head, not having much of an appetite anymore. “Can we just stay here?” You whispered, lifting your head slightly to look at him.

Carl feels himself getting choked up again. He doesn’t quite know why, as he’s glad that this is over, that Negan will be confined to a cell, unable to harm anyone. This was the best-case scenario for his community.

But he knows, in another life, this could have ended badly. That he shouldn’t have been so lucky as to survive. The idea hurts, a deep ache in his chest, though he tries to keep the emotion out of his face.

“I’m just glad that I’ve got you.” Carl ends up whispering, the words slightly vague and confusing, but they mean everything they need to mean.

For Carl does, quite literally, have you in his arms. It didn’t matter where your relationship stood, or all your differences, for he had you.

You seem to realise this, a smile finally making its way onto your face. “Dork.” You mumble, the slight jab helping Carl to smile as well.

That numbness fades, as you lift yourself up a little, hovering over his body as your lips connect in a kiss. It’s the first one since weeks ago, after your fight in the alleyway.

This time, it’s softer, and Carl places one hand on your hip and the other to the back of your neck. Your breathing slows to match his own, lips moving together in an almost tired manner whilst your fingertips stroke the sides of his face.

Tomorrow will likely be difficult, as will the next day, and the next. But right now, things felt alright.

That night, you fell asleep on top of Carl, the pair of you tangled on the couch. You’d wake up to his voice in your ear and lips against your cheek, and though neither of you knew it then, you’d spend many, many more mornings together.

Eventually, the noise would fade, and you’d find some sense of peace in Alexandria with Carl. Years from then, you’d even help Negan find his peace, too.

Life would never be easy, but it certainly felt a little better with each day. That was enough.

[merriclo]

a lot of people found it really helpful the last time i provided some context for LU Legend’s games (this post!!), so i’m gonna do that again!! this time specifically about A Link Between Worlds. if you have any questions, please feel free to send an ask, and i will answer to the best of my ability! please keep in mind that i am only speaking on the english translation <3

also, i will only refer to this game’s Link as Link instead of Legend. while i’m writing this primarily to help the Linked Universe fandom, these details are only from the canonical game and can be applied to any interpretation of this game’s Link. it is not exclusive to Linked Universe whatsoever!!!!!

anyhow, in this game, Link has a family: the blacksmiths. while never overtly stated, it is so heavily implied that assuming the author’s intent is a relatively safe course of action.

for those unaware, the Blacksmith family includes three people: the unnamed blacksmith, his unnamed wife, and their little boy Gulley. also, prior to the start of A Link Between Worlds, Link worked as an apprentice at the forge!!

the Blacksmith is pretty tough on Link throughout the beginning of the game, berating him for oversleeping and not working hard enough to become a proper Blacksmith. this seems relatively mean at first, but then it becomes clear that he really just wants the best for Link. he’s a very successful man who wants Link to be just as prosperous. later on, there’s a really nice moment between the two after Link rescues Gulley (who was kidnapped by the game’s main villain, Yuga) where the Blacksmith says “I’m real proud of how you’re shaping up here, Link.” it’s a brief, heartwarming exchange between the two, and it really highlights their relationship dynamic.

his wife, on the other hand, is much more overtly caring towards our hero. in the description of Link’s green tunic, it’s said that the wife is the one who sewed it for him. more than that, she’s also the one who made the adventure pouches for Link’s belt, telling him “I made it for you so you could carry more items…. But please—you should use that pouch so I won’t have to worry about YOU quite as much!” once he receives them. she’s a very kind and caring figure in his life, who often takes time out of her day just to help Link out and make sure he’s okay.

Gulley is arguably the closest to Link out of all of them. For starters, A Link Between Worlds opens with Gulley waking Link up from a prophetic dream and mentioning that Link oversleeps too much, meaning that (a) Gulley has the key to Link’s home, and (b) this happens often. Gulley was also said to have insisted on being the one to give Link the adventure pouches his mom made! the entire reason Link originally goes on his hero’s journey is to save the boy after he was kidnapped, and when Link passes out and ends up in the middle of the road in Lorule, he’s said to have been mumbling Gulley’s name over and over again (furthermore, it was the blacksmith family’s Lorulian counterparts that had found and saved Link when he passed out.)

i don’t think Link is genetically related to the blacksmiths, even though they do share similar hair and eye colors. if that were the case, they’d simply be labeled as Mom as Dad. my interpretation of it is that Link is unofficially adopted :)

tl;dr: the Link in A Link Between Worlds isn’t alone. he has a family that loves and cares for him deeply. and this post doesn’t even include the countless close friends he made in ALBW alone. please guys acknowledge them im begging you

as always, i’m not saying that you have to take this post as gospel or even be influenced by it at all. i just want to open up new avenues to explore these characters through for people without access to the games <3

[siancore]

SamBucky | M | 2.1K | AO3

A/N: Written for the @sambuckylibrary SamBucky Summer Bingo 2024 Loving Card. Square Fill: Free Space.

Just my take on why we suddenly saw Bucky wearing the bright blue Henley when he visited Sam in Louisiana.

Content: Getting Together; Flirting; Crushes; Canon Universe

One of the best things about the 21st century was online shopping. Bucky loved it. He could get what he needed delivered to his door and not have to worry about venturing out into the crowds and being noticed.

Shopping for clothing had been a breeze online. He could just go back and order the same outfits that were in his order history, and he was set; good to go. Plain ensembles that were good all year round. His leather jacket was the most expensive piece of attire he owned. It was reliable. Comfortable. It was his signature look. Didn’t need much else.

Though, in saying that, he supposed he might get a couple of new outfits, since he was going to drop the new outfit off to Sam in Louisiana. Didn’t want to give Sam the opportunity to point out that Bucky hadn’t changed his outfits, yet he wanted Sam to embrace his gift. Sam could be quite contrary at times. Bucky wanted the gift giving to go as smoothly as possible. 

He had a plan, after all: Hand the new Captain America suit over, spend some time with Sam where they’re not dodging bullets, and maybe turn on that 1940s charm that he was so famous for. If nothing eventuated from it, then he was just glad to have Sam as a co-worker and friend. 

Bucky sat at his laptop and looked through the garments on this website he liked. He added a few new items to his cart, removed them, then added them once more. While he was arguing with himself about how he used to wear button down shirts his whole life, a notification box popped up in the corner of his screen denoting an incoming call. Bucky sighed and then answered.

“Ayo?”

“Guess again,” came the voice on the other end. 

“Aneka, what’re you doing?”

“Hello to you, too,” she replied. 

“Sorry,” Bucky amended. “Hello. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you James.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked. “Does your girlfriend know you’re using her personal secure line to bother me?”

There was a sound of jest to his voice that made Aneka smile. 

“Of course,” she replied. “There are no secrets between my beloved and I. As for you and your beloved –” 

“I don’t have a beloved,” Bucky insisted, knowing exactly where the conversation was headed. 

“Oh, I think that very lovely gift you had my beloved organize for you begs to differ.”

Bucky rans his face over his hand and said, “Ayo told you about the suit?”

“She didn’t have to,” Aneka replied. “I was in the Design Suites testing my prototype for these new blades I’m hoping to incorporate in the field when I saw your gift.”

“General Okoye isn’t gonna let you take anything but your spear into the field and you know that,” Bucky supplied.

“Hush your mouth,” said Aneka. “Anyway, like I was saying, I saw your gift while I was there. Very thoughtful, James. Captain Wilson is going to love it.”

“How do you know it’s for Sam?”

“Firstly, he is your beloved.”

“Aneka.”

“Secondly, that awful, awful color scheme has to be for an Avenger – has to be for Captain America.”

“Is it really that awful?”

“Yes,” said Aneka with a laugh as Bucky groaned. “But, it’s the thought that counts. What did he say when he received it?”

“I haven’t delivered it to him yet.”

“Oh, that is good, James. Good thinking. Hand deliver the gift to Captain Wilson, get him to try it on and do a little twirl for you, and then charm him. Right out of those red, white, and blue pants.”

“Aneka.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“James, what is it?”

Bucky took a deep breath and then said, “I kinda want this to go well. Sam deserves nothing but the best, and while I’m so far from bein’ good enough for him –”

“I rebuke that in Bast’s glorious name,” Aneka supplied, affronted. “You are good enough. Captain Wilson would be lucky to have you.”

Bucky said nothing for a moment but smiled at his friend’s words. Then he spoke up, nervous but honest.

“So, are you gonna help me?”

“Of course,” said Aneka. “Now, what are you going to wear?”

…..

“The blue really brings your eyes out,” Aneka had said to Bucky, and he listened. 

He kept the blue Henley packed away in his bag. Decided against wearing it when he arrived to deliver his gift to Sam. Though it was not in Sam to be rude or an outright asshole, there was the small possibility that Sam would tell him to fuck off and take the goddamn Captain America suit with him. Bucky was really going out on a limb, just as he had been asking Ayo for help after what he had done. But love, it seemed, made you do crazy things. 

Love? Right, yes. Love. For a co-worker slash friend. They were friends and Bucky could admit he cared for – hell, that he loved Sam Wilson. Who didn’t, right? At any rate, it was all going well. He showed up and showed his willingness to help. Showed Sam that he cared about what Sam did and his life outside of the Avengers – outside of being Captain America. Sam had accepted the gift, while he did not open it, he knew what it was. Let it sit on the docks while they worked on the boat. Kept a curious gaze flitting towards it every once in a while. 

When Bucky had mentioned getting a hotel for the night, Sam had reassured him that he could stay in Delacroix. Assured him that the people there were welcoming and friendly. Assured him that they did not care if he wore his shirts too small. 

Ha. Sam noticed what Bucky was wearing. Aneka was a genius. Bucky was glad he had saved the blue Henley for later. 

…

There was something ethereal about working away in the early morning with Sam on the boat. The sounds of the water and wildlife; the calm morning sky; Sam humming some unfamiliar song while he worked. Bucky could get used to that. He could easily and happily settle into that life in that place. It was no wonder that Sam worked and fought so hard. The place and people in his life were special. Bucky could see that. Bucky longed to have something like that for himself. 

After Sarah had relieved them of their duties, Sam took Bucky around. It was a very small town. There was not a lot to see from a tourist’s perspective, yet Bucky didn’t feel like a tourist, like a visitor. Maybe it was Sam that made him feel like he belonged. Maybe wherever he was in the world would always feel that way if he was by Sam’s side. 

They found their way back to the Wilson residence. Bucky helped Sam set up a training area outside. They tossed the shield around and talked. There was so much that Bucky wanted to say to Sam. So much he needed to say. But he listened. He listened to Sam when he spoke about how the history of the shield was complicated, especially for Sam as a Black man in America. How what had happened to Isaiah Bradley was abhorrent. How there were people, Sam’s own people included, who would be against him carrying the shield and taking up the mantle. Bucky listened, really listened. He listened until Sam had said everything he needed to say. 

“I owe you an apology,” Bucky said then. “There was no way Steve, or I could’ve even imagined what it would be like for you. Thing is, we didn’t even consider it. He said you were a good man. He said you’re the only person he could see taking up the shield. And I believed him because I trusted his word before I got to know you. And he was right. You are a good man. The best man for the job. But I got caught up in my own feelings of – of loneliness and I projected a whole lotta stuff onto you when I had no right to do that. I learned how to live in this day and age, I could’ve taken a little time to learn about how the world treats you and your people. I am so deeply sorry, Sam. Sorry for making all of this harder on you than you needed. Sorry for dismissing your feelings. Sorry for barging into your life because I was angry and upset and spiralling in my own way. None of that was fair on you. I’m so sorry.”

Sam looked at Bucky through those pretty lashes and gave him a small, soft smile. 

“Thank you,” said Sam quietly. “I appreciate that.”

The sincerity and peace in Sam’s eyes caused something to clench inside of Bucky’s chest. There was vulnerability there that Sam hardly let the world see. They spoke for a while longer while continuing to toss the shield around. Sam seemed lighter and it looked so good on him. Happiness looked good on him. He was soft and jovial and even a little flirty. It made Bucky feel like he was floating. 

When there was a lull in their conversation, Sam took a moment to drag his gaze over Bucky’s form.

“What?” asked Bucky, with half a smile playing on his features. 

Sam placed his hands on his hips, tilted his head, and gave Bucky an appraising look. 

“So, this is new, uh?” asked Sam.

“What’s that?” asked Bucky, feeling warm under Sam’s stare. 

“This color on you,” Sam explained. “Gotten so used to seeing you in black. It’s a nice change.”

Bucky could feel the blush spread across his face as he said, “Thanks.”

“That blue, it ah – it really brings your eyes out,” Sam offered, somewhat coyly, which was new. “It’s nice. You look – nice.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He was almost stunned to have all of Sam’s attention levelled at him like that. To have Sam being shy with him. To have Sam compliment him. 

“Well, you always look nice,” he ended up blurting out. “Doesn’t matter what you wear. You always look great. So handsome. Christ, pretty, even. You’re just – gorgeous. Shit. Sorry.”

Sam let out an amused little laugh as he dipped his head and looked up at Bucky. 

“I think you’ve apologized enough for one day,” said Sam, stepping closer. “For the record, I think you’re pretty, too.”

“Really?” asked Bucky, a blush completely covering his face and neck. “You think I am pretty?”

“Yes,” said Sam, inching closer. 

“It’s just the new shirt,” said Bucky, trying to regain his composure and going for flirty; he moved closer to Sam. “Trick of the light and all this blue.”

Sam laughed once more, “I don’t know about all that. Maybe we should get you out of that shirt and test that theory?”

Bucky almost choked on air right then and there, but recovered quickly as he said, “Really?”

Sam took hold of Bucky’s hand, and said, “Yeah, if that’s somethin’ you’d want to do – with me.”

A hint of that coyness on Sam’s part came back and Bucky found it wholly charming and endearing, 

Bucky brought Sam’s hand to his chest and said, “Happy to oblige you, Cap. Whatever you want or need, just let me know.”

“How about a kiss?” asked Sam. 

“With pleasure,” Bucky replied as he cupped Sam’s face and then pressed a passionate kiss to his lips. 

…

Later in the evening, after the pair had made love for the third or fourth time – Bucky couldn’t keep count as he was delirious with happiness – Sam needed to leave the bedroom and get something to drink. He searched their discarded clothing looking for something to put on and found Bucky’s blue Henley. Bucky reclined on the too-small bed and watched Sam pull his shirt on. Something swelled inside of Bucky as he smiled up at Sam clad in his shirt. 

“That color looks good on you,” said Bucky as he dragged his gaze over Sam’s body for the hundredth time that night. 

Sam beamed brightly at him, smoothed his hand over his chest, and said, “Yeah, I might keep it.”

“It’s yours if you want it,” said Bucky sincerely, a lazy, contented smile crossing his lips. 

“Hmm,” said Sam as he climbed back onto the bed to kiss Bucky once more. “Might keep you, too.”

Bucky kissed Sam back fervently and said, “I’m yours if you want me.”

“I do,” said Sam as Bucky’s hands moved to rid him of the blue Henley. “And I’m yours, too.”

[poltxrgxist]

The Water is Fine (hsr isekai fic)

Dan Heng x Reader x Blade

Pt.1/???

CW/TW for series *more will be added eventually* - Gore, Murder, Blade, Typical HSR violence, description of medical treatments/injuries, Typical Demon Slayer violence, Canon but also not canon, Eventual Smut so MDNI 18+

A/N - got a little silly and decided to indulge myself in a poly relationship with RenHeng. Also had to mix the two main fandoms I’m in. This was also finished on an airplane so like, no proofreading done yet.

Expect grammar/spelling errors due to my dyslexia.

WC - 1715 - Crossposted to Ao3

A girl sat quietly on a roof, gazing out at the sunrise. It was a relatively quiet night in the butterfly mansion, she didn’t even notice the girl with pink and green hair coming up from behind her til they spoke, “Is something on your mind?”

The other girl startled had quickly turned to look at the source of the voice, her body visibly relaxed once she recognized the girl. “Oh. Mitsuri, how are you feeling?”

“I’m doing fine, I’m more worried about you (Y/N) you haven’t given yourself a break since…” Mitsuri seemed hesitant, unsure if it was the best idea to continue with her words, worried about how it’d affect the other girl seeing as it was still a fresh wound.

“I know I haven’t… however it’s been a quiet night so I suppose it’s been a quiet night which has been sorta of a break.” (Y/N) responded briefly as she turned back to look at the horizon.

“Then why do you look so glum?” Mitsuri asked as she took a seat next to her.

“Just thinking about stuff,” She responded, her gaze unmoving, Mitsuri seemed to frown at this response but looked at sunrise alongside (Y/N).

“Do you want to share what you’re thinking about?” Mitsuri inquired softly, trying not to stress her out too much.

(Y/N) inhaled softly before letting out a breathy sigh, “Do you think there are other worlds out there? A reality where the world isn’t terrorized by demons… a world free of Kibutsuji or a world where things are completely different than here.”

Mitsuri didn’t respond immediately, just closing her eyes before letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Maybe… if there are different realities or worlds I do hope we get the world free of demons. What made you bring this up?”

(Y/N) shrugged, “I don’t know I’ve just been reading a lot of things and there has been a theory of alternative universes.. some people think people can be pulled into these worlds without warning.”

Mitsuri hummed softly, “You say that like you want to be pulled into a different universe.”

“Wha-? Of course not! Someone has to take care of the butterfly mansion.” (Y/N) was appalled by Mitsuri’s accusation even if it wasn’t meant with any ill intention.

“I’m just messing with you, you already have your worlds with how much you daydream.” She teased as she playfully nudged (Y/N).

(Y/N)’s face flushed a rosy hue as she looked away due to embarrassment. Her gaze landed on the small piece of a jade pendant she wore on her uniform belt. “I can’t help but fantasize about the history of this jade pendant I have.”

“I don’t blame you. It looks like a piece of a whole pendant, I wonder how many pieces are left and if other people have the missing parts.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “Are you sure you don’t fantasize about it more than I do?”

“Hey, don’t blame me! Who wouldn’t be curious about the history of this mysterious pendant? Ever since you told me about when I started teaching you love breathing, I just am dying to know the history since you also have no idea.” Mitsuri giggled as she briefly glanced at the jade pendant on (Y/N)’s belt.

“Logically speaking though it likely doesn’t have a cool history, it’s probably just an old pendant that has been in my family and it just broke over time. Also speaking of love breathing, I know I’ve said this a million times now but thank you for teaching me it. It feels nice to have a breathing style that suits my body.”

Mitsuri rolled her eyes, “It’s nothing, you picked up so quickly like you were the one who made the style!”

“It was because I had a great teacher.” (Y/N) snickered as she reached up and poked Mitsuri’s nose with a playful smirk. She then looked back at the sunrise and yawned.

“Why don’t you head to bed? I can keep watch, besides I don’t have any missions.” Mitsuri nudged (Y/N) gently to convince her to go to sleep.

“Don’t you have a region to patrol though?” (Y/N) asked after blinking a few times to clear the watery eyes from yawning.

“Nope. Giyuu agreed to cover it for me since it’s so close to his region that he patrols. Besides the master wants me to keep an eye on you, to make sure you don’t do anything harmful to yourself.”

(Y/N) was about to remark that she would be fine and that she wasn’t tired but had yawned again instead. She let out a sigh of defeat after yawning before standing up, “Alright, fine I’ll go to bed.” She bowed her head, exchanging a good night with Mitsuri. She then jumped off the roof and headed into the butterfly mansion. Her steps are quiet to avoid making noise to wake up any patients who may be sleeping.

She quietly pushed open the door to her room, stepping inside. She walked over to her vanity, getting ready to take out her butterfly hair clip. She then spotted a strange black crystal with golden undertones to it. (Y/N) blinked a few times in confusion, “Huh…? I didn’t put this here..” She murmured to herself as she reached out to pick it up.

She paused when she felt a strange energy coming off it. It felt hot, yet not enough to cause burns on the skin. She wasn’t sure if she should grab it, but she wanted to see if it had a tag saying who it was from. She assumed one of the girls had left it as a gift but it certainly didn’t seem like something that they’d get her. She looked around her vanity, to see if there was a note nearby. She let out a breath as she stepped back, “No note… just a strange crystal on my vanity that I didn’t put there… just everyday things..”

She ran a hand through her hair, moving some of her hair out of her face. “Alright… what's the worst thing that could happen? It might just be feeling like that because I haven’t slept all night.” She was desperately trying to reason with herself, trying to find any sort of logic that she could. However, she couldn’t find anything that seemed logical in this situation.

She shook her head and just grabbed the crystal. She didn’t even get to process what had happened when she got blinded by a bright light. When the bright light subsided, it was cold, like the winter air clinging to her body. But then she heard voices which caused her to open her eyes. Wincing at the bright light, she gave her eyes a moment to adjust before she looked around.

Tensing up when she noticed five people looking at her. She tensed up, instinctively placing her hand on the hilt of her sword, she was about to speak before the woman with long gray hair spoke, her weapon aimed at her, “Name yourself.”

(Y/N) tensed up, she didn’t understand what they were saying, it was a foreign language, well it was foreign at least to her. She tilted her head before speaking, hoping they’d understand her, “I.. I’m sorry. What did you say?”

The people standing before her shared confused glances with eachother. The pink haired girl looked at the male, saying something, “Dan Heng you’re smart, do you know what she said?”

The male looked shocked for a brief moment before quickly regaining her composure. “No, I don’t. However, it might be easier if we bring her to Belobog so she can write something so we can translate on our phones.”

The two gray haired girls nodded her head, while the black haired girl spoke, “But what should we do about Cocolia? Do we tell the people that she died?”

While four of them talked amongst themselves Dan Heng approached (Y/N) holding a hand out. She instinctively placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, eyeing the male suspiciously. He looked familiar but she couldn’t figure out why, but she assumed he looked similar to a slayer she saw. The male noticed her holding the hilt of her sword, he retracted his hand, holding both hands up to show he meant no harm. She blinked a few times, lessing the tension in her body, still being extremely cautious and wary. Dan Heng visibly relaxed before lowering his arms and extending a hand towards her.

(Y/N) very hesitantly took the extended hand, allowing the male to help her up to her feet. She didn’t let go as the male led her over to the group. She watched as they talked amongst themselves, while she held the male’s hand. The pink haired girl seemed to notice and smirked at the male, grabbing what (Y/N) could only assume was a camera. It looked different then what she remembered they looked like but she assumed technology was a lot different here then Japan. The male narrowed his eyes, “March…”

The pink haired girl giggled, “Please! It’s the most action you’ll ever get with a girl.”

“No. We can’t even ask if she’s okay with taking a photo because she doesn’t understand us.” Dan Heng shook his head, not even going to respond the remark March had made. “Anyways, have you guys decided what we’re going to do?”

“I will be telling people that mother sacrificed herself to rid of the stellaron. It’s best if they don’t know what actually happened.” Bronya spoke, the others didn’t give much of a reaction.

“I suppose our sudden guest will be handled by the astral express, huh?” March asked, placing a hand on her hip.

Bronya nodded, “I figured it would be best as she did appear after the energy from the stellaron overwhelmed my mother’s body.”

Dan Heng nodded, “When we return I’ll send a message to Mr. Yang and Himeko.” The group exchanged a few more words with each other before they began walking. (Y/N) continued to hold Dan Heng’s hand as she didn’t want to get lost and wasn’t the best at navigating snowy terrain.

[4ttack-ur-heart]

Cherry Chapstick

Pairing: Armin x reader

Warnings: none.

Summary: Armin refuses to let you use his chapstick. No worries, you have other ideas on how to keep your lips from getting chapped.

(also just pretend chapstick is canon in the aot universe for the sake of the fic 😭)

Another long and grueling day of training was finishing up. The sun was setting through the huge forest of trees.

“Alright, trainings over! Rest up and be ready to head back in 15 minutes.” The squad leader said with his barking voice.

Your squad leader liked doing various training sessions with just your squad, something about strengthening the bond and making it easier to tag team during expeditions.

Landing on one of the branches to catch your breath, you sat against the bark let your body slouch for the first time that day.

“Tired?”

Looking up at the voice, Armin was standing in front of you. His new shorter blond locks shifting gently in the breeze as his pretty blue eyes locked on your figure. He was one of your closest friends. The friendship was honestly ideal with him giving you the guidance that you needed while you encouraged him when he was feeling insecure.

You nodded at him through half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile. “I’m so glad we have a day off tomorrow, I’ll probably spend it sleeping.”

Armin returned a smile at your words. “You’re almost there, (y/n). I’m sure your bed misses you too.” While you laughed at him, Armin squatted down next to you.

“What do you got planned tomorrow?” You asked and leaned your head against the tree. He pulled his green cloak tighter around his shoulders when the breeze kicked in.

“Probably go out into the valley and find a nice place to read.”

“By yourself? What about Eren and Mikasa?” You raised an eyebrow. The trio was pretty much inseparable.

Armin waved off your question with his hand. “They wanted to go into the city and I’m tired of third-wheeling. It wasn’t much fun as kids and still isn’t now.”

Nodding your head, you gazed once more at the sun just about to set. The orange hues casting over the green plains.

Armin finally sat down on the branch, his leg brushing up against yours. “God, I can’t stand this weather.” He muttered and started to fish for something out of his pocket.

With curious eyes, you saw him pull out a small tube. Chapstick? He uncapped it and gently spread it on his lips.

Armin chuckled when he caught you staring at him. “What? My lips are chapped.”

“I can see that.” You could also see his plump pink lips all shiny from the substance. “What flavor is it?”

“Cherry.” He pocketed the chapstick.

You inched over to him. Cherry was your favorite flavor, a timeless classic that forever held your heart. You were about to ask him for some when he seemed to have read your thoughts and immediately shut you down.

“No, you can’t have any.”

Instantly shocked at his words, your mouth was agape and you crossed your arms with a pout. “What, why?”

Honestly, you couldn’t care less… well maybe you cared a little bit. But being petty and dramatic was more fun however, especially in front of Armin.

“(Y/n), don’t take this the wrong way, but anything you touch immediately disappears.”

Ok, now you cared a lot a bit. “No it doesn’t!”

“Oh, you defended yourself real quick there, huh? Alright, tell me where Sasha’s hairbrush is.” Armin had a smile on his face as he rested his arm on his propped up knee. Sasha lent you her brush one day and it was never seen again. She made you buy her a new one the next day.

Your silence was the answer he needed.

“Maybe you know where Mikasa’s training gloves are?”

Again, more silence. She’d let you borrow them for training and you stupidly set them down when it was windy.

“Oh, wait! My blue sweater? Haven’t seen that in a while and you were the only person I lent it to.”

It was a rather chilly morning one day, so Armin lent you his infamous blue sweater.

Manipulative little bastard.

A slight blush dusted your cheeks. You glared at the blonde and scoffed. “I feel like this isn’t just about chapstick.”

Arming gave out a chuckle. “It is, (y/n). Don’t worry.” With that, Armin rose to his feet and patted your head as he walked along the branch.

Your eyes fluttered in satisfaction when his fingertips rubbed your scalp.

“I can’t even have a little?”

“No.”

Ugh, be like that then.

———

Your squad eventually had to make the journey back home. Riding next to Armin, your horses ran in sync as you both gave each other little glances every few minutes.

“Can I have some of that chapstick now?” Your voice rang over thundering steps of the horses.

“No.” Armin replied.

“But my lips are chapped!”

“Figure it out.” He shouted back.

Oh I will.

———

“Finally home.” You moaned and jumped off your horse and led her to the stables. Your body ached and sleep was all you were craving. It was dark by the time you guys got back and your squad leader gave his appreciation by quickly dismissing everyone.

Maybe I’ll skip dinner. I’m so tired.

Thoughts flowing through your head as you undressed your horse of her gear. Hanging the saddle on a peg, you brushed her mane and fed her some carrots.

“Eat up, Star. My pretty girl.” You cooed, gently running your hand over her nose. Another set of steps disrupted your intimate moment with Star.

Turning around, your eyes softened at Armin, who led his horse over by the reins.

“Hey, stranger.” He teased and began working on his horse. You smiled back at him and it was silent for a few moments, just the sound of the equipment clinking with movement.

You turned to look at him only to give a dry chuckle when you saw him pulling out his stupid cherry chapstick again. The stupid smile never left his face as he applied it.

“Ar-”

“No chapstick, (y/n).”

Damn.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say!”

Armin turned to meet your gaze with raised eyebrows. “What was it then?”

Shit. Think (y/n).

Armin chuckled as the silence answered his question. His hands gently brushed through his horse’s mane. “You’re a bad liar.”

A scoff left your lips. “I don’t like this new attitude of yours.”

Over time, Armin slowly broke out of his shell, no longer the dorky and nervous kid he once was- even though you loved that about him. Now, he was comfortable enough to speak his mind without a second thought, even to you.

“Get used to it, (y/n). Looks like you’ll have to find another way to keep your lips moisturized.”

You didn’t like the snarky look he had on his face. A sudden idea popped into your head. As Armin finished settling his horse for the night, you caught his wrist as he walked by.

A confused look adorning his features when he turned to look at you.

Without thinking twice, you pulled him towards you and stood on your toes. Lifting your head, your lips quickly planted themselves onto his.

You could tell he was caught of guard. His blue eyes widened at the sudden action and a startled whimper escaped him. It was kinda hot honestly. Pulling away, you rubbed your lips together and popped them. “Mmm, gotta love cherry.”

His lips were partly opened and a red rouge covered his face. He still couldn’t believe it.

“U-uh, I-”

“Night, Armin. See ya tomorrow.” You smiled innocently at him before brushing past him to leave.

His hand latched onto your elbow and pulled you back. Raising an eyebrow at him, Armin gripped both your shoulders before pulling you back in, lips meeting yours once more. His back was crouched down a little to meet your height. Now it was your turn to be surprised.

Oh. Oooh

He moaned slightly against your lips when you started kissing back.

The kiss lasted a few seconds before Armin slowly pulled away from you. You both were slightly panting from the adrenaline and the eye contact between you both never broke.

“There.” His hands still gripped your shoulders. “That should last you a bit.” With that, his hand moved just below your ear, his thumb brushing over your jawline.

Armin finally snapped himself of whatever trance you had on him and gave a small smile. “Meet me here tomorrow at noon, that’ll give you plenty of time to sleep in and you can join me in the valley.”

“O-okay.”

Without another word, Armin left the stables. Your mind ran crazy with thoughts. Yes, you kissed him first, but you didn’t expect him to actually want to kiss you again.

How in the world did he play the game better than you? It was your idea-

—————

The sun shines brightly through the curtains of your room. You let out a groan as the stiffness in your muscles were more prominent from yesterdays training.

Looking at the clock on the wall- 8:25 am.

You can still catch breakfast before it ends and relax a bit before meeting up with Armin.

Oh yeah…

What a peculiar night. You honestly thought Armin would either be confused or disgusted when you kissed him. Not flustered. Him kissing you on his own also surprised you. The little manipulators all grown up now.

You got up and threw on some random clothes, heading to the dining hall.

You quietly ate your food, only a few soldiers remained in the dining hall since breakfast was ending soon.

Time slowly passed by, and you decided to take a nap in your bed for another hour or two before leaving. The nap only left you more tired. After changing into a more presentable outfit, a simple button up and a long skirt, you threw your favorite sweater over. The material was soft and the fading but familiar scent was comforting to you.

Your footsteps were slow as you walked to the stables. The soreness in your body along with the tiredness still swirled in your system.

“(Y/n), over here.” Armin called out to you as he led his horse outside his stall. “Perfect timing, I was just getting ready to- is that my sweater?”

Oops. Yes, yes it was.

“Maybe.”

“I thought you said you lost it!”

“I never said I lost it.” You yawned. “Just never wanted to give it back to you.”

Armin chuckled and was a bit surprised at your words, he climbed on his horse and turned down to you, hand extended. “You ready?”

Nodding, you grabbed his hand and he pulled you up. Your legs straddled the horse and your hand hesitantly grazed his waist. It wasn’t until Armin flicked the reigns and the horse quickly trotted forward that you decided to wrap your arms tightly around his waist as he navigated through the towns.

“You good there?” He joked and placed his hand on top of your clasped ones that pressed against his abdomen.

—————

“You look nice in my sweater.” Armin commented, trekking his fingers gently through your scalp.

The warm breeze swayed the grass and wildflowers surrounding you. The meadow Armin took you to was beautiful this time of year.

Your head currently rested on his thigh. Armin was sat against a willow tree, a book in his other hand. Every so often, his hand would leave your head to turn the page and gently return.

“It’s mine now.” You mumbled through closed eyes. Armin insisted you try to nap again while he read. However, no one brought up the situation from last night. At the moment it almost seemed like it never happens. No one acknowledged it.

“Of course it is.” He said with a smile before taking his hand away from your head. He shifted and buried his hand in the pocket of his trousers. His leg raised your head slightly as he moved. “Sorry, I just can’t- dammit where is it?”

You craned your neck to see his agitated face. “What happened?”

“I can’t find my chapstick.” He muttered with a frown.

A giggle erupted from your mouth, making him look at you. “And you say I lose stuff?”

“Shut up.” He muttered.

You both returned to your original positions with you head still resting on his lap. The breeze continued to blow and you glanced at Armin to see the tips of his blonde hair blow across his face. The shorter hair really suited him.

You let out a small sigh and pulled the sweater tighter around your frame. Reaching into the small pocket, you pulled something out.

Uncapping it, you gently applied it to your lips and didn’t miss the way Armin was staring at you dumbfounded. The label was clearly a different color than his. No, this one was yours. All yours.

“It’s strawberry and before you ask- no you can’t have any. I wouldn’t want you to lose this one too.” A devilish smirk crossed your face. Payback was a bitch. If he could be petty, so could you.

Armin sat back and mumbled something incoherent. His book was now discarded to the side and his arms were crossed with a pout. Memories of last night flooded his thoughts.

The way he held you. The way he looked at you. How you tasted.

You looked up at him with innocent eyes and rubbed the substance coating your lips together. He was staring at you.

You let out a small laugh as he pulled your body up and lowered himself down closer to you. You didn’t miss the way his eyes stared into yours before darting to your lips, then back to your eyes. He was so close. Then as if he decided it was right, Armin’s lips were encasing yours once more.

You gave a small sigh into the kiss and your fingers raked through his blonde hair.

Armin’s tongue gently swiped against your bottom lip and before you could open your mouth for more, he pulled away.

“You’re right.” He said and rubbed his own lips together. “Cherry does taste better.”

You were a little disappointed at the sudden break in contact. Sitting your body up, you faced him. “We can get you more when we head back into town.” You offered and avoided your gaze.

Maybe he was just getting payback for last night?

Armin rolled his eyes and pulled you back towards him. “Yeah that sounds good, but I like this option better.”

And he kissed you again. More passionately this time.

He suddenly pulled your body against his so you were fully sat in his lap, emitting a small squeal from you. Your legs curled into his side and his hands were placed at your waist, thumb brushing your hip.

“Thank you for coming with me.” He mumbled against your lips.

“Just take me out and we’ll call it even.” You replied, your arm wrapping around his neck.

“Okay.”

——

Taglist: @cullenswife

(Lmk if you wanna be added <3)

[iloveriddles]

Imaginal Disk Storyline + Lore.

Okay, this is all opinion and my theories.

From What I can tell, “Imaginal Disk” is about two people: our protagonist, True, and a sub-protagonist of sorts, Ghost.

True lives in a house away from town. All she can do in her house is watch TV and journal.

True hates herself, and has never felt loved, or really sees love anywhere. She is very depressed. She can’t bear to look at herself in the mirror, even. She hates the way she looks, as we see on the mirror from imaginaldisk.world in True’s room. Her face is all distorted and swirled if you click it.

She never sleeps because she “spends her days chasing clouds and counting sheep, waiting for the night to creep”.

She does this because in the field outside her house, during night, a mirror appears and in it she sees a person who looks like her. This is Ghost. I am not sure if this happens every single night, or just some, but True seems dedicated to talking to Ghost at any chance she can take.

Ghost sleeps every night well and wakes up to be in the field, opposite to True. At her side of the mirror, it’s daytime.

I know their names because of the journals in True’s bedroom, where the lyrics for Fear, Sex are handwritten with the name “Ghost” at the top, and the lyrics for Killing Time are written on the first page with with the name “True”.

Ghost, to True, is beautiful in every way. She’s pretty, she’s perfect. She is loved and happy, and True isn’t. Ghost is the “Angel on a satellite”, I am 99% sure. True, from speculation, lives vicariously in a way through Ghost. She wishes she could be Ghost, and it kills her. There’s even symbolism here with Ghost’s lover in the Death & Romance video being made of light and featureless. It’s like exactly what True wants, to “be pined for” as she says in Killing Time (“I don’t care if I don’t sleep // but someone better pine for me”), but she can’t imagine by whom because she has no love interest. She just wants faceless love. She wants to feel like she matters in some way, like she is worthy of time. “There’s always time for killing, but never time for me. It only takes a minute”, she sings in Killing Time.

It’s so sad =( she’s right, though. That’s how it feels. People have time to waste and do nothing, but not time to help their close ones when they’re in a low place. It’s neither party’s fault, but still “True”.

True’s room is also the same layout as Ghost’s, but opposite. I think they are maybe versions of themselves from parallel universes or something like that. There is also implication that they start seeing through each other’s eyes in intervals, and we see this a little at the end of the Death & Romance video when she touches the Disk. I think their brains are connected in some way.

As mentioned, True hates herself and is miserable. I think this is why she gets the Imaginal Disk. We know she watches TV, so she probably saw the ad “True Blue Interlude” which is between Killing Time and Image. Image is her getting diskinserted and going to The Doctor. In the advertisement, it seems to be singing to her. It even says her name, “True”. It’s advertised as being a next stage and phase, it’s like the perfect form of escaping for True. She doesn’t want to be herself, she wants to be “Pure” and a “better her”. I also wonder if True Blue Interlude has hypnotic properties in canon, or anything like that. It’s interesting how this changes Image so much if you know the story. “I’m the best you’ve got, *true* or not?”

We are missing music videos so I am not certain about some stuff. They said on Instagram that they’re making one for Tunnel Vision, which I am 90% certain it will be another True song. True’s eyes do the weird blink thing in the Fear, Sex music video. Also, in “That’s My Floor” the camera zooms into her eyes and she LITERALLY has “Tunnel Vision”.

Also from the “That’s My Floor” music video, we know that after getting her disk True wears red like The Doctor instead of her blue, and starts assisting him in diskinserting. There is so much speculative stuff here right now. For example, I wonder if The Doctor is supposed to be True’s universe’s version of the glowing light guy that Ghost is with. I don’t know, but it changes the songs A LOT if you know that the lyrics are in character. Some songs are Ghost songs, and others are True songs.

In “That’s My Floor”’s music video she accidentally kills the people dancing with her indirectly because she gave them the disks (speculation) so she runs away. This lines up with “The Outskirts” from the website. It says to “walk down and atone for your sins”, also also that “the weight of your guilt should be slowing you down more than that”.

I think it’s about True’s guilt for all she’s done with the Imaginal Disk. When it zooms into her stomach camera? It shows what I think is the reality she actually wants. She wants to remove their disks; but she doesn’t. I also don’t know if Ghost is actually there, or if she’s hallucinating/imagining her to be.

“Love Is Everywhere”, is a Ghost song. She says to “look through the holes in the sky” to “find Love”. I also think Cry For Me might be a Ghost song, because she says “Think of Love and you’ll remember me”. I wonder if she’s going to be killed off or something. This would be foreshadowed by “DEATH and romance”. Maybe The solid light guy (whom I assume went into The Cocoon at The Outskirts) dies, so Ghost does too? Not sure. Speculation.

In Angel on a Satellite, a song I believe to be about Ghost, True sings “A thousand eyes turn to stone and monochrome // surprise, surprise // they turn to smile at the same time”

Followed by

“That’s why I don’t look up // That’s why I’m always dancing”

I think this is symbolism for her depression and inability to feel love.

The “eyes” can’t feel; they only watch. They symbolize people around her. They’re “stone” and “monochrome” because they are cold and reflective onto her, these represent people in her life that she can’t show her misery around. Like being depressed and having to hide it from your family, or friends that say “I’m always here to listen” but do not mean it in the slightest. She’s “always dancing” because she’s masking her loneliness and self-hate for those watching her.

True has never left love. We know she doesn’t truly. She sings about it multiple times. I think this part of She Looked Like Me! Is about Ghost

“Her hair lifted as she stood still

Right there in the light And she felt like a dream

I didn't know what to think

She looked like me

We stood mirrored 'til I leaned in And then you know what she did

She shot at me like an earthbound bullet

And then she wrapped her hands around my neck and I felt love

Just ordinary love

Let me hold you in my arms

Oh, love, that familiar old drug”

I don’t think Ghost literally strangled her, but instead it’s more poetic symbolism.

In Angel on a Satellite, True sings “I swear that through your eyes everything is brighter all the time // ‘cause when I see me through your eyes I love me, so don’t leave my side // you always see the sky, angel on a satellite”

Ghost “sees the sky” by seeing and feeling love. She literally “looks up”. She’s optimistic, True isn’t. She can’t look up.

Another little detail I’ve noticed is how in Love Is Everywhere, I presume Ghost sings “Look inside through the sky all around us” in the same melody that True sings “Angel on a satellite, glad you found us” in “Feeling Diskinserted?”

I think that the album will end with True going to the cocoon and becoming her ACTUAL “Purest self”. If you spell “Imaginal Disk” with a “c” instead of a “k” at the end, it’s literally a part of a pupa. The Imaginal disc turns into portions of a bug’s exoskeleton after it emerges from its metamorphosis. So, on a literal level, the real Imaginal disk that changes you was THE COCOON ALL ALONG. Maybe the Doctor is doing a shady internet scam trick where you change the URL by one letter and pass it off.

The detail here is so interesting. Even down to their names True is literally her True self. She can’t be anyone else. It’s reality. Ghost on the other hand is like the Ghost of everything True wants to be.

I also noticed: The Doctor’s laughter from Fear, Sex plays in the bridge of Cry For Me. I bet we will get a music video for it. I wonder what is happening with the Ghost and aliens storyline.

Anyways, I have so much to say about this. I have more even than this. We are missing music videos so I will be back. I also have to talk about the alien observation plot, but that needs more pondering.