#yeah i think that's all but this one was a fucking doozy

[teethrotter]

a love letter to keith haring + all those affected by hiv / aids, particularly homosexual men ( + some bonus shots of pre-glaze textures )

#art tag #ceramics #sculpture #mixed media #aids crisis #aids quilt #quilt #art quilt #the scale of this fucking thing is so difficult to capture #it was such a bitch the entire time but finally. he is stable #never have i been so upset at my classic style of taking images ( bedroom floor + bed-lamp lighting ) but it is the best i have #all of the quote panels are statements taken from various queer protest signs #most of the doodles in those panels are traditional queer symbols / haring art #keith haring pieces referenced: resist! + stop aids + life of christ #the doodles in the middle panels toward the corners are taken from biblical descriptions of angels #the goas was to stitch this bitch together + make it look like a quilt #which was done by my god at what cost #obviously inspired by the aids quilt as well #queer symbols referenced: rainbow + lambda + green carnation + red ribbon + pink triangle #yeah i think that's all but this one was a fucking doozy #overall happy with how it came together though. even if a lot of it was last-minute alterations + panic

[boxwinebaddie]

will our stan-y pooh ever get to see kyleys notes?

so, i got an ask like this a while back and was going to answer some variant of it earlier, but held off so i could develop the lore a bit more.

because i always knew that stan would eventually be made aware of kyle's letters to him, probably unbeknownst to jerseykyle, but i wasn't sure when i should have that happen or under what circumstances the reveal fall, bc really i didn't want it to feel randomly shoehorned in or feel like a cheap after thought, y'know?

i wanted, nay, needed stan coming across kyle's special stan diary entries & reading his letters, to have a strong significance to the story because the letters are such a large part of r.m. and letters in general/the act of writing a letter is such a personal intimate thing, not just for kyle, but even when other chars write things in the story.

but more on that later...

back to jers & his love letters to his *dead* sbf.

a/n: this is a very long post that you, like all my silly, silly posts, have no obligation to read, but please clap! uncle nina finally wrote an ask meme that she feels very proud of! and if you like long posts, like a very sweet anon told me once upon a time, you might like this!

so without further ado, i hope you heal, rem(ember) to smile, pendejos and of course, my darlings, as always...

please enjoy...

the very worst part of your day. ;)

so with the letters, i feel like it's imperative to note ( haha, see what i did there? ) that they're not all love letters or letters of love to stan. honestly, kyle writes in it nearly every day and actually uses it as more of a daily writing exercise to keep him grounded: a tool he can utilize throughout the day to keep track of thing —especially given that the extent of his ptsd/clozapine stole kyle's eidetic memory.

so actually, a lot of the pages are nonsense, notes he started and never finished…

…grocery lists of things that need to be replaced.

sadly, several of said grocery lists are usually followed by a dream list of grocery itineraries of the ingredients he would buy if he was rich or finally healthy, followed by things like tea and top ramen, things he'd actually eat or, sigh, regurgitate and stare at until they disgust him.

worse over, a lot of these catalogs as finished sad, scribbled journal entries that silently speak to his experiences in grocery stores and how their both like heading to his execution and going to the amusement park. because he's surrounded by all this lovely food so when he's fasting and slowly starving himself, he eats with his eyes.

other times, when the medicine makes him lethargic and light-headed, he lets himself get carried away in a little fantasy, a shameful secret, a silly guilty pleasure where he pretends like he's getting ready to cook a beautiful, delicious dinner for a boy that he loves, someone like stan, and gathers ingredients via a recipe he found online, planning to use some fancy techniques he saw on masterchef to impress his dream boy, feeling the smooth, scalet flesh of the roma tomatoes until he finds just the right ones to put in his shopping cart,

breathing in the soothing, earthy scent of fresh basil, imagining tickling the tip of stan's nose with it playfully when he goes to sniff, the cacophonous, melodious sound of stan's squeaky laugh and the dizzying scent of cinnamon that fills his mouth as stan leans up to kiss him in the produce section, gathering the pine nuts he might need to craft the perfect pesto sauce, imagining feeding the small, spiced, succulent spirals to his stan, who is alive and well, and sighs in elation, smiling that 1000 watt stan marsh smile, his beautiful face flushed from candlelight, a little box wine and a lifetime of love.

...then the sprinklers go off and douse him, splashing him in the face like some kind of rude, watery wake up call, the screech of the grocery cart sounds nothing like stan's laugh and neither does the ugly voice that cracks over the PA system in the store announcing that there is only thirty minutes left before it all goes dark and the check out lanes close. so kyle frantically rushes to buy the things he needs in the real world, where his sweet stanley marsh is dead, with his ashes scattered to the wind, grabbing paper towel rolls and coffee pods and green apples for the pie marjorine wants to bake that kyle will never eat. and after he checks out with a bag full of groceries and an empty stomach that growls at him, reminding him of the monster he's become...

he walks over to the gas station, and purchases a packet of american spirits, the blue box that reminds him of the lovely color of his stan's eyes before they turned a cruel, glassy grey as the weight of his death and the rigamortis set in, then pitch black from hell fire, admiring the pretty sheen of the package, almost silver in the moonlight, that he thinks, in his disillusionment, look almost like the tiny silver specks that swam in stan's eyes like silverfish.

along with a bag of skittles, where he picks the best ones out, feeding the rest to the birds, who might not eat them either — there's a small comfort in knowing that, that as lonely as he feels tonight, they share his sick sentiment — his legs swinging off some bench with graffiti and the names in hearts of people who can love scratching at his arms, taunting him, as he, with a cool, surgical precision, separates the red out of the rainbow and sucks the red 40 and delicious cherry coating off each one like a popsicle until they look as grey and lifeless as he feels inside, his precious fantasy shattering all around him as he remembers he wasn't meant to be sweet or soft or swirl pasta pleasantly in a pot...

for hideous creatures born of hatred...

...were not meant to love anything.

but i fear, friends, that that is not the worst of it. that there are even bleaker entries, where kyle's hand writing is not perfectly printed, but rather, is very chaotic and disorderly, rushed, with words scratched out, written in a hurry...in fear he might not have much time left. :(

tw for mention of suicide

there is one entry in the stan journal that is particularly unpleasant, unsettling and haunting, where kyle writes stan his last will and testament. it features a kyle who stands so tall and fearsome, scared absolutely shitless as he tells stan ‘he did a bad thing’ and that he is frightened and doesn't know what to do. he says it was a moment of weakness, which disgusts him like himself for being such a worm, and that he felt the world a cruel dark place and that looking into the light would be like looking into stan's eyes and that...he misses him.

and wanted to be with him.

but that stan wouldn't want that. no, stan would be horrified. just like he is as he scrambles to form sentences in between shallow breaths. he took a lot of pills, it was a stupid thing, but it seemed smart at the time, he remembers one time that stan oft wondered how someone so smart could be so stupid at the same time — he told kyle that when stan told him that he had a crush on him in sixth grade and kyle had no idea even though he was extremely obvious about it — but that it would ruin his mother and ike's life, his a-hole father would call him a disappointment, a blight or burr on the broflovski family tree, and that tweek would be home in an hour and find him there and that he would probably never recovered from seeing him in that state. and that more than that, selfishly...

…he's absolutely terrified of death.

however, the entry ends a couple lines later with kyle assuring stan that he is alive and well, he knows this because his knuckles are torn to bits and bright red, sore and stinging, ( and also because stan is still a book and not the body of his favorite boy/super best friend ) and that really...it's a good thing, he supposes, he has years of experience...

...throwing things up. :(

i hate everything about this; fuck my life.

but all this to say, in way too many words like verbose jerseykyle, that the stan journal entries are extremely varied in notation and speaking of notes, or notable notes, that the letter that kyle wrote on stan's 21st birthday is among those letters...but the whole thing was so hideously embarrassing to him, that he'd ripped the pages out and had planned to throw them away...but forgot...fuck you, clozapine... and fell out of his notebook sometime during the south park trip.

jimmy, having no idea what the letter might be attached to, only saw that the letter was addressed to stan...gave it to him without thought.

stan read the letter, which devastated him, but also was the most beautiful and precious thing he'd ever read and stashed it away, like the secret that he had it in his possession, of course, telling kyle would only drive the wedge further between him...as he yearned. :(

but the contents of the letter return...at the end of our thrilling tale.

which, i want to remind you all again, especially our new readers, which...oh my god? i'm. like, seriously Shook, but mostly excited that this blog has more traction and interaction than it even did when i was actually writing my fanfictions! hello, new friends! welcome to hell! but back to what i was trying to relay, which is that my fanfiction can often be...very, very dark. they explore a lot of mature and macabre themes, things that the show set up very nicely but bc it's a comedy, were not really explored and, in my humble opinion, were kind of bastardized and written immature and in very poor taste by matt and trey, and...ofc, this is my spin on all that, and my spin is that these serious topics should be handed with care with authenticity and that often means that they will be...gruesome.

in the vein of gruesomeness, we readers, find out much later on during the south park portion of the story, while the fanfiction is set up to seem like the biggest secret/apex of the fic is kyle finding out who stan is...that was actually a curtain that hides the real meat and potatoes of the fanfic aka what swirls beneath the surface of a sleepy mountain down and the scandal that rocks it out there in the rockies.

specifically ( which is where the mackey's lackeys aka kyle's crimina laur classmates on his special case team/group, come in ) the dissappearance of a south park resident from well before stan's...

which we come to find via sonrisa/sharon marsh's personal diary which was stashed in a secret hatch in sharon's guitar case, one of the few things stan took with him from the house before setting the whole thing blaze...makes mention of one south park res in partic...

dr. tom, of tom's rhinoplasty.

publicly, the owner of beloved town business

...sharon's secret secret lover.

in these letters, stan comes to find that sharon and tom had plans of running away together, that she would never forgive herself for leaving her children behind with that monster, but that tom would fake his death, leave michelle and stanley his generous savings and his business in his will and that would start over...some place kinder.

they had planned to meet at mabel...

...but tom never came.

the town just assumed that the man had disappeared, skipped town for some reason or another...but stan and co...are not so sure.

so using sharon's letters, their sleuthing abilities and the crows, which, a sort of symbolic point of the fanfic is sharon calling stan cuervo for his shiny, oily black hair, his lovely singing voice and because stan fed the crows/ravens ever single day while randy shooed them cruelly off the properly and ravens...

rem(ember) faces. ;)

...and despite his new name, his now blue hair, all his piercings and being all grown up, the crows remember stan's kindness...and lead him to things. they show him clues and are a useful tool in getting to the bottom of tom's cold case...or rather...*cough*...

his murder.

which all comes to a head one very fucked up, winter night when a gun is pulled on ravenstan and right as he's about to get shot...

jersey jumps right in front of him…

…catches the bullet in his chest.

( this mirrors when stan took the hockey puck in the face for kyle )

it's a very gruesome traumatic to-be crime scene as jersey lays there bleeding out in stan's arms, who speaks to him softly thru his grief

( i don't have all the dialogue or everything blocked out, but i did start some snippets of dialogue in this cruddy post over here, lol )

and at the very last part of that excruciating exchange, stan is cradling kyles head in his hands and tells him to stay with him, because they have a shitty apartment to share together, lots of kyle nagging stan to pick his dirty towel up off the floor when he forgets for the umpteenth time, and delicious dinners that kyle will cook, slow dances in front of the refrigerator ala taylor swift like the one they shared at the sadie hawkins dance, that their second child, because the first one was the egg that they took care of together in third/forth grade, will know how to speak spanish and yiddish and that together, they'll make up for lost time...and have a long, lovely life together as stan's sabelotodo...and kyle's zeeskiet </3

and finally...while kyle is waning in and out of consciousness, stan sings to him a special little song, just like heaven by the cure, which is kyle's favorite ( in lady on the way to the diner where part three of the ravesey hate takes place, kyle sang along to it on the radio...with the pronouns changed...perhaps with a certain person in mind...and please note it was a lovely, lovely song...jersey actually has a beautiful singing voice, but the only audience he ever entertain is his shampoo and conditioner in the shower )

and stan just sits there, holding the love of his life, like if he held him tightly enough his pieces would come back together and sang to him, only getting halfway thorugh the second 'i'll run away with you' before kyle's eyes closed completely and his body went limp.

...they pulled ravenstan away from kyle kicking and screaming, swearing and sobbing hysterically...it took three emts to do so.

later on, in the hospital, while kyle is fighting for his life :(, bebe entrusts stan with kyle's special journal and tells him to read it. stan does, in spite of it being extremely difficult for him, both emotionally and for the simple fact that despite kyle's handwriting being lovely, immaculate, beautiful and neat just like him, it is also teeny-tiny and written entirely in cursive which, when you have as severe a case of dyslexia as ravenstan does, makes reading cursive a near impossible task. but then, stan believes in the impossible, which means he believes that his kyle will come back to him the same way he had just a month ago, though that feels so faraway now. like kyle, who though he's a mere pace away from the chair stan sits in across from his hospital bed, stan still feels is not close enough as he turns to on the next available page in kyle's therapy diary, and in stark contrast to kyle's cursive calligraphy, slants stan's chicken scratch which practically terrorizes the strict, dashed guidelines, stan starts to write kyle a heartfelt letter of his own, only taking breaks between lines to kiss the top of kyle's head and stroke his cold cheek.

the beginning of said letter, goes something like this:

oooOOooufff, that makes me want to cry so bad!

but anyways!

shortly after that, stan gives him a rundown of what he missed while he's been asleep. stan tells him that his hair is short now, a lot of his hair was matted and got covered in blood from his gun shot wound, :( or got caught in the myriad of dumb, gaudy emo boy pins that stan affixed to his jacket, which made it difficult to take off when the doctors needed to operate on him; so to make things easier, they just cut kyle's hair. he jokes that kyle is probably going to hate it and say that he looks like justin freakin' bieba' or lil orphan annie or shirley goddamn temple, but that stan thinks he looks very cute c': ( aw ) and that it frames his gorgeous face nicely with all the thick, ginger ringlets curling around his cheeks and the tips just barely kissing the sides of his jaw, where stan has left several of his own as a little gift for kyle when he wakes up...ones that, stan hopes,

kyle will eventually return. </3

he boasts playfully that while kyle was the one playing hero, stan was Actually the one who saved the day after all, or, his abuelito's gay ass ww2 jacket which kyle was wearing at the time of the accident and that because of it's thick, leather material, the speed of the bullet slowed down and saved his life ( in your face, dummy ) right before it reached his heart and obliterated that important artery. and that that heart, that stan loves with all his because it's attached to his favorite boy in the entire world, beats on, faintly...but still there.

stan calls him a stubborn bastard, on account of his refusing to die.

he tells kyle that everyone comes in to visit him in shifts through out the day, notably his mother and ike, who both weep and wish for his speedy recovery. stan lets kyle know that sheila keeps telling him to 'go home and get some sleep, orev. he'll be here when you wake up.' but that he wants to be here when kyle wakes up and won't budge.

he guesses he's a selfish bastard too and kyle's rubbing off on him.

stan writes that he brings sharon’s guitar to the hospital room and sings to him every day, sometimes its the cure or acoustic abba or taylor swift, even though kyle, a stubborn bastard as we mentioned, claims not to like her. he also sings kyle a lot of secret stuff just for him, written about him in private and that when kyle wakes up, during the summer, he's gonna take kyle on tour with him and kiss him in every country and continent, and that crimson dawn's next album is going to be filled with sappy love songs all about him that are going to make him so embarrassed and sick to death of him that he'll wish both he and stan actually died. and that sometimes hoards of excited children in the hospital come in to sing to him to leave him lots of flowers, letters, trinkets, odds and ends...and tell him stuff that maybe...he can hear? it's stan's wishful thinking, of course, but then, he's the dreamer...even though this is his worst fkn nightmare.

as an homage to peppermint, stan also tells kyle that he reads to him often, tries to do funny voices but kyle is better at it, y'know, since he has a funny voice that stan would like very much to hear again, the most beautiful sound in the world that makes his synesthesia light up. he tried to read the books in kyle's messenger bag, lots of dense, archaic, academic boy stuff written by old, dead russian authors, but that they're kinda..depressing? and he's not a very good reader, so he started reading him children's books and ya novels, specifically percy jackson which they read as kids together in stan's tree house. stan says that kyle reminds him so much of annabeth who is super smart and cool, even though he looks more like rachel dare, and that he knows that kyle would say he's a dead ( haha ) ringer for percy, but that he's no hero... and if he was, he would've saved ky. :(

he does not tell kyle that he's hooked up to an iv drip that feeds him nutrients through a system of tubes that are actually helping him retain a more healthy weight because that would trigger him. but stan is secretly so grateful and even though he's pale as a sheet...

but stan thinks that he's absolutely radiant

and glowing. :')

there's lots of other stuff written in this letter that stan writes that i hopefully will write and share with you all eventually...if i ever have time between working and being a depressed idiot...ravenstan calls jersey mi sabelotodo a lot ( awww x2 ), tells him about all the stuff he wants to do with him...detailing some scenarios that pc principal would *naught* approve of...that everyone misses him, but no one more than stan, who fell asleep writing the last part of his letter...

with his head on kyle's shoulder,

…snoring loudly and obnoxiously — the way kyle loved.

regrettably, some of the words stan wrote are illegible, which, the whole Goddamn Thing is fucking illegible because stan is illiterate and his handwriting is hell ( kyle can read it though, bless him ) but mostly because stan cried a lot writing in and his tears smudged a lot of the words on the pages...which do smell lightly of spiced apple cider, fireball ( stan drank a lot from stress :/ ) and...as for metal, that once kyle wakes up, he will gladly spend the rest of his life cutting kyle's lip open...on that god awful can-opener he calls a lip ring. <3

anyways, my dearest darlingest! i hope that answered your question. i realize it probably wasn't the short, sweet, heart-warming answer that you were hoping for, but i am a hurt/comfort angst queen so i think we all know by now that that's not how i rock and roll. ;)

but everyone say i hope you heal jersey.

we love you, baby. :(

-uncle nina, who is short-circuiting my computer w/ my leaking face

it's that goddamn branch in my eye again.

#ooooof this post was a doozy #but full of important information i think #even tho it’s fucking devastating #i really care a lot about my world building and story telling #i worked a lot on all of this #and try to be very thoughtful & thorough with everything i do #i hope you can feel that love thru these ask memes #even if you hate me being evil again hahaaaa #but yeah! i hope this answers ur question in too many words #we know how i am #again the lore is in progress #I develop it more every day so please give me grace #if there’s things i don’t have answers for or if they change #this all feels very right to me #i hope the crow thing is as sick as fuck to you as it is to me #a little proud of that one lmao #anyways uhhh #i am insecure and flattery will get you everywhere #please let me know if this pleases and sparkles #it would mean a lot to me bc u all also mean a lot to me #hides from the angry mob that may assemble in my inbox #nina stop being evil challenge #failed catastrophically

[viir-tanadhal]

my one true academic achievement is going through microfilm and accidentally finding that interview chris heath documents neil doing over the phone near the end of pet shop boys versus america. second to that is finding that 1986 xmas NME article neil and chris despise to this day

#i was like 'why does this sound so familiar........ wait a fucking minute' #i love that chris heath eavesdropped in on it too because yeah. it's a real doozy #this interviewer would just not let up on hounding neil #'what do you think about outting?' NOT SUBTLE AT ALL #like get the memo neil didnt want to discuss that and drop it holy shit #anyway yeah xmas nme one was just as bad too. justified for them to hate it to this day #enough to rant about it in last year's annually all over again aldkdks #still have yet to find the time out review of please by john gill #if anyone has it hmu

[rainyinautumn]

there's a parallel in last life that I don't see talked about as much as it deserves and so I'm going to dissect the ever-living hell out of it. remember the ghast farm incident? everyone remembers the ghast farm incident. Grian turns red, he starts knocking blocks of a bridge out from under Mumbo, "there's a way we can still be friends," etc etc etc. it's fantastic. WELL. two sessions earlier, there's a similar confrontation between Scar and Joel after Joel turns red, except the roles are reversed. Joel approaches and it's Scar who starts breaking blocks of the bridge, trying to put distance between the two of them. HOWEVER, the interesting difference here is that Scar is doing it not because he doesn't want to be Joel's friend anymore, but because he still wants to be. lets take a look at a transcript of part of that scene, shall we?

[Scar breaks several blocks of the bridge.] Joel: Scar, what are you doing? I know you're not my friend anymore, but come on, Scar. Not the bridge. Scar: I wanted to make an arrangement. Are- are we not friends? Joel: We can't be friends, Scar. We can't be friends.

Scar knows that Joel is a red life and that he might hurt him, but he still wants to be friends, so he's providing a way that they can be near each other while he isn't in any danger by putting a gap in the bridge. he even breaks it again when he comes by to chat later. during that chat, Joel reminds him of how dangerous he is, Scar says he "gets it," and then proceeds to let him continue living under magical mountain. Scar doesn't "get" that he needs to be cautious of Joel—what he "gets" is that he's taking a risk by letting him stay and that he's already accepted something might happen. and he's OKAY with that. Joel is red. he gets it.

now compare that to this excerpt from the ghast farm incident:

Grian: Y'know, Mumbo, there's a way we can still be friends. Mumbo: Yeah? Grian: Yeah. [he starts breaking blocks at of Mumbo's feet] You could join me.

with Joel and Scar, it's a red life choosing to step away from his friend in order to protect him, while said friend tries to find a way that they can still be near each other without placing himself in danger. with Grian and Mumbo, it's a red life choosing to try to take his friend down with him so that they can be near each other because he can't accept not being his friend. the fact that in BOTH scenarios the friendship is symbolized by a bridge being broken is a perfect illustration of one of Grian's lines from the ghast farm incident: "it was a bad idea for the wrong reasons." those friendships should have been a good idea, those bridges should have been a good idea, but now they provide a connection that isn't safe, and they all know that.

and I'm not done talking about this. no no no no no. this offers a FASCINATING insight into why desert duo is Like That. Scar would sooner let Grian kill him than have to stop being his friend. Grian would sooner kill Scar than have to stop being his friend. which is all kinds of perfectly fucked up and explains exactly why 3rd life ended the way that it did. it also makes the cactus scene from double life very interesting to think about. remember the cactus scene? it's a doozy.

Grian starts session by dropping a stalactite on Scar's head as a prank and (unintentionally) taking them down to two and a half hearts. Scar then retaliates by leaning against a cactus until Grian breaks it. he then leans against Yet Another Cactus until Grian breaks that one too, at which point they are at only one heart. a question I've been asking since that day is this: if Grian hadn't broken the cactus, would Scar have stepped away before it was too late?

using bridge theory, we can find an answer to this.

the answer is no.

this isn't necessarily because Scar is actively trying to get them killed—it's more because he knows with absolute certainty that Grian will break the cactus. he's not prepared to step away because he isn't worried he needs to. see, the difference between Grian and Scar is that Grian is willing to throw around the lives of other people to get what he wants, and Scar is willing to throw around his own life to get what he wants (the fact that what they really want out of all this is often the other's trust is an issue I will dissect another day). once again, last life is the perfect example of this. Grian steals a life from Scar right off the bat and gets another one out of him by force a few episodes later. meanwhile, Scar makes a business out of selling his soul and threatens Team BEST that he'll kill himself in order to go red life crazy on them. and they don't doubt him! and they SHOULDN'T doubt him, because Scar is the kind of guy that would do that! the same way that Grian is the kind of guy who will drop a stalactite on his soulmate's head but break the cactus he's leaning against.

Grian is willing to risk Scar's life, but he's not okay with Scar risking his own life, because he knows that he's completely willing to stand against a cactus until he dies if it makes a point. so Grian breaks it.

but Scar knows Grian as well as Grian knows him. Scar knows that this is hardly a risk at all. so he leans against the cactus a third second time.

#normal about desert duo #normal about last life #normal about how the life series is a tragedy of epic proportions but is also just a block game that some guys play for fun #these two are so integral to each other's demise it is unbelievable #desert duo #grian #goodtimeswithscar #last life #double life #overrainylyzed

[chryblossomjjk]

the weekend | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: dilf!jk x babysitter reader

⇢ RATING/GENRE: m/18+ | fwb, sm*t, angst

⇢ WC: 13.8k

⇢ WARNINGS: alright boyz strap in bc it's a doozy lmao, protected s*x, multiple org*sms (m & f), or*l s*x (m receiving), face f*ck, f*ngering, rough s*x, face slapping, sp*nking, exh*bitionism, sir k*nk, t*tty f*ck, t*tty sucking (duh), body piercings (n*pples), age gap (reader is 23 and jk is like 30), infid*lity (reader is the other woman), ch*king, overst*mulation, sp*tting, man handling, finger s*cking, d*m jk, brief mentions of past add*ction, implied passing of a bby (mainly subtext w no details given), maybe unrequited love, maybe not (EVIL CACKLE), some dark thoughts discussed (nothing too graphic or detailed), fighting n yelling n crying yikes, all of these characters are v flawed (except for yul duh), cute bby moments!!, oc is v immature n naive n contradicts herself a lot, she maybe has a thing for older guys bc of that, some bl*od (just a scrape on the knee but ik bl*od can be triggering), this relationship is extremely toxic and not meant to be desired!!!, one homage to trixie mattel lmao

⇢ SUMMARY: every weekend, you give jungkook a little taste of something he’s missing monday through friday.

⇢ NOTES: so after months and months of planning this fic (i literally posted the teaser in JANUARY UM??), it's finally here. i think this is my fav thing i've written thus far and i worked v hard on this! would love to know ur thoughts, feedback is always appreciated!! ty @/taegularities for betaing!! (for whatever reason, this fic refuses to show up in tags n it sucks n nothing i do fixes it so i shall leave it be lol)

You can't tell what’s louder—the crunch of dewy, end-of-summer grass pricking the soft skin of your thighs like angry thorns, or the cracking of bones as your body thumps to the ground from your bedroom window. 

“Ah-” the whine is quickly stifled by a sharp hiss as you remember your dad’s sleeping figure is just behind the wall next to you. “Ouch,” you whimper, praying that the crash hasn’t reached his watchful ears. Carefully, you climb to your feet, brushing the dirt off your bare legs. You spot a fresh crimson scrape on your knee.

Fucking great. 

Finally, after days of longing and waiting, the weekend has arrived. Today, in particular, is a fantastic day. You were trying to look sexy, and blood isn't exactly the sexiest accessory. Bringing your wrist up to your nose, you inhale the candy-scented liquid you had doused yourself in before leaving. 

Perfume still in check, thank fuck.

Goosebumps form on your skin as you take long, dutiful strides, cool night mist gliding through the thin material of your long silk shirt. You’ve committed this path to memory—out the window, usually in a more graceful manner, through the neighbor’s yard, and then straight down the sidewalk to the black Mercedes Benz waiting for you at the end of the road. 

If you hadn’t done this a million and one times already, you might’ve missed the vehicle, so dark that it blends into the night seamlessly. You can’t help but wonder if that’s his goal entirely. 

Still, the excitement of it all makes you walk a little faster. 

“Hey, Jungkook,” you smile as you slide into his black leather passenger seat, leaning over the center console to give his cheek a gentle peck. Maybe you’ve overstepped a boundary and muddied the lines in the sand of your… relationship, but you can’t help yourself. Seeing Jungkook was always a treat, one you looked forward to every Friday night for the past five months.

“Hi,” he says impassively, eyes darting over your figure. A loose strand of hair dangles in front of his eyes, teasing you. “You’re wearing makeup?”

“Oh, um…” You’re at a loss for words; surprised he noticed such a slight change in your appearance. Although his perceptiveness was something you noted shortly after you began working for him, you can’t help but feel flustered. “Yeah, I… wanted to look nice tonight. Totally busted my ass climbing out the window,” you laugh.

“Did you get hurt?” His straight brows furrow slightly, silver piercing reflecting the moonlight. 

“Just a scratch.” You lift your leg to show him the red mark on your knee. “Didn’t break anything, though, so that’s a plus.”

Wordlessly, Jungkook reaches over, popping open the glove compartment before you and pulling out the first aid kit he keeps there for emergencies. The scent of clean linen wafts over you from his daily cologne. His scent. Only his. You try your best to subdue the possessive smirk forming. “You should be more careful.”

“I’m okay.”

“Be more careful,” he commands, peering up at you with an icy gaze. “Got it?”

Whether it’s the seven-year age gap between the two of you or the tone of his voice, you know better than to argue. “Yes,” you wince as he rubs Neosporin onto the open wound. “Besides, I wouldn’t have gotten hurt if my dad wasn’t so… overprotective.”

“Well,” he continues, sticking a pink Baby Shark bandaid to your skin before putting the box back, “as a father, I understand.”

“Yul is two, though,” you laugh, “I’m in my twenties.”

“Being in your early twenties hardly makes you an adult,” he mutters. "Besides, it doesn't matter. The need to protect your children always stays the same.”

“Poor Bunny,” you pout jokingly as you click your seatbelt on. “She’s going to be just like me when she’s older. Sneaking out of a window to see a boy because her daddy is a big grizzly bear.”

The comment has his nose twitching in irritation. “I’m done with this conversation, __.”

You freeze. Have you struck a nerve?

“Jungkook, I’m sorry,” you peep. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop.” His voice is flat, but your heart thumps. “It’s fine.”

All the excitement you feel suddenly morphs into an uncomfortable ache as you slump into your seat. It’s different than it was last weekend, positioned much closer to the dashboard than you would ever put it. There’s a claustrophobic sting in your chest as you realize someone else has been in this very spot. 

You know they have, and you know who. 

The deafening sound of the bulky silver band on his finger, tapping against the steering wheel as he begins driving to the hotel you frequent, is a sick reminder.

You swear there’s even a musky floral scent lingering in the air. Deeper and more mature than yours. It could be paranoia, or guilt, making you imagine things. Still, you hope your perfume finds its way into every fiber of his leather seats. 

“How was your day?” Jungkook asks, interrupting any rational thought or doubt, luring you back into the vicious cycle. 

“A bit stressful,” you sigh. “I applied for school today.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, pretty sure I messed up on the financial aid paperwork, though. It was super confusing; I didn’t understand any of it.”

“You should’ve brought it over. I could’ve helped you.” 

Jungkook does have a master’s degree in finance. He could’ve been your Rosetta Stone, helping you decipher convoluted questions about taxes and deductions. However, you weren’t sure how he would’ve reacted to you pulling out your laptop post-sex, asking for assistance on something completely unrelated to your normal routine. “That’s not the type of thing we usually do when we’re together,” you shrug, “you know?”

Your response has him shifting in his spot, pierced bottom lip curling inwards like the words made him queasy. He was the one who encouraged you to go back to school in the first place. “I wouldn’t have minded,” Jungkook mumbles before quickly redirecting the dialogue, something he does whenever he’s frustrated or uncomfortable. “So, what’s the special occasion?” 

“Huh?” 

“What’s got you all dolled up?”

Oh, right. That special occasion. The one you’ve been anticipating since you were made aware of its existence. 

“Happy three years sober!” You announce with a cheesy smile, throwing your arms up eagerly. 

“Ah,” he huffs in recognition. His eyes are fixed on the road, but there’s the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face. Success. It takes everything in you not to physically rejoice. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“What do you mean?” You ask with a pout. “How could I forget?”

“I don’t know.” Just like that, the flicker of happiness wisps away like a flame in the wind as his expression turns emotionless and stoic again. “It’s not really a big deal.”

You frown. Must he always be so… cold? 

‘It’s okay to smile; you deserve it,’ is what you want to tell him. It's not your place, though. You opt for: “It’s a huge deal, Jungkook,” instead. Reaching over, you gently tuck the stray strand of hair behind his decorated ear. 

A somber aura hangs around him like a dark, dreary rain cloud, and in moments like this, when it’s so visible, you just… need to touch him.

It’s stupid to think that you’re the special one; that you’ll be the girl to turn the rain into a rainbow and save him from himself, but you can’t refrain from trying. 

“Did you celebrate?”

He shakes his head. “Went to work.” 

You can tell from his outfit—a sleek black blazer resting neatly on top of an even darker button-up and tie. His long hair is slicked back, but gravity, and his ten-hour long shift took their toll, making the strands hang slack, short undercut peaking through. He looks so incredibly sexy. Maybe, you can comfort him in the only way you know how…

“Well, there’s still time.” You point to the clock on his touchscreen stereo: 11:12 p.m. You throw your hair over your shoulder before slowly undoing the top two buttons of your shirt, revealing the skimpy black lingerie set you splurged on just for tonight. Just for him. “We can celebrate…”

“Yeah?” His cheek bubbles, tongue poking at the inside of his mouth, eyebrow jumping at your suggestion. “How so?”

You bite your lip, contemplating your next move. Hastily, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over the center console. It’s reckless, but so is being with a man like Jungkook. When you finally get to have him the way you want, you’re incapable of rationality. 

One night of him isn’t enough. What kind of tease is that? You need at least six more to be satisfied…

“__,” he warns, arching his head away from your sneaky lips.  “Put your seatbelt on. Wait until we get to the hotel.”

“Where’s the fun in that, though?” You pout, cupping his cheek in your hand and batting your eyelashes innocently. Jungkook doesn’t take the bait, giving the desolate road ahead his unwavering attention. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, you can tell you’re getting to him. Below you, his slacks tighten around his thick, tensed thighs. He’s playing right into your hands. Needily, you tongue the little silver hoops dangling from his ear. 

“If I have to pull over, you’re in trouble.”

“Maybe I-”

A hushed ‘fuck’ cuts you off as the car comes to a screeching halt. Jungkook slams on the brakes, coming too close to the slower vehicle in front of you for comfort. Luckily, his dad reflexes kick in. His strong hand grips your waist tightly, preventing you from barreling forward. You brace yourself by clutching his shoulders, and when the adrenaline rush fades, you finally look at him. His nostrils are flared, and his jaw is clenched painfully tight. He’s pissed. 

You know you should apologize, or be a little shaken up, but the blinking of the turn signal as he pulls to the side of the dark highway has your mouth watering. This is just what you wanted. 

Jungkook sighs in frustration, tilting his head back against the headrest. The movement is counterintuitive, exposing the inked canvas of his neck that you’re desperate to paint red and purple. 

A hand fists your tangled hair, pulling you off with a harsh yank before you have the chance to sink your teeth in. The silver ring on his finger digs into your scalp like a knife. “Do not fucking mark me.”

The feeling of the frigid metal is agonizing. Not physically—his grip loosens immediately after the initial tug—but emotionally. You know why he doesn’t want you to mark him. Any evidence of you, other than your weekly babysitting duties, would unravel the entire life he’s built for himself. 

Jungkook is an intelligent man, though. You don’t have to tell him that it’s all a façade, and everything’s already been undone. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out frail and shaky. “I just want you.”

And like some cruel joke, his phone rings. 

The contact image would typically make you swoon. It’s a picture of him and his daughter from her first birthday party; her sticky, strawberry ice cream covered hands holding his cheeks as he stares at her with scrunched eyes and a big smile. You think that picture is the only time you’ve ever seen him genuinely happy.

The bold, white font at the top of the screen makes you sick to your stomach. 

‘Wife.’

Jungkook releases your hair and places a finger over his mouth, signaling you to shut up,  before answering. 

“Yes, Seulgi?”

“Your daughter would like to speak to you.” 

Her voice makes you want to curl into yourself. Whenever you talk to Seulgi regarding Yul, you’re able to compartmentalize and detach that part of yourself from this one. The one that’s sleeping with her husband. Hearing her in this compromised setting makes you feel absolutely repulsive. 

After some rustling and tiny sniffles, Yul answers. “Da-” She only manages a syllable before breaking into a cry-induced coughing fit. You cringe, poor Bunny. “Daddy!”

“What’s wrong with my baby?”

You don’t mean to giggle, especially when the little girl you’ve grown to love so much is clearly distressed, but the intimidating, grumpy, tattooed businessman beside you, talking in full-on pout, tickles your brain just right.

“I don’t wanna sleep alone!” Yul screeches in the most anguished, high-pitched tone.

“Bunny…” With the way his hands scrub down his face, you can tell the tears on the other end are physically affecting him. “Take a deep breath, please.”

There’s a shaky inhale, and a sad whine of an exhale as she tries to steady her respirations.

“Thank you, good job,” he affirms. “Yul, daddy is…” Dark pupils flicker over to you, his face scowled to match. He eyes you like you’re an annoying stain on his leather seat. A dirty little secret that’s keeping him from his daughter. The gesture sends a dagger through your chest. Usually, Jungkook tells his wife he’s working overtime, but he can’t bring himself to lie to his only daughter. “Busy.”

“B-B-But.” The wails have simmered down to a blubber. “Scared.”

“You have mommy, though, don’t you?” He counters exasperatedly, cogs turning at maximum speed to conjure up a solution. “And Ruru?”

Yul is a persistent girl. You’ve seen the two-and-a-half-year-old deadpan Jungkook with a ‘you can have them, then,’ when he tried to convince her that vegetables were delicious and totally not an abomination to tastebuds. “Jeon Ruru is scared, too.”

After a few months of dedication and trust building, Yul finally initiated you into her inner circle of squishmallows, all of which shared the surname, Jeon, followed by whatever random title her baby brain bestowed them. Jeon Ruru, a glass of strawberry milk, was her favorite. You coo in remembrance. 

“What about Ado?” Jungkook suggests, exhausting all his options.

“Ado?” She peeps curiously, and you can almost see her doe eyes scanning the room for her runner-up, an avocado squishmallow you gifted her. “Ado’s sleepin’.”

“Can you go get him?”

There’s a long pause of contemplation before the pitter-patter of tiny feet on wood fills the speakers. “Jeon Ado!” She calls out, voice becoming distant as she runs to her bedroom, “daddy wantsa’ talk to you!” You make out a quiet ‘I’ll tuck you in’ when Seulgi helps her to bed. “Okay,” Yul huffs, breathless from her scurry down the long corridor, “he’s here.”

“Jeon Ado.” You rarely see this side of him, and it takes all of your strength to suppress the smile that’s creeping up. “Can you keep Yul safe while I’m away?” He even leans forward a bit, turning his ear towards the speaker as if he’s actually waiting for the stuffed avocado to answer, subconsciously playing along with his daughter despite being miles apart. The scene puts your overwhelmingly sweet perfume to shame. “Uh, Yul, he said yes. So can you sleep in your big girl bed tonight?”

Reluctantly, Yul grumbles in agreement.

“Alright baby, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

Again, she answers with a little grunt and a yawn.

“I love you.”

“Love youuu!” She extends the vowel for emphasis.

“I love you more.”

There’s a beat of silence before the sleepy girl simply responds ‘yep,’ not even attempting to argue. He glances at you, this time with a wholesome smile, eyes warm with burning stars. It’s moments like this that keep you hooked, you think. Like always, the feeling is short-lived. When Seulgi mumbles a sweet goodnight to her daughter, their daughter, you’re reminded that you shouldn’t even be observing this domestic interaction. 

“You know,” the man begins, turning his attention to his wife, “if you had given her a warm bottle, she would’ve gone down without a hitch.” 

“Jungkook, she’s too old for a bottle.” And just like that, the fire between them ignites. You’ve never actually witnessed the pair fighting, only felt the uncomfortable heat between them in passing. “And she’s too old to be co-sleeping. She never had an issue sleeping alone beforehand.”

“Alright,” he asserts, “if Yul’s okay, then we’re done here.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little unfair?” Despite his warning, she continues. “Getting her used to sleeping with you and then not being here?”

There were many things about having a daughter that Jungkook wasn’t prepared for.

It’s not that he didn’t do his research, and Yul certainly wasn’t an accident. He had wanted her more than anything. Especially after the… 

Incident.

A baby-sized hole was left in Jungkook’s chest. Every day, it grew bigger and bigger until, eventually, that bitter emptiness would’ve swallowed him alive. 

Jungkook needed Yul. 

Still, there were certain things that parenting books and videos hadn’t warned him about, like the worry in his stomach whenever his daughter refuses her lunch, or the ache in his heart when he drops her off at daycare and she watches him leave through the window with a sad wave and tears rolling down her cheeks as if he’s just abandoned her forever. As if he or his wife aren’t going to pick her up in a mere four hours like they do every Tuesday and Thursday. His readings haven’t prepared him for the even stronger ache that consumes his entire body whenever he leaves for work too early and comes home too late, with barely any time to spend with his favorite person in the world.  

Before Yul was even born, Jungkook and Seulgi had decided that co-sleeping was out of the question. Their room was for them, and he stood firm on that principle for a while. However, as time passed, their room became Seulgi’s, and the empty bedroom downstairs became his. 

Jungkook couldn’t stand that room. 

One night, after a particularly grueling shift, Jungkook trudges up the stairs for a late shower. Without finance talk or Yul’s babbles, he’s left to his own thoughts. Usually, under the scalding water, he wondered how his life turned out this way, or more so, why? This time, Jungkook wonders if there is even a reason to keep going at all.

He catches his reflection while brushing his teeth. His eyes are dark, cold, distant. Those same eyes belong to his daughter, but all he sees when looking into hers is love, innocence, and everything good in life. 

Maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for him. 

Taking a detour to Yul’s room, Jungkook does his best to quietly tip-toe around squishmallows and discarded markers. Underneath the pink blanket is a little ball of fluffy black hair. She’s got her thumb in her mouth—a bad habit he and Seulgi had been trying to nip in the bud—with her chubby cheeks squished against her pillow. There were few things he hated more than waking her up, especially when she was sleeping so peacefully, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t stop himself. 

Tiny, confused cries fill the room as Jungkook scoops her up. 

“Shh,” he hushes, smoothing his palm over her onesie-clad back. “It’s just me.”

“Da- ddy?” Immediately, she relaxes at the familiar sound of his voice, words slurred as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes with a little fist before peering up at him with big marble eyes. 

“How was daycare, Bunny?” 

“Scared,” she whimpers, slumping into his chest for comfort. “Scaredy cat.”

“Scaredy cat?” Jungkook repeats, trying to make sense of the phrase. “Who’s a scaredy cat?”

“Jeon Yul.” 

Typically, Jungkook finds it adorable when Yul refers to herself in the third person. The way she says it this time makes him frown. “Jeon Yul is not a scaredy cat. Jeon Yul is a baby, that’s all.” Realizing that she’d probably heard the unfavorable title at daycare, his chest tightens. With a heavy sigh, he rests his chin on top of her round head, swaying back and forth. Her hair smells like green apples from her baby soap. “Why were you scared, sweetheart?”

“No color…” 

On his lunch break, Seulgi informed him that she was picking Yul up early. In an attempt to encourage her to engage with other children, the teacher took away Yul’s crayons, sending her into a full-blown tantrum. Jungkook knew his daughter well, a spitting image of him in every capacity. The crayons weren’t the problem; it was that crippling shyness that made her afraid of socializing with nearly anyone other than you and her parents.

Her back ripples with tiny hiccups as she recounts the events. Jungkook decides it’s best to change the subject, not wanting to upset his two-year-old anymore—especially this late at night. 

“Guess what?”

Yul grunts an inquisitive noise.

“Daddy got you Baby Shark coloring books.”

Her wispy bedhead bounces as she glances side to side, inspecting her room for any sign of new Pinkfong merchandise. Jungkook was genuinely amazed at her ability to keep track of it all, considering how much he and his wife loved to spoil her rotten. However, the word ‘rotten’ doesn’t even come close to describing his baby. “Where?”

“In my car,” he laughs, slicking her choppy bangs out of her eyes. “We’ll color tomorrow., okay?”

“I like Baby Shark,” Yul says, completely ignoring his question. The teeniest, tiniest, most precious yawn slips out, two little front teeth on full display before her lips smack together sleepily. Truly living up to her nickname.

“I know you do.” He’s still rocking her gently, buying some time before she falls back into sleep’s arms and out of his. “I missed you so much today.” 

“Why?”

As of late, ‘why’ seems to be Yul’s favorite word. 

Why is the sky blue?

Why do vegetables taste yucky?

Why is daddy’s nose so big?

He’d be lying if he said that last, brutally honest question hadn’t caught him off guard when she first uttered it on his hip at the grocery store. 

“Because I love you.” It’s the most effortless sentence he’s ever spoken. The most natural feeling he’s ever felt.

“Why?” 

“Because,” his eye roll is disconnected from his growing smile, “you’re so cute!” If they weren’t enclosed by the four pink walls of Yul’s bedroom, Jungkook would be embarrassed at the squeakiness of his usual monotone voice. Leaning down, Jungkook blows a raspberry against her doughy cheek, a tried and true method of making her laugh. “Do you want to sleep in my room?”

It’s against his better judgment and the ground rules he had agreed to, but he just… really needs to spend time with her tonight. The small nod against his chest seals the deal. Before he gets to the door, Yul stops him with an exaggerated gasp.

“Daddy, Ruru!”

“Ruru?” 

She grunts, frustrated at her father’s confusion, frantically pointing at her partner in crime, the strawberry milk squishmallow lying neatly underneath her comforter. Just how she left it.

“Yul,” Jungkook starts, taking a few steps backward and bending at the waist, allowing her to take the oversized stuffie into her arms. “Isn’t this Mimi?” As far as Jungkook knows, the pink milk carton with a face had always been Mimi; a name Yul had dubbed it since he brought it home a couple months back.

“Ruru,” she states affirmatively. 

And ever since then, Yul’s been a co-sleeper. 

Jungkook prided himself on knowing his daughter like the back of his tattooed hand. Whether it’s a sixth sense, some innate father’s instinct that the parenting videos mentioned, or his own attention to detail, he could read her like a book. However, sharing a bed with the tiny human taught him something he had been blissfully unaware of:

Yul sleeps wild. 

More often than not, Jungkook was awoken by a tiny foot kicking his back, or by his own reflexes as he was somehow pushed to the very corner of the bed by his twenty-pound baby. There were even a few times when a harsh tug on his hair acted as an alarm clock. When he turned around to confront the culprit, however, she was fast asleep, arm slung over one of the many squishmallows that had worked their way into his room. 

Having her with him was worth all bald spots and bruises, though. It’s bad, he knows it, and night by night, Yul becomes more attached. Getting her acclimated to daycare had been hell, to say the least. He knows co-sleeping has possibly made her more reluctant to socialize than she already was. 

Still, Jungkook can’t help but wonder who’s more dependent on the other. When he thinks about it, undoubtedly, the answer is him. Because as long as he wakes up to a little foot in his back, a fist in his hair, and the smell of green apple baby soap, he has a reason to keep going. 

“Don’t you think she deserves better?”

Her sharp words swipe through the air like a blade. Even you feel the cut, cautiously eyeing Jungkook. You can’t read his expression, but something about it makes you rub a comforting hand over his shoulder. He doesn’t react to your touch at all.

There’s a sullen pause before he finally answers. “I think Yul deserves everything.”

“Right… Goodnight, Jungkook.” She hangs up before he has the chance to respond. Seulgi always struck you as a level-headed person, albeit a bit aloof, but never unfair or cruel. You assume she’s just being spiteful, because anyone who knows Jungkook would never question his dedication to his daughter. That ugly, bitter, jealous side of you thinks maybe she just doesn’t know him the way you do. 

“Are you okay?” You whisper as if approaching a wounded animal, ready to attack. 

“On Fridays,” he starts, eyes shamefully dropping to his fidgeting hands. “Yul spends the day with my parents.”

His incessant need to defend his parenting makes your heart ache. “Hey, I-”

“She’s usually asleep by the time I leave work.” 

“Kook,” you interrupt his rambling. “You don’t have to explain; I understand... I think you’re an amazing father.”

Lifting his head, Jungkook looks you directly in the eyes. His are glassy and gentle now, but the fingers that hook into your lace bra, right between the cups, are rough and abrasive. “C’mere,” he gruffs, pulling you over the center console until you’re uncomfortably sandwiched between his solid chest and the steering wheel. There’s no effort to make room for you; he doesn’t slide his seat back. He doesn’t compromise any of his space for you. You accept it, steadying yourself on his shoulders with a grunt. 

Sometimes, you question what your presence in his life truly is. Are you an escape or a punching bag? Are you merely something he can sink his nails and teeth into when angry? Something he can break without consequence? The sound of thread ripping and buttons popping fills the car as he slides the silk off your shoulders, letting the delicate material fall to the floor without a care in the world.

“You wore this for me?” A fingertip lightly traces the petite swell of your breasts, barely bulging over the frilly black cups of your push-up. The sensation sets your skin ablaze.

“Mhm,” you confirm, “I wanted today to be special.”

“You care about me?” Moonlight cuts through the dewy window, beaming against the side of his face, highlighting the taut pull in his features. His question seems genuine, but the answer is obvious, isn’t it? Simply being here with him makes the entire foundation of your soul, all of your morals and beliefs, crumble to pieces. Against your better judgment, you’re still here. 

Yearning. Trying. Fighting.

You swipe a thumb over his thick brows, trying to ease the angry crinkle that’s become a permanent fixture on his beautiful face. You comb through his hair. It’s a little knotted, a little crunchy from old gel. 

The answer should be obvious, but you don’t think Jungkook could internalize love if it was right in front of him.

“I care about you,” you say truthfully, “a lot.”

The stars in his eyes gleam for a moment, glowing bright and vibrant, before they’re engulfed by the suffocating blackness of his pupils. 

“You poor thing,” Jungkook tuts, trailing his fingers up your neck before grasping your jaw with a single hand. The baby fat of your cheeks mushes together from the force. “You're gonna let me do whatever I want to you, aren't you?”

The tone of his voice has your heart fluttering and your stomach churning with thick hot desire. Gripping his wrist with both hands, you moan out a ‘yes,’ unconsciously grinding down onto his slack-covered bulge. He’s barely touched you yet and your cunt is leaking, making a mess of your itty bitty thong and his work suit. 

“Right, of course.” With the same hand holding you, Jungkook taps his index finger against your glossy pout, “open.” Just barely parting your lips, you let the thick digit slide between them. Immediately, he presses down against your tongue, trying to coax a gag out of you. “What if I want to fuck this pretty little mouth until you cry? How does that sound? Would you like that?”

Inhaling deeply, you nod. That sounds absolutely perfect.

“I don’t know if you can handle it, though,” he lulls, retracting his finger before plunging it back in, all the up to his inked knuckle. You squint in defiance. He’s teasing, but you can’t fight the tinge of anger in your chest. If there’s one thing you can do, it’s suck a mean dick. Looking him directly in the eyes, you swirl your tongue against his palm with ease, not choking once. You feel his cock twitch against the supple flesh of your inner thigh. 

Unamused by your antics, Jungkook yanks his hand back angrily, making a string of saliva drip down your chin. Maybe a full face of makeup wasn’t the best idea. “Get in the backseat,” he orders huskily, wiping the damp skin on his blazer. Biting back a smirk, you climb off his lap and wriggle over the center console. You situate yourself on the cool leather, laying down and assuming face-fuck position. 

The yellow glow of headlights swims across the ceiling as a passing car drifts down the misty highway. This is the first time in five months that you and Jungkook are out in the open, blissfully oblivious to the possibility of getting caught. It’s childish, but you hope someone sees. For a moment in time—in a wandering eye’s glimpse of reality—you’re his and he's yours.

“Couldn’t wait until we got to the hotel, huh?” Jungkook huffs when he opens the door. Giddily, you lean your head back over the edge of the seat, coming face to face with the tent in his pants. His hands frantically work to unbuckle his belt, desperate to bury himself inside of you. His favorite escape. “Well, since you want to act like a fucking whore-” his pants fall to his knees with a clang when he unbuttons them, “-I’ll treat you like one.”

“Please,” you whimper, noting the wet spot on his gray Calvin Kleins. Reaching up, you lightly drag your nails across it, teasingly pinching the head of his cock before he tugs his boxers down. A big greedy smile spreads across your face as his semi springs out. 

The sight makes your lips part. It’s so pretty. Something about how the moonlight catches the glowy pink tip, peeking out from under his foreskin. The light accentuates every ridge and vein on his girthy shaft. So yummy it has you drooling-

Jungkook’s right. You’re a complete and utter whore.

“Is this what you wanted?” He peers down at you over his prominent nose, one hand clutching the roof of his Mercedes. The other wraps around his thick shaft, giving it a few languid pumps, getting himself fully erect for you. Teasingly, he taps the head against your plump lips. Unable to resist, you press a sweet peck and a kitten lick to his silky frenulum. “Uh-uh,” he chuckles, raising his delicious cock just beyond your reach. “You know better than that. Ask for permission.”

“Wanna suck it,” you pout, squirming impatiently. “Please?”

Suddenly, his heavy cock slaps your cheek with a wet thud.

“Please, what?”

“Please, sir?”

“Good girl.” The praise is contradicted by another light smack to your face, this time with an open palm. Taking the hint, you open your mouth wide, tongue sticking out in anticipation. Jungkook watches you intently with furrowed brows and a slack jaw as he feeds you the first few inches. As soon as the salty flavor of his arousal hits your tastebuds, you moan obnoxiously, back arching off the leather beneath you. 

He starts slowly, using your breathing to guide his movements—pausing on the exhales and giving you a bit more on the inhales. He does this until the entirety of his length is shoved down your warm, wet mouth. 

The hem of his black dress shirt flows over you, obstructing his view. He places it between his teeth with an annoyed groan, wanting to watch the swell in your neck as you swallow him like a snake. “You take it so well,” he grunts over the material, “the best I’ve ever had.”

Tears clinging to your lashes finally lose grip, trickling down your skin until they get lost in the thick, dark swoops of your dangling hair. For once, you mean something more to him than she does. It’s insignificant and shameful, but at least it's something.

“Are you okay, __?” Jungkook asks, sensing the shift as your soul splays before him like your half-naked body. Stepping back, he gives you some reprieve.

With red eyes and drool bubbling at the corners of your lips, you moan out an implied ‘yes.’ His confession has you on cloud nine.

“Do you remember the sign?”

Again, you hum. 

“Can you show me?”

Lazily, you tap his outer thigh three times, a hard ‘stop’ symbol you had agreed upon months ago while hanging off the edge of a hotel bed, preparing for Jungkook to fuck your mouth for the very first time. 

“Good girl,” he says before rutting his entire length into you again. He’s so deep that the soft skin of his scrotum nudges against the tip of your nose, and the dense patch of trimmed hair on his pubic bone tickles your chin. Reaching down, Jungkook grips your neck, reveling in the feeling of it stretching against his palm as he moves in and out steadily. 

Eventually, he hunches over, hands wandering down and holding your temples for better leverage. Despite the harsh digs of his hips, his delicate fingers brush away a few strands of hair stuck to your damp cheeks. The sweet gesture makes you whimper around him in pure ecstasy, moving your head to meet his thrusts for extra stimulation, circling your flat tongue around the base. 

The whistles of the midnight breeze and the murmur of passing cars fade, and all you hear is Jungkook. The melodic, venomous praises pouring out of him poison your mind with optimism. He takes one last plunge, so powerful it sends you sliding back against the seat. To steady yourself, you grip his legs, attempting to ease your triggered gag reflex. He holds you there, cock stuffed to the brim as he slams a hand against the black steel of his car, shirt falling from his teeth as he moans ardently. You gasp when he finally pulls out, leaking tip still connected to you by a bridge of spit and precum.

“Why-” Cough. “Why did you stop?” 

Your question is met with only the sound of rustling fabric and the chime of his hanging belt buckle as he removes his suit jacket and throws it into the passenger seat. Grabbing you by the band of your lingerie, Jungkook hauls your frame closer.

He snaps your taut bra strap against your shoulder with a single finger. “Take this off.”

“O-Okay,” you stutter, still trying to catch your breath as you sit up at the waist and unclip your bra. A shiver runs down your spine as the cool night air licks your exposed chest. This time when you lie down, you’re positioned under his spread legs. He stands over you with such authority and dominance. The underside view of his hard cock looks absolutely menacing. 

“These,” Jungkook’s large palms grab at your tits, jiggling them, “I wanna fuck ‘em.”

“There isn’t anything for you to fuck,” you giggle. 

After years of insecurity, and crying over vengeful comments from dumb boys you had broken things off with, you finally came to terms with your appearance. Your tits are small, and that’s okay. Plus, the cute little nipple piercings you had gotten a while back were definitely a confidence booster. There wasn’t an ounce of self-hatred in your comment.

Jungkook doesn’t take it that way, though.

“Shut up.” With a huff, he steps back and hunches, reaching down to deliver a harsh swat to your cheek. It was a little rougher than usual, and you wince upon impact. Instantly, he soothes the skin with a gentle pet. “Your tits are… perfect.”

Perfect? Your cheeks and aching pussy heat up at the compliment.

Squeezing your chest, Jungkook brushes his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. He pays extra attention to the silver barbells, decorated with little sparkly peaches at the ends. “These are new,” he notes, tugging on the jewelry. You let out a breathy moan, legs clenching together, inner thighs embarrassingly wet. “Sheesh,” he laughs, “someone’s sensitive.”

“Yeah… keep going.”

“I like them. They’re cute on you.”

Throughout your acquaintances, Jungkook was rarely this vocal. Maybe some praise sprinkled in here and there, but seldom anything substantial. Tonight, however, he’s been dishing out sweet talk like candy. You can’t pinpoint precisely what, but something’s changed.

Whatever it is, it fills you with awful, wishful hope.

Jungkook shuffles closer, teasing the teat of your pierced bud with his sticky tip. The dreamy sensation has your eyes rolling back into your skull. A glob of spit drops between the valley of your breasts before he spreads the wetness over your skin with his shaft. He has to use a death grip to force your tits into a soft plushness, perfect for him to slot himself into. Again, you feel that fucking ring embedding itself into your skin like a nasty tick. 

Cautiously, he guides his pulsing cock between your constrained breasts. A beautiful symphony of groans lulls out as he throws his head back in pleasure, long locks dancing along his clammy neck. 

“You like that?” You hum, taunting him. “Tell me how it feels.”

It takes him a minute to collect his thoughts, eyes trained on your tits pillowing around him, focusing on the dewy sheen of your nipples and chest as his oozing cock spills onto your skin. “It feels-” his hips stutter, “-so fucking good.”

The way his teeth snarl around the hushed curse makes you smile, eyes closing as you relish in his pleasure. Maybe you’re too horny, or perhaps the blood rushing to your head from being upside down for so long is making you crazy, but you wish you could live in this moment forever. Wallowing in the darkness, frozen in time with him. Yeah, you think, that would be wonderful.

“You can touch yourself,” he comments, spotting your clenched legs, desperate for some pressure. 

“S’okay,” you mumble, reaching around to caress his balls. His thighs tremble a bit against your arms. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“Can you-” he grunts, stomach clenching as he begins to feel that familiar pooling in the base of his thick shaft. “Hold them for me. I’ll take care of you after, just- let me cum.”

Obliging, you replace his hands with your own, squishing your tits together for him. The visual of you lying under him, complacent and willing, sends him spiraling. A guttural roar echoes throughout the empty road as he speeds up. “Tighter,” he orders; you listen. The saliva and precum are beginning to rub off, making the friction of his chaotic thrusts sting your skin. He notices, letting another string of spit fall from his mouth onto your flesh. “Be good and take it. I’m almost there.”

By now, Jungkook should know you’d endure any pain to be with him. 

The darkest parts of your brain tell you he’s well aware of that fact. 

After a few more humps and lulled words of encouragement, he’s bursting at the seams. Just before he blows, Jungkook steps back, tight fist jerking himself frantically as he spills his seed onto your chest. Your eyes dart from his angry cock to his fucked out expressions. The moonlight shines behind him like a glowing aura as he finishes with a scrunched nose and his tongue between his teeth. He looks angelic. You moan under him, flinching when a stray spurt lands on your chin. 

Fucked out and dazed, he laughs softly, running a hand through his hair as his chest heaves. Collecting the liquid with his finger, he brings it to your giggling lips. The taste makes you hum as you lazily begin rubbing his cum all over your tits. 

“Really?” He asks with a raised eyebrow. “You’re already starting?”

“Starting what?” You pout, batting your lashes at him and circling your nipple lightly with the tip of your nail, trying your best to look oblivious and innocent. Well, as innocent as you possibly can while literally covered in sperm. 

“Don’t play dumb. You know what you’re doing.”

See, in many ways, Jungkook is different from any other guy you’ve been with prior. For one, you didn’t meet via horny messages on Tinder at 1 a.m. For two, he’s older, meaning he’s much more intelligent and much more experienced. After years and years of honing in on his craft, he just knows how to fuck. Jungkook is one of the rare few penis-havers in the world who can orgasm back to back; no refractory period necessary. Truly a hidden gem. 

To put it simply, the man is a fucking faucet—one that you can turn off and on whenever you want. 

As if on cue, Jungkook twirls his inked finger, indicating for you to turn around. The other hand squeezes his cock just below the crown to cut off circulation, keeping himself erect. With that, your white converses are planted flat onto the sparse grass as you bend over the back seat, leaning your weight on your elbows. 

It's like whiplash when Jungkook's aggressive persona drops, and he's running his hands all over your body. Up your thighs, over your back, down your arms. He blooms petal-soft kisses on your bare shoulder before whispering in your ear. “Can I go in like this? Or do you need some foreplay?”

“This is fine,” you murmur, jarred by his sudden tenderness. “Perfect, actually.” 

With a hushed ‘alright,’ Jungkook reaches over you to rummage through the pocket of his discarded blazer. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as he pulls out a square foil packet. Condoms were an unwavering constant in your weekend escapades. Jungkook always wears condoms. Normally, that would be a great thing; however, in this situation, it’s like a stab to the heart…

Because if he’s adamant about using protection with you, then that means he’s still sleeping with her, doesn’t it? And it’s not like you can even ask or scold him about it. She’s his wife, after all. You’re the outsider. 

Jungkook hooks his thumb into your panties and pulls them aside. Your glistening folds are on full display, waiting to get pounded mercilessly right on the side of the road. He shoves three digits into your mouth, letting your drool on them a bit before pressing them to your wet cunt. Opening your folds with his index and ring fingers, he lightly dips the middle inside you. He collects some arousal and spreads it to your clit in feathery flicking motions. You cry out, feeling the shocks of a blossoming orgasm. 

“Already dripping, I see.” You can practically hear his cocky, satisfied grin as he stands straight and rolls the condom down his length. “Always so sensitive.”

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, “I always get like this with you.”

“I know you do.” Pulling a cheek to the side, Jungkook cards his sheathed tip through your entrance, making sure to nudge under your clitoral hood with every swipe. Lewd wet sounds ring in your ears as he tortures your hole relentlessly. 

“Kook,” you huff, reaching back to dig your manicured, almond-shaped nails into his skin. “Just put it in!”

Suddenly, Jungkook slams your torso onto the leather. In one swift motion, he’s catching your wrists, pinning them both to your lower back with a single hand. 

“I’ll give you what you want just-” releasing the back of your neck, he spanks you so hard you recoil, “be patient.”

Despite his words, you wait no longer than a minute before he’s guiding his dreamy member right where you want it. Jungkook always gives in quickly. How could he not when you’re ass up, face down, and practically begging? As he sinks into you, and you feel that familiar burn from the initial stretch, your eyes roll back, mouth opening around a silent scream. 

Usually, Jungkook likes to overwhelm you with his entire length all at once. There’s some hesitation this time as he slides in only halfway before stopping. Too much hesitation for your liking. You’re confident he’s testing you. Your assumption is verified when he speaks in that annoying, condescending voice.

“If you want it so bad, come get it.”

“You’re so,” breaking free from his grasp, you press your palms into the seat and lift yourself up with a grumble, “infuriating.”

He hums halfheartedly, head dropping to watch you work yourself onto him. Only a single stroke in, and he can already see you coating him in a shiny, milky dew. “So fucking wet…”

“Can’t help it,” you peep, taking him to the hilt and circling your hips, trying to savor the feeling. You’re no stranger to his cock; how good it makes you feel. You spend every Friday night bathing in that pleasure, forgoing parties and hangouts with your best friends for a romp in the five-star hotel sheets with Jungkook. Still, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to commit his touch to memory. Perhaps, despite your denial, you recognize that this is temporary. Deep down, you know that someday, all you’ll have left of him is a tragic echo. “I love the way you make me feel.”

“Me too,” he gasps, guiding your movements as his fingers dig into your hips. Clearly interpreting your admission differently than you had meant it. “Your pussy’s like heaven.” 

High on praise and drunk on the sounds you’re coaxing out of him, you whine, dragging your cunt up every inch of his throbbing length before slamming back. Hopefully, the dense forest behind you is enough to insulate the pornographic wails ripping through you. Even if someone somewhere hears, you can’t bring yourself to give a damn. Not when heady pleasure and adrenaline course through your veins like blood. 

Just when you’re about to collapse, arms giving out underneath you, Jungkook grabs you by the neck and holds you flush against his toned chest. “Don’t you run,” he chuckles. The low baritone rumble goes straight to your clit. His warm breath gusts over your skin, contrasting the chilly night air. “Don’t give up on me.”

He’s pounding into you now, choking you tighter than he ever has, but he pecks you so delicately. Lips barely ghosting over the shell of your ear. So gentle and tender. As tears stream down your cheeks for the second time tonight, you can’t help but feel there’s a hidden meaning behind his words.

“What’s wrong?” He smirks, tilting your face, wanting you to look him in the eye as you fall apart. The visual nearly makes you combust. His stringy hair is sticking to his cheeks, flushed from exertion. Even the tattoos littering the expanse of his neck are splotched pink and red. Twisting in his hold, you grab a fistful of his damp waves, fingers tickling his short undercut. “What do you want, baby?”

“Cum…”

“You wanna cum?”

“Please, please, please.” Weak whimpers punch out of you in tandem with his brutal thrusts.

“What do you say?”

“Please, sir?”

“Good girl,” he rewards you with a smack to your sensitive clit, “you can cum. I’ve got you.”

And with his permission, you’re cumming. Your legs shake violently as you’re overcome with blinding, electric gratification. If it wasn’t for Jungkook’s strong arms supporting you, you would’ve toppled face-first into the seat. He fucks you through the height of your orgasm; hips never ceasing, even when everything becomes so intense and sensitive that your body instinctively tries to push him away. He watches your face intently, reading your expressions to ensure he’s milked every last drop of your orgasm before he lets you fall onto the leather.

Even in your hazy state, you catch the breathy string of curses, a telltale sign of his own impending orgasm. “Fuck!” He groans, removing the condom to paint your ass and lower back in hot, white ropes. 

It’s funny, really. 

He refuses to cum with you or inside you, something so intimate and special, but he has no qualms cumming on you. It’s almost like he’s marking you, burning himself into your flesh. Consuming a piece of you every time your bodies come together as one. 

And all the while, his mind is somewhere else as his body swallows you alive. 

“Look at you,” Jungkook laughs, smoothing a palm up and down your spine, rubbing his semen into your skin the same way you had earlier. “I’ve made a mess out of you.” 

That’s true in more ways than one…

Lost in post-nut clarity, your brain barely registers Jungkook maneuvering you both into the car. Closing the door behind him, he moves you onto his lap, your back pressed against his sweaty button-up. Peering down, you see his slacks and boxers still around his ankles, black dress shoes poking out underneath. You’re in only a thong and sneakers, and your makeup is definitely melted. The two of you must look like the biggest sluts ever.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook mutters, noticing your delirious giggles. 

“Oh, nothing,” you hum, leaning into him. Habitually, he wraps both of his inked arms around your middle. You despise how incredibly natural and serendipitous it feels, almost like you’re meant to be in them.

God __, get your head out of the clouds and return to Earth. 

Life isn’t a romance novel, and you’re not a child anymore. You shouldn’t see the world as quartz-colored and magical. The man is seven years older than you. He has a wife and child. Logistically, it could never, ever work…

But if soulmates exist as they do in the books, you wish on every falling star that Jungkook is yours.

“What are you thinking about?” You coo softly, turning your head to stare into the abyss of his infinite eyes.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, he can’t resist lowering his sinful hand to your most private area, cupping your sex unabashedly. “I want more.”

“You always want more.” 

“So do you,” he laughs, pointing out the way you grind into his touch. Nuzzling into your shoulder, he nips your skin and then soothes his tongue over it like an insincere apology. “Just one more time, okay?”

You nod, head leaning back on his shoulder as you succumb to his skilled fingers, rubbing your clit in tight circles. Jungkook pauses in contemplation before popping his glistening fingers into his mouth. When the taste hits his tongue, his face contorts. He even moans dreamily like you’re the most delicious dessert he’s experienced. The scene has your own brows furrowing, lips parting at just how hot and bothered he’s got you. 

Sensually, he trails the wet pads down, ghosting over a nipple, teasing you on their treacherous journey to your waiting core. He slides them in your wet cunt seamlessly, curling right into your g-spot. They move in a dip and wave that drives you wild, a wet suction noise sounding in the enclosed space. Turned on by your purrs and mewls, Jungkook subtly ruts against you, his plumping cock sliding between your cheeks.

“You’re already close, aren’t you?” He tuts patronizingly. “Gonna cum around my fingers, sweetheart?”

“No…”

“No?”

“Wanna cum with you…”

He stops, realizing what you’re alluding to, before pulling his fingers out and tapping your clit gently. “There’s another condom in my pocket. Can you hand it to me?”

“We don’t need it.”

“Yes, we do. Don’t be foolish.”

“... I’m on the pill,” you suggest hesitantly. Once again, you’re nothing but stupid and irresponsible when it comes to Jungkook. You just want to be with him, that’s all. 

“__,” he starts, voice shadowed with sternness, “give me the condom.”

Realizing he won’t budge, you do as he asks and fish it from his blazer, watching idly as he goes through all the steps—stroking himself to full mass, rolling on a barrier, and then positioning you between his spread legs as he guides you down onto his length with a hand on your hip. 

Cyclical. 

Like clockwork, your jaw drops, eyes screwing shut as you let him invade your space and infiltrate your mind. You don’t believe the two of you have ever tried this position before, but it feels so fucking good. His cock is so deep you can feel it in your fucking stomach. It’s obvious from his groaning and the aggressive spank he gives you that the unexplored angle is affecting him too. 

Outside, light rain begins chiming against the steel roof of his car as you take the first shallow rise of your hips. 

Scratch everything you’ve said about this not being a romance novel.

Distracted by the calming sound, you thoroughly miscalculate how much space you have in his sleek Mercedes Benz and bonk your head on the ceiling.

“Ow,” you wince with an embarrassed giggle.

Hissing at the impact, Jungkook clutches your head, massaging the area gently. “Are you okay?” His voice is muffled, and you can tell he’s trying his best not to laugh. 

“It’s not funny!” You shout playfully, slapping his knee. 

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry.” Chuckling, he moves your hair and places a gentle kiss between your shoulder blades. “You’re cute, that's all.”

Cute? You swoon. 

“Alright baby, keep going. Don’t stop,” Jungkook orders, the heel of his calloused palms pushing at your ass, encouraging you to bounce on his needy cock. A fucked-out sigh escapes him, head falling back for a split second before it jerks back up again, not wanting to miss the view of your perky cheeks rippling as they collide with his solid pelvis. “This position is so sexy.” Overwhelmed, he doesn’t know where to put his hands. He chokes you for a moment, plays with your tits, swats them, grabs your hips, and then finally settles on your clit, flicking it like a light switch.

“Jungkook!” You wail, knees knocking together as you brace yourself. Men you’ve dated in the past struggled to get you off. Sure, they made you feel good, but they couldn’t quite bring you to the edge. It only ever took Jungkook a matter of minutes to have you whimpering and shaking, begging for release. “I can’t take so much! I can’t!”

Ignoring your pleas, Jungkook pilots your right arm around his shoulder, sending you flush against his frame once more. Dipping his head, he sucks the closest nipple into his mouth. Caught off guard, you’re so overstimulated that your hips come to a grinding halt.

“Move,” he commands with his lips sealed around your piercing, sending dizzying vibrations to your sensitive bud. 

“I can’t,” you whimper, back arching off his chest as you try to calm all five tingling senses. 

“Yes, you can.” 

“No…”

Jeon Jungkook was never one to take no for an answer. 

Scooting further down the seat, his large hands clasp behind your knees. He lifts your legs until the heels of your white sneakers are on either side of the driver’s headrest. In this new position, he’s able to pound up into you freely, relentlessly beating into clenching walls. Hitting every single delicious spot inside of you. “Jungkook, please!”

“Please, what?” Honestly, you have no clue what you’re begging for. All you know is that his mushroom tip rigorously stimulating your g-spot is going to have you gushing at any moment. His guttural, sensual groaning does nothing to slow your approaching orgasm. “You want more?” 

As if you weren’t already gasping for air, Jungkook raises your legs to your head, knees locked onto his inner elbows. His fingers intertwine behind your neck, thumbs pressing into the base of your throat as he folds you in half. 

A full fucking nelson. 

“Watch me fuck it.” With a stern grip, he forces your gaze to his thick shaft, sliding in and out of your sopping cunt. Your vision is watery, but you can clearly see just how turned on you are, creamy juices coating his entire shaft. “Open it, baby. Watch what I do to you.” 

Reaching both hands under your thighs, you spread your lips, getting a better look at him completely destroying you.

“Isn’t it so pretty?” Jungkook grunts, speech slurred as his arousal lulls him into a delirious, catatonic state. “Tell me what you see, baby.”

“So pretty, Kook.” You’re simply playing into his dirty talk, but the sight of your bodies connecting, becoming one, is profoundly gorgeous. “So wet…”

“Yeah? Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours.”

That sends him into a frenzy, thrusts becoming so punctuated and violent that his cock accidentally slips out. 

“Put it back in, put it back in!” You chant, frantically shoving his length into you. The yelp you chortle out is accompanied by the sound of your hand smacking against the foggy car window as your climax engulfs you. “I love it!”

“I love yo-”

He quickly cuts himself off, but everything stops when the sentence fragment hits the air. 

Is your brain playing sick, twisted jokes on you… or was he really just about to say he loved you?

Before you can even process what’s happening, your biological responses take over, sending through the most earth-shattering, world-bending, mind-boggling orgasm you’ve ever had. Everything goes blank. Your eyes cloud with splotches and stars. Your ears ring with static and white noise, blurring the sound of Jungkook cumming underneath you, and the pouring rain outside, splashing against concrete. 

This time, he doesn’t pull out, just works through both of your orgasms with gentle ruts and vulnerable whimpers.

After you’ve both calmed down and your heaves have diminished to a slow, even pattern, he pulls out, crumpling the used condom into a loose napkin he found in the center console. Still on his lap and in his arms, you watch intently as Jungkook leans his head back, eyes closing as he inhales deeply. To you, he looks almost… peaceful. 

The moon trickles in through the thin streams on the window, reflecting on his face like stained glass—something that was once so clear and pure now jaded with somber shades of blue. Sad, but still beautiful, you think. 

Delicately, you trace a finger over the black ink decorating his skin. You sit silently for a while, basking in the comfortable aura, simply enjoying one another’s company, before you finally speak.

“Why this?” You peep, pointing to the dainty letters at the base of his neck.

“It’s my daughter’s name.” He counters playfully, the faintest hint of a smile on his pierced lips.

“Well, duh, I know that,” you roll your eyes with a giggle, “but why here?”

“Yul is like air to me.” 

Humming in contemplation, you continue your journey over the endless swirls and loops. During sex, the first three buttons of his shirt popped open, exposing the canvas of his chest. You feel a thick, dark cloud loom over you when you reach a certain tattoo, the one that’s plagued your mind ever since you first saw it. 

Another name is engraved right above his heart in the same delicate font as Yul’s:

Seol. 

“Yul, please. Enough.” If Jungkook had a dollar for every time he's said that in the last twenty-two minutes, he’d be nearly as rich as his boss, sitting directly in front of him on a very important Zoom call. “Daddy is working.”

Jumping at the sudden inflection of his voice, the little girl on his lap pulls her tiny hand away. For the most part, Yul was well-behaved. However, working from home proved to be an obstacle that he and his clingy toddler have yet to overcome. 

She’s interrupted his meeting three times already. First, cutting off his proposal with the Baby Shark theme song, blaring from her Pinkfong tablet that he’d forgotten to mute. Second, peeking above his desk with her space buns and doe eyes to show his colleagues the latest addition to her squishmallow collection. The last straw was when she squeezed his nose. 

With watery eyes and warbled lips, Yul blinks at Jungkook, heartbroken and confused as to why he didn’t make that funny noise she loves so much. Quickly, her gaze averts to her chunky legs, swinging aimlessly as she attempts to hold back the tears.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Jungkook sighs, tacking on an apology before turning his screen off. “Bunny,” he lifts her chin with his index finger, another palm flat on her protruding tummy, “please, don’t cry. You’re not in trouble. Daddy just-”

The ring of a doorbell interrupts him.

“__?” Jungkook questions, baby at his hip as he stands in the doorway before you. “What are you doing here?”

You gulp. You weren’t expecting to see him.

Usually, you spoke to Seulgi. You’ve only ever seen Jungkook in passing, sparing quick greetings before he’s out the door. It worked in your favor, really, because for whatever reason, you felt extremely awkward around him.

Almost like that gross nervousness you get when you’re around someone you find so incredibly attractive it makes you uncomfortable…

Maybe it’s because he’s covered in tattoos and piercings. Maybe it’s because he’s a dad. Your group of fellow horny twenty-something-year-old friends have told you mythical stories and fantasies about older men. Freshly turned thirty-year-old men. Men like Jungkook. Dilfs. Something about that potent dad nut… Like, you know it works. 

It’s inappropriate; you know it is. You’ve always tried your best to ignore the feral thoughts.

Today seems to be putting your mental strength to the test because Jungkook is dressed in baggy gray sweats, long dark hair slicked back into a ponytail. A few loose strands dangle devilishly in front of his eyes, taunting you.

“I-It’s 10… I’m supposed to be babysitting.”

“I’m working from home today. My wife didn’t tell you?”

With wide eyes and hot cheeks, you shake your head. “I’m sorry for bothering you,” you stutter, stepping back and preparing to make a mad dash to your hand-me-down Honda Civic. “I’ll just… be on my way then.” 

“Actually.” An icy grip on your wrist stops you. “I could use some help. This one-” he nods his head towards Yul, stuck to him like velcro, “-is being a bit needy today.” 

One look at her turns your flustered gape into a smile. The past month with her has been more difficult than you’d imagined. Yul was incredibly sweet and intuitive, but unbearably shy. Building a relationship with the girl was challenging, but you were determined to overcome it. “No way,” you frown animatedly, tickling her leg with the tip of your finger, “Yul would never.”

A giggle or two had been the goal. Instead, she buries her face into her father’s shoulder.

“Don’t take it personally,” Jungkook orders, noticing the defeated slump in your shoulders. “She’s always like this with new people.”

Seulgi had warned you that Yul would take a while to come around. Hopefully, it’ll happen organically. But for now, a little gift or two wouldn’t hurt your efforts, you supposed last night while running errands. Reaching into your purse, you pull out a bottle of non-toxic, baby-friendly nail polish. “Yul, look what I have!”

“Wow,” Jungkook plays along, gently nudging her head out of his neck. “Bunny, look!”

He calls her Bunny? 

You’re in for it now. 

Plump fingers wrap around the plastic, taking it out of your own with an awe-stricken stare. She holds it up right in front of Jungkook’s nose. “Pink.”

“Mhm, that’s right,” he confirms, pecking her temple. “Now, Daddy has to get back to work. Can you stay with __ for a bit?”

She looks at him, then at you, then at him again, then back at you, and finally, landing on the nail polish, giving her father a reluctant nod. You knew it would come in handy. Despite her agreeance, Yul still stretches the neck of his shirt with her tiny fists as she’s transferred into your arms. 

Somehow, you managed to survive that painfully awkward encounter…

Only to be thrown into another one immediately after. 

See, you’ve always known Yul was a daddy’s girl. On good days, the toddler would grab you by the hand and guide you around the house, giving you a tour of everything that belonged to her father. His shoes at the door. His coat on the hook. Even taking you into the bathroom to show you his shampoo bottle. But that fact was never more apparent than now, as Yul stands in the middle of the living room on the verge of tears.

“Daddy?”

“He’s working, sweetheart. Remember?” You coo on your knees in front of her. You’re quick to redirect her. “I like your shoes.”

The sniffles stop as she glances down at her white sneakers. “Mine…” she takes a hesitant step back, mistaking your compliment as an attempt to swindle her out of them. 

“That’s right,” you laugh, “they’re so pretty, just like you.”

She blinks at you for a moment, and then begins stomping her little foot: heel first. When she’s finally able to kick off her left shoe, she bends all the way over, pressing her palms flat against the hardwood floor. It’s the most uncoordinated way you’ve ever seen anyone pick something up. 

Without warning, Yul throws the shoe across the room. Well, that had been her intention, you assume. She had cocked her arm back too far and released too early, making it land behind her. 

Oh no, she hates you. 

With an excited grunt and a bounce, Yul points to the sneaker—its clear sole sparkling pink and purple.

“Oh,” you sigh in relief. “They light up?” 

“Yesh.” Plopping right onto her butt, she takes the other one off, repeating the process. “Like this!” Her arms stretch out and she clenches her two little front teeth, executing the most stellar charade of a light you’ve ever seen. 

It’s a small breakthrough, but you’ll take it. 

Then you paint her nails, just like you said you would. She’s as patient as a toddler could be, but her tiny toe keeps curling under the tickle of the brush, making pink polish bleed outside of the lines. 

“My goodness,” you groan, admiring the messy, albeit adorable, result. “You’re so cute! Wait until your dad sees you.” 

Yul shrieks wildly, smacking both hands over her mouth as she hobbles to her feet. You watch with confused giggles as the milk-drunk baby stumbles down the corridor. You figure out where she's going too late. 

Yul stands on her tippy toes, jumping to click open the door to Jungkook’s office with a loud creak. 

“Yul!” You whisper-shout. “Don’t-”

“Daddy!” She calls, stepping a single foot into the room, showing off the fresh paint job. “So cute!” 

Literally, your only job today was to keep Yul preoccupied while Jungkook worked, and you failed. Your breath catches in your throat, awaiting his response. 

“So pretty,” he gasps, “now go play, baby. I’m almost done.” 

A relieved exhale flies past your lips. 

Something you’ve picked up on from years of babysitting is that little girls aren’t allowed to compliment themselves. They’re always told it’s rude or conceited. Jungkook does neither, and you find that so refreshing. 

“Close the door, please,” he orders before she runs away, “gently.” Yul does her very best to shut the door quietly and then sprints back to you. 

The next few hours go smoothly. You discovered that the green-hating toddler has an affinity for avocados after giving her a bite of your toast. “Mmm!” She had hummed, looking at you with wide eyes. With a full belly and squishmallow in hand, Yul went out like a light for her afternoon nap, giving you time to catch up on some reading. 

“How was she?” You didn’t even hear him come out of his office, so the deep voice makes you jump, eyes tracking the sound. He’s leaning against a kitchen counter, one tattooed hand stuffed in his pocket and the other wrapped around a water bottle. It’s a thick one too, and his fingers still touch. 

“Better,” you cough, “she’s sleeping now.”

He hums halfheartedly, dark irises boring into you as he takes a sip. Without Yul to soften the edges, Jungkook is… intimidating, to say the least. “What are you reading?”

“The Catcher in the Rye…” you peep, quickly closing it. “I know, it’s kinda lame.”

“No, not lame at all. Anyone who thinks that is lying to themselves… or is just being a contrarian.” He leans his elbows against the dark granite island, fingers crossing as he stares at you. You’re sitting idle across the room, but his presence looms over you. He has this way of making you feel like he’s in your head, listening to everything you’re thinking. 

You pray he’s not. If he is, you'll definitely be fired. 

“I can’t tell which one you are yet.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but the ‘yet’ makes you come clean, shifting in your spot on the leather couch. “... Both.”

“Right,” he smirks, tongue fiddling with his lip ring, almost like he’s taunting you. “That’s one of my favorite books, actually. I relate to it in many ways.”

Your fingers dance across the red cover, concealing hundreds of pages of isolation, emptiness, and the heavy dread of passing time. What an awful thing to relate to. Sometimes, when you get too engrossed in the text, glimmers of yourself bleed within the lines too. 

“You’re an English major, right?”

“Oh, um, I’m not in school at the moment… I just read for fun.”

“Well, you have an Associate’s degree.” Him knowing that information about you makes you think he asked the previous question with the intention of baiting you into this conversation. “Why not get your Bachelor’s?”

“I don’t know. It’s… complicated.” 

Why is he interrogating you? What does he want? For you to confess that the fear of becoming a full-fledged adult makes you not want to go back to college? 

“Life is complicated. You’d be ridiculous to not go back.” The audacity should make you mad, but he speaks with so much authority that you’re dumbfounded. His head tilts, eyes squinting as they shift to the ceiling, debating something. His tongue clicks when he finally makes his decision. “Follow me; I have something I want to show you.” 

With the curl of two thick fingers, Jungkook calls you to follow him down the hallway. You blink for a moment, gushing at the suggestive motion of his hand. Shaking your head at the evil, intrusive thought, you rise to your feet. 

Just like a child, you have to skip to catch up to his long strides. Your gaze trails along white walls; there are pictures of him and Yul, Yul and Seulgi, but not a single one of them all together. 

Now that you think about it, any affection you’ve ever seen in the household was reserved for Yul and Yul only. Seems like trouble in paradise…

You shouldn’t speculate.

The heavy wooden door creaks as Jungkook holds it open for you. You’re not sure what you expected his room to look like, but it certainly wasn’t this. The rest of the house is pretty modern, consisting of sleek blacks, whites, and woods. Countertops designed with icy swirled marble. Everything has this cold, impersonal vibe, but this room is the total opposite. The walls are baby blue, decorated top to bottom with dreamy clouds. You spot a chubby yellow star peeking out from underneath one of them, adorned with a hand-painted smiley face. On his nightstand, there’s a pastel purple foldable record player. Standing behind it is a single vinyl: Beautiful Boy by John Lennon. 

“Since you like to read,” Jungkook coughs, turning your attention to a sleek bookcase, stuffed to the brim with hundreds of titles you’ve never even heard of. “I figured you’d appreciate my collection.”

“Yeah, it’s…” The words trail off as you step forward. On a whim, your finger extends, tracing the delicate spine of a well-loved book. A low chuckle brings you back to reality; you peep, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as you yank your hand away. “It’s… really cool.”

“You can borrow something if you’d like. Does anything catch your eye?” Plopping down onto the computer chair, Jungkook rummages through his desk drawer and pulls out a tiny black case. You didn’t even know he wore glasses, and when he nudges them comfily onto the bridge of his nose, you nearly melt. As if he could get any more attractive.

“N-No,” you stutter as he wheels closer. Even though you’re towering over him, you still feel so small in his presence. You pray to God he can’t sense how incredibly nervous he makes you. “Not really.” 

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, you know,” he hums, low and sly. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No!” You peep in shock. Is the man a fucking mindreader? 

“Right.” Jungkook peers over the rim of his lenses, dark eyes glimmering in the whimsical glow of the room. “So __, what do you want to be?”

“A teacher,” you say, playing with your fingers.

“My wife wanted to be a teacher, too.” He shoots you the softest, gentlest smile. “She ended up doing business instead.” 

“Why?” You ask, gnawing on your bottom lip. You don’t mean to pry, but this is the first time you’ve ever actually talked to him in a meaningful way. Something about him intrigues you, like a puzzle you’re determined to find all the pieces to. 

“Ah, well,” he sighs, inked fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “We figured it’d be best for our family if we both pursued more lucrative career paths. I switched my major from English to finance.” You light up at the confession, the similarity putting you at ease. “I’m sorry if I was abrasive earlier,” he frowns, “I settled down young and had to sacrifice a lot, so I encourage you to go for something that fulfills you.” With his elbows on his knees, he leans closer to you. “I think you’d be a fantastic teacher. You take care of my daughter well.”

“Thank you,” you peep, cheeks heating up at the compliment. “I mean… you didn’t have Yul that young.” He tried to comfort you, so it’s only fair you do the same, right? “I think your late twenties are a great time to have children.”

Almost immediately, his face drops, eyes glazing over with something so raw. So… longing. You’ve never seen anything like it before. The corners of his nose twitch before he composes himself. “Yeah, I suppose they are.” His pink tongue toys with his lip ring, swiftly changing the subject. “You seem surprised.” 

“I guess I just wasn’t expecting all this.” 

“Expecting what?” 

“I don’t know,” you laugh clumsily, “books.” You mentally curse yourself as soon as the answer comes out. Really, __? Books? 

“What?” He starts, raising a brow at you. “You thought I couldn’t read?”

Thankfully, Jungkook takes your comment playfully. 

“Maybe,” you respond in the same lighthearted manner, feeling a bit more comfortable in his presence, “I also didn’t expect your room to look like a little boy’s room.”

All of the cheerfulness in the air evaporates as Jungkook glares at you with a clenched jaw and flared nostrils. Cleary irate. You’ve triggered a landmine.

“Jungkook, I’m-”

“Stop talking.” He raises a hand, cutting you off before you finish the sentence. Turning his back to you, he wheels over to his desk. “You can leave. You’re done for the day.” 

Looking back, you know why he was so upset that day. You had put the puzzle pieces together a while ago. You’re unsure of the details, and asking for them feels wrong. Silence feels wrong, too, though. Until now, you’ve never dared to speak up. 

You have no idea how to navigate something of this magnitude, but you just want him to know that you’re here. That you’re trying.

Cautiously, with your hand still on the tattoo, you whisper: “He must’ve been so beautiful, Jungkook…”

The thumb that had been drawing soft shapes into your side comes to an eerie pause as he freezes under you. When you look at him, your heart shatters. His chin is caved in with little dents, eyes glazed over with so much emotion. You’ve never seen a human being look so broken.

“Get off me.”

You frown at the shift in his demeanor. “Why?”

Remaining tight-lipped, Jungkook physically removes you from his lap, dumping you onto the seat next to him.

“Why can’t we ever talk about anything serious?”

He remains quiet as he slides his underwear up, not sparing you a single glance. When he speaks, his tone is painfully detached. “Like what?”

“Like what you said,” you answer curtly. 

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Shaking his head with a cynical chuckle, he begins buttoning his pants, pretending you don’t exist. Like you’re not right beside him, falling to pieces. 

Your eyes dart to the ceiling, lashes fluttering rapidly as you mull over what to say next. You guess now would be an appropriate time to ask him what you’ve wanted for weeks. Blinking does nothing to combat your unshed tears when you realize that his answer has the potential to destroy everything you’ve been dreaming about. Everything you’ve hoped for. “When are you going to leave her?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous, Jungkook!” Shaking your head furiously, you feel the first hints of anger in your chest, tears threatening to spill at any moment. “I’m not! I see the way you look at me!”

“What the fuck did you think was going to happen? Huh?” Finally, he’s paying attention to you, just not in the way you hoped. His face is beet red as he leans closer. “Don’t tell me you actually thought we were going to end up together, __. Seriously? You’re my babysitter! You’re seven years younger than me! This isn’t some fucking fairytale; it’s life! There’s no such thing as happily-ever-afters—grow up and stop acting like a damn child!”

“No, Jungkook,” you croak, fully sobbing as you push an angry finger into his chest. “You’re the one who’s acting childish! I may not be the most mature person, but at least I know how to accept love!”

“So let’s say I divorce my wife, then what? Huh?” He seethes. “I get partial custody? I only see Yul on weekends? Every other week? She grows up in a broken home? I refuse to ruin my daughter’s life like that.”

You take a shaky breath, eyes shifting to the car floor, the air fresher on his mirror, the window. Anywhere but him. The way Jungkook explains your make-believe future together is nothing how you envisioned it. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s just a fucking asshole. Neither thought process eases the pain.

“But you’re okay with ruining mine?”

For a moment, his features soften, and you see a glimmer of guilt wash over him. It fizzles out just as fast as it came. “You’re being dramatic.” Jungkook steps outside, tucking his shirt into his pants. “Get dressed.” 

With jittery hands and blurry eyes, you grab your discarded lace bra, the one you had bought just for tonight, and slide it on your shoulders. When you pick your shirt up, you see that it’s ripped and tattered. Completely destroyed. 

“Here,” Jungkook mumbles, tossing you his blazer as he watches you in the rearview. 

Once you’re dressed, you awkwardly slide into the passenger seat. The scent of his cologne makes your head pound and your stomach flip. 

“I want to go home.”

His lips part, preparing to persuade you otherwise. The hotel room he booked is ready and waiting, just as it is every Friday. He decides against it, simply murmuring an ‘okay’ before putting the keys in the ignition and starting the engine. 

“Do you want to get something to eat before I drop you off?” 

You just want your dad. 

“I just want to go home.”

Other than the whoosh of splashing puddles and your soft sniffles, the ride to your house is painfully silent. Leaning your head against the window, you watch the moon. For miles and miles, it never changes. It’s stagnant, frozen in time, surrounded by nothing but endless blackness. 

“Stop crying! I can’t stand it anymore!” Jungkook shouts, hitting the steering wheel with his open palm, finally growing uncomfortable from your non-stop tears. The sudden outburst makes you flinch. Sighing heavily, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. Just… stop crying, please.”

You sink further into your seat, curling your lips into your mouth to suppress a sob.

“I’m not worth your tears, __.”

You feel nothing but relief when he finally turns onto your street, stopping all the way at the end, concealed by the night and the shadows of overhanging trees. 

“Am I picking you up next Friday?” He asks just before you leave. 

With raw cheeks and a scowl, you slam the door in his face. 

Your feet are so heavy that the sidewalk sinks under you like quicksand. No matter how many steps you take, the comfort of your house seems out of reach. Too far gone. Confusion weighs on your shoulders. You should feel proud, empowered even, but that voice in the back of your mind smothers any sense of relief. 

Deep down, you know this isn’t going to be the last weekend you spend with Jungkook. 

© chryblossomjjk 2022 [do not copy, translate or repost]

#bts #bts smut #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook angst #btshoneyhive

[auteurdelabre]

SO MUCH TO LOSE part 10 - dark!Joel x f!reader

rating: 18+

words: 7.5k

TW: HEAVY EMOTIONAL CHAPTER. MENTIONS OF TRAUMA. Allusions to oral sex, m receiving, allusions to f/m penetrative sex.

a/n: I told y'all this chapter's a doozy. Well it is, but maybe not for the reasons you think. . . To me its one of the most important chapters of this whole story.

series masterlist

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, ENGAGEMENT ARE WHAT KEEP US FIC WRITERS GOING. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS.

-----------------------------

SO MUCH TO LOSE CHAPTER 10

You visit Maria the following week with a plate of cookies in hand. She’s the one to answer the door and you are relieved when you see that she is showered and dressed. Things must be improving. She brings you into a tentative hug when you arrive, urging you inside out of the fresh dusting of snow.

“Tommy has Douglas out for a little walk. I’ll make you a coffee.”

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Just came to drop off some baking. I’m heading to Ellie’s later this week and needed to get some practice in. I haven’t done much baking lately and wanted to make sure I wasn’t rusty.”

You join her on the couch, watching as she wraps her hands tightly around her coffee mug. She takes tentative sips between munches of cookie. At the first bite she literally moans.

“This is so good.”

“Thanks. They were Charlotte’s favorite.”

Maria licks the crumbs from her lips before leaning back on the sofa. She’s always been slender and she looks almost as she did back before she gave birth, except for the small pouch at her lower belly. You think she looks better with it.

“Was Charlotte your daughter?”

“Oh no. I never had kids.”

“We’re you ever married?”

“Me?” you almost laugh. “No.”

“Oh,” Maria blinks and her mouth tugs to the side. “I thought you might be. You have a nurturing quality about you.”

 “I think you give me too much credit.”

Maria grins, taking another bite of cookie. The two of you chat amiably a bit about the changing weather, of the way the inhabitants of Jackson City get along so well. Of how she feels the pressure of being Jacksons’ ‘First Lady’. Of how the bandits that fuck with the dam that supports the city stresses her daily.

“It’s a fucking nightmare some days,” she cites with a grumble. “Thank goodness for Tommy.”

“He’s a good man,” you tell her.

“He is,” she smiles indulgently before shooting you a lingering look. “What do you think about Joel?”

“How do you mean?”

“You do patrols with him, right?” 

“Can’t say I was always his biggest fan,” she says, taking another sip from her mug. “But he’s grown on me.”

“Yeah.”

You hold in the scoff that’s already begun in your throat.

“My friend Jennifer seems to think he’s pretty wonderful,” you offer instead. “She was delighted to help him repair the window last week.”

“She the blonde one? Used to do textiles?” Maria knows everyone thanks to her position.

“Yeah.”

“Not his type,” Maria insists with a shy grin. “She’d eat him alive.”

Jennifer doesn’t seem like she would eat anyone alive.

“Joel is all harsh edges,” she explains when she sees your confusion. “He needs someone soft to balance him out. That Jennifer girl is hard.”

You don’t think that you would consider Jennifer hard and you don’t fight Maria on it because the conversation quickly turns to Jackson’s continued increase of population, the place swelling with new life.

“Plenty of single men,” Maria says with a quirked brow in your direction. You give a soft laugh.

“Not really interested.”

“Single women too.”

“No no,” you laugh again, cheeks pinking. “I like men, I just . . . I don’t think I’m the partnering type.”

You think of Luke and his sweet features and his muscled forearms. For him you could perhaps be the partnering type. Perhaps. The thought of romance appeals to you; it just doesn’t seem realistic at times. A crush feels fun and safe.

“You must have had your share of dates,” Maria insists. You can see her relaxing and you think she must be enjoying what she views as girl time. You think she must not have had much of it lately.

“Normal crushes and stuff,” you shrug. “But I was a late bloomer and then the outbreak started when I was a teenager so I didn’t have a chance for a lot of firsts back then.”

“Sex,” Maria nods.

“Uh yeah… that…” you say, trying to appear nonchalant. “And uh, kissing, dating, all that stuff.”

“But you did eventually,” Maria cites smiling.

“Sex? Oh yes,” you nod. You weren’t a monk or anything in your time before Jackson City.

“What was your first time like?” Maria settles back against a cushion, nibbling at her cookie looking at you eagerly. “I remember mine was all fumbling in the backseat of his truck before curfew.”

You laugh and think Maria must be starved for company to be intrigued by your limited romantic experience.

“Uh… fast,” you say with a laugh before allowing yourself to be transported back to that time. “He worked at one of the bakeries that I assisted in. I remember he had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a man. They were so blond you could only see them if he turned at a certain angle. He made me laugh. One night he invited me back to his apartment and… that was that.”

“How old were you?”

“Uh, twenty two, twenty three?”

“And you didn’t date after?”

“Nah, my family left that QZ kinda in a hurry.”

You aren’t expecting your voice to hitch on that last sentence, but it does.  Maria grows somber, her dark eyes expressive.

“Can I ask why you left?”

You blink back the sheen of tears starting and gaze around the room, trying to land on something that will steel you. You find it in the small carving of a horse on the bookshelf nearby. You tell your story to that delicately made creature instead.

“We moved east through the QZ’s for about ten or eleven years. Stayed in a few of them before we’d pick up and keep moving to the next one. Hard to make connections and date with all that. I didn’t trust that I’d have the time.”

Maria looks like she wants to ask more when the door is opened and Tommy’s cheerful voice rings out announcing he and Douglas are home and ready for lunch.

“We have company!” Maria says cheerfully.

Tommy turns the corner to see you and he greets you. He wears Douglas strapped to him with fabric, snuggled under his large jacket. Jackson is sleeping soundly and barely notices when Tommy unwraps and hands him off to his mother.

Douglas squirms, his tiny head burrowing into Maria’s neck. She smiles and for the first time you’ve known her it looks sincere. There is a lightness in the house you realize, something that had been missing before.

“He enjoyed being out in the fresh air,” Tommy announces. “Everyone who saw him wanted to kiss him.”

“Tommy!” Maria looks horrified.

“But I didn’t let ‘em,” Tommy finishes, pressing a gentle kiss to his wife’s worried brow. “I’m gonna make some soup. You two want a bowl?”

“I’m alright,” you say. “I just brought by dessert. I’m actually heading over to Ellie’s to do some baking.”

“Joel’s letting you use his place to bake?”

You still, brows raised. “Uh… yeah. Is that… should I not be?”

“No, I’m just surprised,” Tommy admits after a pause. “I don’t think he’s ever let anyone in that house aside from me and Maria. Think the only reason he and Ellie don’t kill each other is ‘cuz she’s in the garage.”

“Oh.”

You don’t know what else to offer besides that.

Tommy nods and for a moment you see something in his expression, a pinched look when Maria looks away from him.  You realize that Tommy looks harried, running a hand through his glossy curls.

“What’s up?”

“Nothin’,” Tommy replies too quickly.

You see the panic in his eyes as his gaze darts from his wife back to you. You understand immediately. Maria is doing well, if there’s something stressful in Jackson City he doesn’t want to bother her with it.

“Thanks for the tea Maria, but I better head out,” you inform them both.

Maria wraps you into a side hug, one arm around your shoulders, the other holding her son. You run your knuckles down his spine gently.

“Come back soon,” she whispers.

“I promise.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Tommy says, feigning manners. The two of you walk to the front door around the corner. As you toe on your boots you look up at him expectantly.

“Well?”

Tommy looks over his shoulder anxiously before dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper only you can hear.

“Rumor is Raiders were spotted by A Patrol this week,” Tommy says with a sigh. “Up by the traps.”

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Really?”

“Not positive. A Patrol isn’t always the most reliable. They spook easy and are overly cautious. But I’d rather that than the alternative.”

“Of course.”

“Just make sure you and Joel are extra cautious,” Tommy says. “I know you’re both responsible but, you know…. Just be extra responsible.”

You nod, feeling your heart thrumming in your chest as you make your way to Rancher Street.

///

You didn't really want to go to Joel's house today. But Ellie had found you last night heading home from The Tipsy Bison and had guilted you into it when she told you that Joel had brought back all the supplies needed. 

You'd tried to sway her into baking at your place but only the burners on your oven work. You'd never really considered getting the main oven fixed, since you take most of your meals in the dining hall.

But in moments like this, you heavily regret that choice. 

You feel like even your footsteps sound timid as they make their way up the wood steps. 

Ellie is at the door, pulling it open before you can even knock. She must have been looking for you at the window, counting down the seconds until your arrival. The thought warms you. She gives you a broad smile that lights up her face.

"I got everything set up!"

She takes off down into the kitchen and you venture into the Miller home tentatively, still anxious about what happened last time.  

A sound to your right draws your attention and you take in the tall form of Joel coming into the room. He's dressed in jeans and a sweater, obviously feeling the chill despite the cheery fire that roars behind him. 

"Mornin'," he greets. 

"Morning." You lick your lips nervously. "Thanks for letting me bake with Ellie."

"'Course. She's been looking forward to it for weeks. Can't stop talkin' about it.'

Joel gives you a whisper of a smile but the thing that really throws you about this interaction is that he looks almost nervous. You've never seen Joel look nervous. 

He'd been so stiff after last patrol, not even saying goodbye to the group after you'd all disembarked off the horses. 

It had been embarrassing. Him storming off like you'd all done something wrong. Only Jennifer seemed to still be under Joel's spell citing that watching him hammer the window would fuel her fantasies for months to come.

You're still really irritated with him but it's lessened slightly because his greeting isn’t hostile. You could almost relax if it weren’t for the intense way he’s staring at you.  

You hear your name being called by Ellie in the next room so you toe off your shoes and head into the kitchen. She's got an apron on, borrowed from the kitchen or Joel because it's far too big for her small frame. 

"Alright," you give her a warm smile as you enter. "You got everything?"

"Yep."

You place the bag you brought on the counter. You remove your own apron, baby blue with ruffles on the end. A recent gift from Jennifer who told you “since you’re a real chef you need your own apron”. You tie it as you speak to Ellie.  

"So what I like to do is set up all my supplies on the counter just to double check I have everything. Nothing worse than being halfway through a recipe and finding out you you’re missing ingredients."

The sentence isn't even out of your mouth before Ellie’s opened up her cupboards and ice box and begun to take everything out. Flour, eggs, bowls, milk and more, all the items you gave Joel on the list. She places them on the counter before looking at you like a proud student. 

"You'll need measuring spoons."

The two of you turn at the same time to see Joel standing by the entrance to the kitchen, lingering. His hands are in his jean pockets, standing like a chastised student outside the classroom.

"I brought some," you inform him, trying to hold in your irritation. You pull them from your bag, putting them next to the eggs. 

You feel Joel's eyes on your back and you're sure he's silently judging you, eager to point out what you're doing wrong. You stiffen under the perceived scrutiny. Ellie must sense the change in the room because she whips around to shoot him a jeering look. 

"Joel you don't need to supervise," Ellie says rolling her eyes. "We won't break the damn stove." 

Joel looks at his feet mumbling something about needing to do stuff upstairs anyway before he's making his way out of the kitchen. 

You go back to your lesson with Ellie who turns out to be a very focused student. 

She asks smart questions, measures everything perfectly and takes her time. It's only when you put her in charge of cracking three eggs into the bowl that she gets frustrated. 

"Fuck, it cracked wrong. Shell got in."

Her fingers pinch into the egg bowl, trying to grasp the fallen eggshell. Of course the viscous nature of the raw egg makes it impossible and it’s not long before she pushes at the bowl angrily, her face is set into a deep frown.

“S’fucking bullshit.”

"Happens all the time," you tell her kindly. "Don't stress about it. I’ll show you a secret my mom taught me and my sister to get ‘em out."

Ellie watches as you take the empty shell half still in her hand. Her brows knit in confusion as you lower it into the bowl, using it as a scoop. Unlike with her fingers, the egg shell piece floats easily into the makeshift scoop. You pull the shell from the bowl, tossing the mess into the garbage.

“Holy shit that actually worked.” Ellie smiles at this and it transforms her pale pinched features into that of a warm, approachable teenager. 

You smile, feeling strangely proud. You’ve never baked with anyone else before, aside from the kitchen. But that was following the same boring recipes given by the head chef. You were usually boiling rice, cutting onions or apples. Baking is a different beast, a calmer, more relaxing one.  

After that hiccup Ellie is more patient with herself. She's keen to learn about baking but she's very eager to talk to you about you. When you pop the formed pastries into the oven and set the timer she decides that now is the time to chat. 

"What kind of music did you used to listen to before?"

Memories of Joel’s warning float in your mind. The reminder not to tell her too much. To make her long for a life that he can’t give her.

"Enough about me,” you deflect. “I want to know about you."

At this Ellie balks slightly, the smile wavering just a fraction before the mask is replaced and she nods. Her mixing increases but now her eyes are on the batter.

"Whadda you wanna know?"

"What was your life like before Jackson?"

"I was in the QZ back in Boston,” she says slowly, as if she's trying to make sure she doesn't give too much away. "Hated it."

"Parents?"

"Never met 'em."

"What brought you to Jackson City?"

"Joel."

She doesn't offer you more or less than that. You understand it, you don't push it.

"How'd you end up here?" She asks, mixing the dry ingredients.  

You realize the stupidity of you asking her those questions. How easily you opened them to be doubled back on yourself. 

"You asked me what kind of music I listened to before?" You smile, hoping that this will distract her. "I remember I saw Chicago about a billion times," you laugh. "I was obsessed. I listened to the soundtrack over and over."

"Chicago," Ellie says slowly as if trying to recall before a light seems to go on. "Oh, I've heard of Chicago. Joel likes ‘em."

Them?

It takes you a minute to understand what she's talking about. You finally answer giggling. 

"Chicago the musical, not the band. The musical had great songs. And dancing." 

"Do you dance?"

"Not very well." 

Your dual laughter combines and you can't help but enjoy the sound. Ellie really does make you laugh. She reminds you of how life was before. When everything seemed new. 

You can tell Ellie wants to know everything about your life before the outbreak. And you want to indulge her but Joel's words rub their imprint on your the inside of your skull.

"Hey I promised your D- Joel that I wouldn't keep talking about this stuff with you," you explain quietly. "He's worried it makes you want stuff you can't have."

"Jesus," Ellie says rolling her eyes. “Overprotective much?” 

"No he's right," you insist truthfully. "I mean, I get where he's coming from. He doesn't wanna keep disappointing you."

"Joel could never disappoint me."

The timer goes off and you peer into the oven. The pastries are a golden brown. You smile before taking them out with the oven mitt. Ellie closes her eyes, inhaling.

"They smell so good."

"Just wait until you put icing on them," you encourage with a grin. "Delicious." 

The two of you get to work making the icing while the pastries cool. 

"It's gonna snow," Ellie comments out of nowhere as she peers out the window, mixing idly. 

"Hate to break it to you, El, it's already snowing."

Ellie gives you a smirk along with her side eye. You don't know if it's from your sarcastic comment or the fact that you called her El. 

"I mean I think it’s gonna snow a lot." She explains. "I heard some of the other kids talking about it at school."

"Huh," you offer noncommittal as you look at the consistency of the icing. "Wonder how they can tell."

"They said they could smell it," Ellie says with a grin, pushing up the sleeve of her shirt so that it doesn't drip into the icing bowl. "They said tha-"

You can't hear anything she's saying after that. All you can focus on is her now bared arm and the ugly bite mark. Blood rushes in your ears and you cry out before giving a blood curdling shriek. 

“No!”

Ellie jumps, startled at your sudden screams. She throws herself back against the wall, eyes wide and glancing around as if she expects hordes of infected to come streaming in. 

"What? What is it?"

You know she's never seen you be loud, never seen you scream and the sight must terrify her. 

But all you can focus on is the clear outline of bite marks on her forearm visible after she rolled up her sleeves. The clear sign of an infected’s mark. She’s going to turn into a clicker before your eyes. She’s going to become soulless and inhuman and you need to go. You need to get somewhere safe.

Joel. He’ll be so devastated.

You can hear the heavy footsteps of Joel approaching the kitchen but all you can think of is escaping and getting yourself safe. You have to warn the town. You run towards the front door, your socks slipping over the smooth floor. 

You're still screaming incoherently, your voice cracking as you lunge for the doorknob, tears in your eyes. Your hand closes around the brass knob just as two muscled arms go around your waist, pulling you back harshly. A hand covers your mouth and a deep voice is at your ear. 

"Quit," he repeats, shaking you slightly in his arms. "Stop screamin'."

There's an increasingly paranoid thought that believes this was all a trap. A way for Joel to get his daughter fed. You feel it, Joel's arms wrapped around your entire body, pinning your arms to your sides. His body is warm and solid behind you, terrifying in its strength. It takes you to a time you've tried to forget. 

"Get the fuck off of me!" You shriek against his palm, trying to wriggle out of his grip but he holds firm. You're screaming expletives, trying to kick out. You shake his hand off your mouth. "She's bit, Joel! I saw it!"

Ellie hasn't moved from where she stands cowering in the corner of the kitchen. But you can only imagine how soon it will be before she turns. You can't be here for that. You can’t watch that sweet girl turn into one of them.

"I know," Joel rumbles against your temple, hands still gripping you tightly. 

"You know," you repeat and now a dread begins in your feet and floods the rest of you. 

Joel knows she is bit. Joel welcomed you into his home knowing she was bit. 

You are going to die. 

"Let me go!"

High on fearful adrenaline you give a frantic kick backwards, elbowing into Joel's abdomen at the same time you thrust the ball of your foot onto his socked toes. Joel gives a strangled grunt and his arms loosen in pain momentarily allowing you a chance to break free from him. 

You tug open the door and speed out without your boots. You feel the snow on the porch under your feet, freezing your toes immediately. You throw yourself down the porch stairs, feet slapping the wood as you hold back sobs. The street is deserted; the houses all empty as they usually are on bright Saturday afternoons. You go to cry out for someone, anyone, when Joel's arm bands around your waist.

You give a devastated howl of defeat before Joel is dragging your struggling frame back into the house, telling you to calm down. 

Ellie is by the sink, her eyes on the ground. 

But you still struggle, trying to get away from this house. Joel gives a frustrated growl before he pushes you up against the wall, pinning you there with his hips. His hands hold your wrists on either side of your head, pressing them into the wall. 

"Stop fuckin' strugglin'," Joel seethes when you jerk against him, his chest pressing you so tightly to the wall you can't breathe. 

"Please let me go," you beg brokenly as you continue to struggle in his arms. "Please I just-“

"She's immune," he rasps in your ear. "She's fucking immune! Stop!"

Immune. Immune. 

"What?" You stop your screaming just long enough to twist your head to face him. "Immune? That's not possible." 

But you’ve stopped struggling as hard.

You take a closer look at Ellie’s arm from where you stand, noticing that it doesn’t look particularly fresh. In fact it looks scarred. And yet something in you is still terrified. So terrified that you yelp when you feel Joel's wide hands go to either side of your face, forcing your face up and eyes to his. 

"Everything is okay," Joel tells you in a husky rasp. "You're safe, I promise. I've got you. You're safe." 

His eyes are locked with yours as he says this and you don't know how those words work their way into your body, but they do. The same way they wind around you as you allow yourself to get lost on patrols with your mouth on him. That sense that someone else is in charge, someone else is protecting you.

You're safe.

Your entire frame goes boneless in his arms and when he finally releases your face your head drops to your chest. He continues to press you gently against the wall with one heavy hand holding you there.

"What if it's slow acting or -" you whisper quietly, "or what if you can still pass it on with saliva or-"

"The dogs don't detect it," Joel tells you, his hold on you not lessening. "Ellie and I've shared drinks plenty a' times. She's immune."

You stare at the girl at the table, her entire countenance shifted. You can see the devastation, the fear and anger floods out of you immediately, like a deep sigh. You sag in Joel's arms, feeling as he slowly loosens you. 

"She's had it for months," Joel tells you, no longer pinning you to the wall. 

"Months?" 

You're still stunned by the developments but it doesn't stop your eyes from traveling over to Ellie. You see now that tears are slipping off the end of her nose as she silently cries. She’s pulled her sleeve back down, covering the scar.

Your heart immediately breaks because it's you who did this to her. This girl who trusts so few. You treated her like she was a monster. 

"Ellie I'm sorry, I just..." You trail off, your heart still beating wildly. 

But Ellie has tears in her eyes, her neck blotchy. She's raced to the garage, slamming the door after her. You flinch at the sound of it. 

Then it’s just you and Joel in the quiet kitchen.

"How long have you known?"

"Since I met her," Joel explains quietly. "Was bringing her to the fireflies with a friend in exchange for a battery. Rumor was there was a cure."

"Guess not if you're both here," you say absently, missing the pain in his dark eyes when you say it. 

"Not a lot of people know about it. We'd like to keep it that way."

You nod, your mind whirring. You realize you've never seen Ellie in anything but long sleeves. Never seen her wearing bracelets or anything that would draw her attention to her arms. She’s been hiding in plain sight. You think of the friendships she hasn’t made, the way she keeps to herself, the hostile way she is with most and it all clicks into place.

"We were thinking of gettin' her a tattoo to cover it up,” Joel continues. “Haven't found anyone to do it yet." 

You nod again, eyes falling on the pastries now lying squashed on the floor, the warm berries oozing out onto the wood.

“I’ll take care of this stuff,” Joel mutters, dropping to his knees and starting to pick up the supplies you brought. You think of how excited Ellie had been to recreate the pop tarts, how devastated she’ll be when she realizes they’re all ruined.

"I- I think I should go talk to Ellie."

"She doesn't wanna talk. Trust me."

"Just lemme try."

Joel looks as if he's about to protest but you're already walking quickly until you've reached the door to the garage. You knock gently.

"Ellie? It's me. Please don't be upset ... I was just startled."

There's a pause, then a sniffle that makes your heart lurch. 

"Can we talk? Please, Ellie?" 

You hear shuffling and then finally the door to the garage is opened a crack and you see Ellie peering through. Her eyes are swollen and red, the end of her nose pink. She glares at you through the small slit in the door. 

"Fuck off."

"I just want to explain. Just let me explain and then I promise I'll leave."

She doesn't move, doesn't attempt to close or open the door. She just stands there like some sentry. 

“Five minutes. That’s all I need.”

"You think I'm a freak."

"I don't," you insist, palm on the door as if you could transfer your emotions by osmosis to her. "Ellie I was having fun right before all this. I really was. Can we talk? Please? I want to explain properly." 

Ellie’s glossy eyes scan your body and with a labored sigh she steps back, opening the door and allowing you entrance. 

"Come in."

You follow her into the warm space, watching as she drops onto her made bed. Ellie hugs her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as you look at her. Ellie's eyes drag from the floor up to your face and you see her chin trembling as she holds in tears. 

“Can I sit?” you ask motioning to beside her on the bed. She nods, shuffling to give you room to perch there.

“I know you’re not gonna come back after this,” Ellie says, eyes wide with a quiet pleading as you look over at her.

“Of course I am.”

“No you’re not,” Ellie says shaking her head and rubbing angrily at her eyes. “You’ve seen my arm. You think I’m a fucking freak.”

"Ellie I swear I don't think you're a freak," you emphasize as you shuffle on the edge of her bed. "I was just... That bite took me back to a really scary time."

"Yeah," Ellie says with her chin balanced on her kneecap. "No one wants to think about... All that stuff." 

You see the desolation there in her eyes. She's hurt and even though you didn't mean to do it you did. You feel responsible for her sadness. Your eyes go to her closed door, wanting to make sure you have privacy before you turn back to her.

"Ellie, can I share some stuff with you?"

"Yeah.”

"It's not happy stuff," you tell her. 

"Figured." Ellie shrugs again like it doesn't matter. Like she's seen it all. Maybe she has, but you doubt it. She doesn’t make eye contact with you.

“It’s just. . . I’ve never told anyone this stuff before. Ever.”

Ellie’s eyes go to your face now. She can see how serious you are and she straightens slightly. She goes from being hunched and holding her legs to sitting cross legged across from you on the bed.

"Okay..." You take a sharp inhale. “So, I was about your age when Outbreak Day happened. I was with my Dad and my sister. My mom was visiting my Aunt in Wyoming-“

“How come?”

“Ellie you gotta let me get this all out quick okay?” you say gently. “No interruptions.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you breathe deeply again. “She was visiting my aunt because my aunt was getting a divorce and my mom wanted to support her. Anyway, about ten years ago my dad and my little sister and I were travelling between QZ’s. We were looking for my Mom because my Dad was convinced she was still alive and she’d be out in this direction.”

You swallow; hating talking about this but knowing that Ellie deserves this truth. So far she looks intrigued, her eyes wide.

“So one night we were exhausted. We’d been travelling for days and we were low on food and water. We see this old cabin and it looks like it’s abandoned. We figure it’s a good spot to hunker down and get some energy before we keep going.” You exhale a shuddering breath.

“Except it wasn’t abandoned. It was a trap set up by this group of Raiders. I called them The Group. They killed my dad and they were gonna kill me and my sister when one of the guys had the bright idea that they could use us as bait.”

"Bait?"

 Ellie seems to remember she’s not supposed to say anything because she ducks her head slightly.

"Yeah. they made us go into new places first," you explain detached, as if you’re talking about another woman in another life. "So if there was anything dangerous it would get us in enough time to give The Group a chance to escape.”

Ellie is staring at you wide-eyed, all her teenage ambivalence lost as you detail the most terrifying years of your life. You omit lots of the more gruesome details and you definitely don’t tell her about Rock River.  

"Once they hung me from a tree," you tell her, trying not to sound emotional. It's not hard. Years of hiding how that part of your life affects you makes you good at it. "They tied me to a rope and hung me on a branch to attract clickers."

"Jesus."

"Yeah," you nod. "It worked really well. There was a big group and they piled underneath me, trying to grab at me, their mouths all black and their teeth gnashing and...” you stop yourself when you see Ellie’s eyes widening. “Anyway, The Group got ‘em all and managed to get some good supplies in the town because of it. I just... It just left me kind of..."

You wince when you realize you’ve trailed off, your focus blurred.

"The point is that when I saw your arm it just all came flooding back and I reacted out of instinct. Not because I think you're a freak. I could never think that about you.”

Ellie is quiet, digesting all that you've told her. You think you hear a creaking outside her door, but you're not sure. Your attention is drawn back to the girl who’s eyes hold such a myriad of emotions; pain, empathy, fear, anger.

"How did you end up here?" 

You think about not telling her. But it feels so good to be getting some of this information out, like you’re coughing up a thick black piece of flesh that’s been festering in your lungs for years, making it so you can now finally breathe.

"One guy, Chiyo, he joined up with our group a few years after I was taken. He owned a shooting range before everything.... You know…. Well, he'd broken his ankle in a recent raid and couldn’t really move much. If we hadn't come upon him when we did he probably would have been killed by another group of raiders. But as it was he had this giant stash of weapons and The Groups ranks were thinning so..."

You trail off, thinking of how you'd come upon him first when you and The Group got to town. How the leader you thought of as Red due to his hair (you never learned their real names), shoved you brutally by the shoulder.

Always the bait.

But after what had happened only the week before you didn’t care anymore. Red pushed you and you entered willingly, your feet not even dragging as you walked. It was either be shot by one of The Group attempting to escape, or see what resided inside the shop with the boarded up windows.

Chiyo’s gun was trained on you the second you walked in. The way you held your hands at your eye level when he told you he was going to shoot.

“I’m gonna blow your head clean off if you take another step.”

And suddenly you’d decided that you were done. You were so tired. And at least this way it would be quick and it would be away from The Group. And so you’d taken another step towards Chiyo, hands still raised.

You can still recall the furrowing of his thick brows and the lowering of his weapon as he stared at you.

"You want to die?"

You hadn't answered him but that had been answer enough for Chiyo. He'd hobbled over to you, dragging his lame leg, dark eyes fixed on your face. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you."

And when he'd said it, you'd believed him.

You remember the way you'd convinced the rest of The Group they needed someone like him. A crack shot, you told them. You'd had no idea of knowing if it was true. But there had been warmth in Chiyo's eyes that was missing from the rest of The Groups. Something that you clinged to in the coming months.

"Thankfully he was a really good shot,” you explain. “He joined up and we stripped his shop of his guns and eventually his ankle healed thanks to the medic in The Group and he was suddenly part of the team.”

“Was he nice to you?”

“Yeah. He was really kind. Whenever they used me as bait he insisted on going with. He said it was so we could save me for really bad missions, but I knew it was to protect me. They let him get away with it because he was such a good shot, I think.  Everyone liked him. When the rest of The Group was asleep we'd talk by the fire. Chiyo was afraid of horses," you tell Ellie with a small smile. “Was about the only thing he was afraid of.”

You don't tell her everything. You don't tell of the tender way he fucked you in the wee hours of the morning before The Group rose most mornings. How he whispered that he missed his dead wife and would never dishonor her memory by kissing you. But you hadn’t minded, you understood and you’d both been gentle with each other.

You’d enjoyed getting lost in the sensation of him. Of his cock in your mouth, of your cunt stuffed full of him. The rhythmic sensation of sex that took you out of your body and away from your every day horrors.

You remember how he would hold you, tears sliding onto your collar as he spilled himself onto your belly whimpering his dead wife’s name. How he would thank you over and over with your hand at the base of his skull, mouth against his shoulder while you quietly sobbed your own gratitude.

"After a few months he told me he was escaping. He'd heard about Jackson City and that's where he was headed. He wanted to bring me to see if we could find my Mom."

"Holy shit,” Ellie breathes. “Where is he now?"

"He didn't make it," you tell her tightly.

And now the shield is back in your voice and eyes and she must sense it. Ellie doesn’t press this, seems to understand that there is more there. With a teenagers’ sensibilities and a teenager’s romanticism she asks you her next question.

"Were you in love with him?"

Chiyo is a faint memory, a watercolor blur if you think about him in too much detail. When you try to recall things like the scar over his left eyebrow or the dragon tattoo on his inner thigh. But these are just pieces of him. They aren't him. 

When you think of Chiyo there is a warmth. But it's the warmth that comes from having a benevolent savior. One who never told you that you were in his debt. Yes, you cared for him. Of course you did. He was gentle and he was kind and his heart was soft.

"No," you say firmly. "He was nice though and I cared about him. Probably as close to love as I'll ever get." 

You and Ellie are quiet for a long time.

“I tried saving a bit boy once,” she finally offers. “His name was Sam. Tried rubbing my blood on him. Thought it would save him. It didn’t. He turned and his brother had to kill him before he killed himself.”

You don’t allow yourself to cry. You know that isn’t what Ellie needs right now.

“I’m the reason so many people are dead,” Ellie explains when you say nothing in return. “My Mom died having me. Riley… Tess… Sam…Henry... Ellie’s voice is doing that same detached thing yours does. “Sometimes I honestly think it would be better if I was never born.”

You can’t help the way your arms leap out in front of you to gather the girl into your arms. She tries to fight you on it, flinching from the contact before your unrelenting arms pull her into a tight squeeze, tugging her into your lap. Angry tears slip down her red cheeks, her cries breaking free as you wrestle her into a bear hug.

“I’m so glad you exist, Ellie.”

And then all the fight is gone from her body and she’s sobbing quietly into your shoulder, her tiny frame shaking. You hold her against you, wanting your adoration and affection to move through your body into hers so she knows how much she’s wanted.

“The world would be so much worse without you in it,” you assure her honestly. “You’re special, Ellie. And not because you’re immune. Because you’re smart and brave and funny and you make people like me feel like we’re worth something.”

Her arms wrap around your neck, face in your shoulder and she allows you to continue holding her, rocking her gently in your lap as if she were your own teenage daughter.

“And yes you’re stubborn and you can be annoying,” you add, trying to lighten the mood. “But there’s no one I like talking to as much as I like talking to you. You made me look forward to breakfasts in the dining hall because it meant I got to speak to you.”

“You’re just saying that,” she sniffles, arms loosely circling your neck.

“You don’t like liars, right?” You remind her. “Well I’m not lying. Plus, I know Joel loves you and he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that loves many people so you must be pretty great.”

Ellie gives a shallow huff of amusement in your shoulder.

“And I know Maria and Tommy adore you just as much if not more than I do. And if you opened up a little more with the kids around here I know they’d love you just as much as we do because you’re a wonderful person. The world would be so much worse without your light, Ellie. You bring light to the darkness.”

You continue rocking her for several moments, waiting until her sobs turn into hiccups and then gentle swallows. Finally she pulls back from you, almost embarrassed at the emotional display. She shuffles back onto the bed, picking at the loose string hanging from her pillow.

“I think I’m cursed.”

“Hey now that’s not true,” you insist. “I’m here aren’t I? How is that a curse? If anything it’s a blessing.”

She gives you a weak smile that you return.

“C’mon, let’s go and finish the pop tarts.”

“We’ll have to start all over again,” Ellie almost whines.

“Then I guess I’ll be staying here a little longer.”

Ellie wipes at her blotchy face, running her hands down her cheeks before nodding and standing abruptly.  You two make it back into the kitchen, surprised to see Joel standing there. His broad shoulders ripple as he works on something in front of him, his back to you.

Ellie sails over to him, her eyes wide when she sees what he’s done. “Wait are those the pop tarts?”

“Yep.”

“I thought they were ruined.”

“Yours were,” Joel shrugs, spreading icing onto one of the homemade pop tarts. “Mine went okay.”

You feel as if you’ve been physically pushed.

Joel baked?

Ellie snags one of the still warm pastries from the plate as Joel starts running the cloth over the counter and wiping the crumbs into the sink. You look at the joy on Ellie’s face as she takes a bite.

“Holy shit, Joel, these are so fucking good.”

“Language,” Joel admonishes over his shoulder, though there’s nothing harsh in it. He turns around, hip resting against the counter.

“I’m gonna have you do all my baking,” Ellie continues as if she hasn’t heard him.  “I’ll just be your taste tester.”

You want to grin at this but all you can do is stare at Joel and the soft way he’s smiling down at Ellie. This open look of adoration you so rarely see. Like there’s this secret Joel inside the mean Joel shell that the privileged few witness.

Joel could never disappoint me.

Joel seems to feel your eyes on him because he blinks over at you, dark eyes darting around your face. His expression is unreadable, but there’s nothing cruel or cold in it. He’s just looking at you, almost as if he’s trying to figure you out as well.  

“Well looks like we’re all set here so I should go,” you start awkwardly, suddenly feeling strangely light headed. Joel steps towards you, brows rising.

“You could stay for a dr-“ Joel begins, but you’ve already made your way to the front door, pulling on your boots and jacket.

Your hands are trembling for some reason and you think it must be all this emotional turmoil you’ve shared with Ellie. It has you feeling vulnerable and exposed and you want to escape home to the safety of your bed, away from soulful brown eyes and soft smiles.

“Ellie you wanna grab breakfast before patrols?”  you ask, studiously ignoring Joel who stands next to her looking at you. You don’t want her to think you’re rushing off and forgetting about her.

“Sure,” Ellie says brightly before motioning to the plate of pastries. “You want any of these to go?”

“Nah, you enjoy them,” you insist with a flash of a smile. “You worked hard.”

You don’t look backwards as you rush out the door of their home and down the sidewalk of Rancher Street, convinced you can feel Joel’s dark gaze on you the entire way.

-----------------------------

secondary a/n: The other parts I wanted to include in this chapter were gonna bloat this installment into over 10k and I wasn't even finished so I had to break it up!

CHAPTER 11 SPOILERS BELOW THE JOEL

in chapter eleven there be smut.

TAGLIST:

@casssiopeia

@getitoutofmymind

@joeldjarin

@elegantduckturtle

@cosmic006533-blog

@orcasoul

@la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@valkyreally

@multiversed-daydreamer

@deninoe

@ashleyfilm

@missladym1981

@questionablemay

@noisynightmarepoetry

@eddiesxrings

@know-that-its-delicate

@onlyyoucan-getme

@cosmic006533-blog

@harryscum

@confusedpuffin

@koshkaj-blog

@puduvallee

@locaparapedrito

@guelyury

@sofiparallel

@maryrhodalouandted

@questionablemay

@kateg88

@friskispunk

@mewantpeepaw

@cuteanimalmama

@alma-rt1

@marisemonteiroo

@thedisagreeablegirl

@olafsmiles2020

@survivingandenduring

@sofiparallel

@bitchesuntitled

@r4vens-cl4ws

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #dad joel miller #fanfiction #fanfic #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel #mean!joel #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel x reader #joel x you

[inoreuct]

more sanji drinking angst plis,,, 🙏🏼😁

y’know, it’s normal when zoro drinks. he has an iron liver and a sky-high tolerance. he get mildly tipsy with the amount of alcohol sufficient to kill a regular man.

when sanji drinks, though, it’s usually… not very good.

they’re in the galley, have been since dinner. zoro’s drowsy and full and slumped over the table with his chin in his hand as he watches sanji scrub at the dishes until they squeak, divested of his suit jacket and shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, and the cook looks haggard. they’ve all been expecting it, really, what with Whole Cake being a fucking doozy— but sanji’s been holding it together perfectly. big smiles and neatly-pressed suits and coiffed hair and all.

zoro knows him well enough to know that he’s due to break at some point. still, tonight is the first time he’s seen sanji like this; like he’d just decided to say fuck it all and throw pretence to the wind. maybe it had been thanks to the emptiness of the galley, save the both of them. maybe sanji had considered it safe because zoro was in no place to judge.

but when sanji had picked up that bottle of rum, he hadn’t put it down until there was nothing left.

zoro had let him drink. the cook hadn’t even been smoking any more than usual— hadn’t had a single hair out of place, no sign of the pressure except the strain at the edges of his smile. everybody had been walking on eggshells for the past few days and sanji had just kept going like nothing was wrong, which zoro knows means quite a lot is wrong, because sanji’s a self-sacrificial bastard who wouldn’t be able to ask for help if his life depended on it.

didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt, though. he’s felt like he couldn’t breathe, the whole of last week; it doesn’t feel right seeing the cook with a bottle between his lips instead of a cigarette, liquor wetting the corners of his mouth instead of smoke. it makes part of zoro tighten into a dead knot. on one hand, it’s an unspoken show of trust— deliberately left alone so as to not draw attention to it, but one all the same. sanji would never let himself go in front of anyone else like this. maybe a few months earlier he’d think the cook just didn’t care enough for his opinion and get all offended, but now?

sanji knows he’s here. he’s never unaware of his surroundings, and especially now after… everything. he’s believing that zoro won’t judge him, and he won’t. he doesn’t. but enough is enough, and sanji’s grip on the edge of the plate is tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

it’s almost a relief in a really twisted way. zoro’s been hovering by the sidelines, sleeping with one eye open and waiting for sanji to crack just so he can catch all the pieces before the cook falls apart completely, and it seems like this is it.

his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. “alright, let’s get you to bed.”

“no.” sanji doesn’t stop scrubbing. he doesn’t even bother looking up. “why?”

zoro scoffs. “because you’re fucking drunk, cook. you’ve been washing that plate for five minutes.”

“well maybe it’s just not fucking clean, yeah?” sanji spits, quiet vitriol leadening his words even with his head bowed, and his breathing is jerky as zoro walks forward.

“oi.” it doesn’t come out harshly, exactly, but he needs sanji to know that he isn’t fucking around with this. “What the hell’s going on?”

“i don’t know.”

“what do you mean you don’t—”

“i don’t know!”

zoro lurches back at the outburst as the cook whips around, seething within the span of a second, plate dropped carelessly into the water in the sink. he hears it thunk when it hits the bottom.

“i don’t know, alright?” sanji laughs, eyes wild. “nothing’s wrong. everything’s wrong. everything is fucking perfect and i feel like i’m fucking dying inside.” his voice cracks right before he takes a visible breath and turns sharply, dipping his hand under the water to grab the plate and sponge again.

zoro watches his shoulders tremble. every movement of his now is precise and carefully calculated; he’s moving like a fucking robot and zoro hates it. hates the way his spine looks rigid enough to snap with a touch. hates the way his face is a placid mask, still water with a storm roiling beneath. zoro doesn’t know how to approach this other than with barbed words and concern thinly veiled as confrontation. he doesn’t know what to do other than be here because it’s better than not being here at all.

sanji’s hands have been scrubbed pink and raw. “get out, mosshead.”

“no.”

the cook’s cuticles are peeling, his fingertips pruned. he never lets either of them get this bad. “i said get out—”

“and I said no.” zoro crosses his arms. he counts three seconds of silence before sanji snaps.

“god, for once could you fucking listen?!” the cook snarls, rounding on zoro like a cornered animal and waving his arms. “i don’t want to talk to you right now! i do not want you here! so please, fuck off and— put me down, you piece of shit!” sanji borderline screams, struggling and wiggling over zoro’s shoulder as he’s hauled up and marched out of the galley.

zoro winces as the toe of a steel-capped oxford jams into his ribs, digging in deeper as sanji grunts with the effort. he doesn’t know where he’s going but they end up outside the infirmary, and he shoulders the door open before depositing sanji on the bed without preamble. “stay,” he grunts, ignoring the noises of outrage and turning to go get water.

“you can’t tell me what to do,” sanji spits from behind him, cheeks red from more than just anger as he pushes himself unsteadily to his feet. he either doesn’t realise that he’s listing to the side or he doesn’t care.

“sit down or I’ll make you.”

the cook barks a laugh that snaps in the air like a neck in rope. “try! i fucking dare you, marimo, you—”

zoro tackles him down and he screeches like a trapped cat, trying to escape even as the swordsman pins his legs and shoves his shoulders down into the bunk. “you are drunk. stop it.”

“why?” sanji shouts in his face. the cook is straining against him, all wild eyes and bared teeth, shoulders jerking with a sardonic laugh. “don’t wanna fight anymore?”

“no. i don’t.” the air is suddenly too quiet, too heavy, with something zoro doesn’t know if he should name. he watches as the cook’s face falls and twists into something sullen as he tries one last time to jerk his way out of zoro’s hold. “not like this.”

their ship rocks gently as zoro slowly eases off, shifting his weight back and sitting on the edge of the mattress with a soundless, weary sigh. there’s still a stubborn set to sanji’s chin even as he lays there on his back, unmoving from where zoro put him— leave it to him to be contrary for the sake of being contrary. the swordsman takes a deep breath to suppress an eye roll and opens his mouth to say something—

“it hurts.”

zoro stills, turning so he can see sanji better. “what hurts, cook?”

“everything.”

the blond is staring at the ceiling, unblinking and unreadable. the fabric of his slacks is riding up and zoro swallows down the urge to curl a hand around his pale ankle for comfort. he tells himself he doesn’t know where the urge to soothe came from, but he knows, he knows— this melancholy is something that sanji buries so deep, none of them catch even a glimpse of it on a normal day. his face is a blank slate, his usual fire banked, and he looks so drained. an cracked shell of himself running on empty. “i don’t want to feel it. i don’t want to feel anything,” he continues, softly enough that zoro has to strain to hear, leaning in instinctively. 

glossy blue eyes flick over. golden hair scrunches against the off-white sheets as sanji turns his face towards him and whispers, “doesn’t that make me exactly like them?”

no. zoro swallows, at the same time both too wet and too dry, feeling a little like he’s been gutted with a dull knife. he says a mental to hell with it and slowly shifts his hand to wrap his fingers around sanji’s ankle, just a gentle grip, his thumb resting beneath the notch of bone. he can hear the soft sounds of the waves outside as it melds with sanji’s breathing, as he opens his mouth and comes up dry for things to say. “…get some sleep, curls.”

“can’t.” sanji purses his lips, shrugging a shoulder as he looks away like it’s no big deal. “can’t sleep. not well, at least. not since…”

zoro feels his own heart thud against his ribs as his gaze slips over sanji’s face, the redness rimming his eyes and the dark circles beneath. “i’m sleeping with you tonight,” he decides. 

the cook makes an aborted noise of indignation before apparently deciding that it isn’t worth the effort. “we can’t fit two people in a bed.”

zoro shrugs, unaffected in the face of the venomous look sanji shoots him. “we can try.”

sanji mutters something to the ceiling under his breath. the swordsman pretends not to hear it.

they end up crammed onto the infirmary bed, sanji squashed against the wall and zoro almost falling off. the blond wiggles around in discomfort for five minutes before sitting bolt upright with a hissed curse and undoing his dress shirt in a frenzy; zoro stifles a laugh as he balls it up and hurls it at the desk across the room before flopping back down with a loud huff. 

the cook scrunches himself up, spine pressed against the wall and one knee pulled up between them to maintain the distance, pointed at zoro’s gut as a subtle threat. “i’m not gonna bite you, y’know,” zoro grumbles. here he is doing this out of goodwill and this is how he’s treated. 

“i wouldn’t put it past you,” sanji snips in reply. “also, you stink.”

“no i don’t. i just showered.”

“irrelevant.”

“priss.”

“moron.”

“spoiled.”

“i have standards, you sentient piece of kelp.”

“you—” zoro grits out, before he stalls. somehow, throughout this whole exchange, they’d inched closer and closer together and now sanji’s shoulder is digging into his breastbone, his breath warm across zoro’s cheek even as a brush of his skin above the loose, low front of zoro’s shirt feels completely opposite. “why’re you so fuckin’ cold?” he mutters, briskly rubbing at sanji’s upper arms before the cook bats him away with a startled hiss.

“don’t—” he cuts off and huffs a harsh breath, sneering in the dark as he digs for the right word, “—coddle me.”

“why not?” zoro shoots back. the words are out of his mouth faster than he can process, but it’s too late to take them back. “give me one good reason and i’ll stop. just one.” 

the quiet that falls into place after that is broken by the sound of sanji’s swallow and nothing else. it’s nearly pitch-black; they’d put out the lamp on the wall and the infirmary has no windows. if zoro strains his eye he can see sanji’s outline curled close to his own front, golden hair darkened to honey and arms wrapped around himself.

he recalls how it had felt to have fine bones beneath his hand. how the cook hadn’t kicked him off. 

the hand he rests on sanji side is tentative. barely-there pressure, a ghost of a touch with enough space for sanji to back away. he settles his palm down more firmly after a few seconds, tracking his thumb up and down the bumps of sanji’s ribs, and he barely stops his breath from catching when the cook wiggles away from the wall and presses his spine into zoro’s hand. 

sanji’s looking at him. he can see the occasional flutter of long lashes, feel the weight of the cook’s attention like sanji’s preparing to say something, but it never comes. a soft breath slips from his lips before zoro feels a hand curl around his waist, fingers curling into his shirt. 

“sanji.”

the cook heaves a long-suffering sigh. it doesn’t hide how he’s affected by zoro using his real name; zoro can read him too well for that. knows him too well for that. “what.”

zoro readjusts, fingertips pressing into the small of sanji’s back to pull him closer, and wonder of wonders, the cook lets him. “you’re nothing like them.” 

he pretends he doesn’t feel sanji’s arm tighten around him after a few seconds. he notices that his shirt’s damp right before he falls asleep, right where sanji has his face buried in his shoulder.

he doesn’t mention any of it.

*

the next morning is… interesting.

zoro had woken to an empty bed, with the sheets just barely warm and hazy recollections of a lithe body tucked to his side, a leg thrown over his and soft hair under his chin. he stretches and ambles down to the galley, scratching at his stomach beneath his shirt as he yawns, and right on cue— sanji’s disdainful little tongue click reaches his ears, and he smiles. everything’s back to normal, then. 

there’s more of the usual; luffy getting yelled at to leave the eggs alone, i don’t care if you’re hungry, they are raw, and nami and robin being handed their special little tiny cups of coffee and tea respectively. the rest of the crew filters in, and zoro people-watches from his spot on the ratty corner couch before he eventually gets up and slides into his seat at the table. 

but when sanji takes his spot beside him, it feels different. the cook’s made onigiri for breakfast, the plate set down just a little closer to zoro’s side than usual before he sits, and zoro pauses with his chopsticks in the air as an ankle bumps into his. 

not roughly, or painfully, nowhere near, no. just a reminder. a small nudge that could say any possible number of things, but from the way sanji’s gaze meets his before darting away, he’d guess it’s the thank you that their cook always has so much trouble saying. it’s never a lack of gratitude— more of a refusal to acknowledge that he needed help in the first place, that he accepted it, but zoro will take what he can get.

the circles under sanji’s eyes aren’t quite so dark anymore.

zoro knocks back. he feels the rasp of his boot laces against the heel of sanji’s patent leather oxford, and neither of them pull away. the swordsman presses his lips together and takes a big bite to hide his smile, failing momentarily when sanji immediately starts berating his abysmal table manners, marimo, honestly, if you choke i will leave you to die, and yeah, sure. back to normal.

he catches sanji’s eye again, sky-cornflower-ocean blue, and he wonders what sanji could be seeing in his to make his face soften like that.

normal, and maybe a little something new. 

(he isn’t quite sure what to do the following night. sanji’s already in his own bunk when he slips in for a quick few hours of shut-eye, but it isn’t long before he feels someone climbing in with him, and he just knows instinctively without even needing to open his eye. they’ve got limbs hanging out here and there but they fit reasonably well and zoro wakes with sanji’s sleep shirt tucked in his fist and his thin blanket pulled up around his shoulders.

it goes on like this night after night to the point where their crew knows, he thinks. even if zoro discounts the fact that most of them share a bunkroom, they’ve still got to know something’s up; sanji glows like sunlight reflecting off the ocean now, real smiles and laughs that have him tossing his head back and holding his stomach, eyes in sapphire half-moons. robin brings it up offhandedly one day and zoro hums that proper sleep’s doing their cook good— she gives him that look that she does, and he turns away with a smile that he hides in his arm.

the first time sanji finds him in the crow’s nest, he’s still asleep when zoro’s watch ends. the cook’s stretched out on the bench above as zoro sits on the floor, hand draped down against zoro’s collarbone, his face so peaceful that zoro can’t— fuck, he can’t wake him.

and it can’t be comfortable lying on his own arm like that; zoro sits down and carefully pushes him up until sanji’s leaning on his shoulder, that sharp nose tucked under his jaw, and drifts asleep.)

(he stirs awake before sanji’s gone. his eye flutters open to find the cook mid-yawn, working out a crick in his neck and bathed in early-morning light, warm and golden. the cook realises he’s watching and freezes, shoulders going tense and stiff—

he deflates a little when zoro blinks at him, sleep-warm and bleary. “gotta make breakfast, marimo,” he murmurs, reaching out after a moment’s hesitation.

the hand that cups zoro’s cheek is gently callused and somehow familiar. he turns into it like a flower to the sun and breathes in something that he never even realised he’d gotten used to, olive oil and shoe polish and orange blossom pomade. “i know,” he replies, pressing the words into sanji’s palm, and a thumb drags across his cheekbone.

“need anything before i go?” sanji asks, and they both know it’s half a joke. what could he possibly give zoro in here? a dumbbell sandwich?

that other half, though— it’s far too serious. a cold plunge of water through zoro’s muddled early-morning brain. he knows what he wants, but zoro also knows that patience is a virtue for a reason.

the cook already has a hard enough time letting people in. zoro doesn’t want to push. the hand against his cheek is enough for him, even if it is all sanji could ever want, and so he slips the blond a wry grin. “onigiri?”

“you— ugh, fine.” sanji huffs. “anything else?”

zoro frowns, growing increasingly convinced that this is some sort of trap. these are unprecedented levels of generosity. “…protein shake?”

it takes all of two seconds before sanji puts his face into his hands, taking a deep breath before zoro hears something about having to do everything myself, don’t i? the cook plants his hands on his hips, tapping his foot with one brow arched. “of all the people in the world,” he mutters through his teeth, advancing on zoro with enough of a menacing air that the swordsman leans back into the backrest, “of course it had to be you.”

“me what?” zoro says warily, eyeing sanji up and down, and opens his mouth to continue before a fist grips his collar and there’s a brush of contact at his temple— a kiss, he realises, before all the thoughts drain out of his fucking brain.)

(he’s still reeling when he stumbles his way to breakfast. still wide-eyed as he washes the plates, for once, without complaint. it’s when it’s just the two of them, when zoro twists around to ask a question that he hasn’t yet phrased, that arms lock around his waist and sanji’s forehead presses to his nape.

they’re quiet for a long, long while. “you remind me that i’m not like them, y’know,” sanji breathes, barely loud enough to be heard.

zoro turns in his hold, hands dripping all over the floor, fuck, the cook’ll make him clean that up later, he knows and he isn’t even mad about it. “what do you mean, curls?”

sanji leans into him, all sharp edges and bony joints softened by lean muscle and zoro’s fondness, fingers long and thin and laced together over zoro’s hip. “i’m pretty damn sure they’ve never felt like this.”)

(not much changes after that. franky does make them a bigger bunk to share, though, and they fight perhaps even more fiercely now; afternoons are spent toying with each other across the deck, pushing their limits, pushing each other higher until nami yells at them to stop making a racket. zoro doesn’t pretend that he can’t tell when sanji needs a little more contact, keeping him close when perfectly filed nails dig into his shirt. sanji takes care of them all like he always does, and he lets zoro take care of him— most of the time, at least. it’s still a toss-up on whether he’ll explode or break down whenever anyone tries to help him, but with zoro it’s either both in succession or neither.

sometimes he picks a fight and then cries afterwards. others, he concedes to being wrapped in a ratty old blanket and tucked into zoro’s chest where he can hide from the world.

he sleeps through every night now, though. he’s fiery and sharp-tongued and bright-eyed and when he’s had a bit too much to drink he just gets loud, fooling around with their captain and cackling with nami in a corner of the galley between conspiratorial whispers, but zoro can’t deny him anything even though he’s fairly sure they’re plotting his downfall.

he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

#THANK YOU FOR THE ASK ANONNNN #will never get tired of angsting this babygirl. i’m sorry he just has so many Issues #BUT I ALWAYS GIVE THEM HAPPY ENDINGS ALRIGHT SO IT BALANCES OUTTTT #it’s almost 4am this time this is actually horrid #GOODNIGHT ZOSAN NATIONNN #zosan #one piece #black leg sanji #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #one piece sanji #one piece zosan #one piece zoro #sanji #zoro #ino writes #ino’s ask box

[chiriwritesstuff]

The Girl in IT - 7. The All Hands Meeting

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

The LIST │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Summary: A look into a typical day at Miller Construction Group. Chaos ensues (naturally).

Chapter Warnings and Tags: No outbreak AU, Boss x Employee Relationship, Sugar Daddy Lite, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, Age Gap, Older Man/Younger woman, So much dirty talk, Office sex, Desk sex, Inappropriate usage of PowerPoint, Tommy fucks around and finds out, No Beta we die like men!

Word Count: 4.4K

A/N: And the hijinks are back! I wanted to try something new this week, and it was the perfect opportunity to showcase all of our fun supporting characters in 'The Girl in IT'! I thought what better way to introduce everyone was to include their commentary, like an episode of 'The Office'! This one is a doozy, and I hope you all enjoy!

#MCG ADMIN 50 members Sarah (HR) Good morning, Team! I hope you're all doing well. I'd like to announce a mandatory All-Hands HR Meeting today at 11 am in Conference Room A, co-facilitated by Tess and me. We'll have a brief presentation, and for those working remotely, please log into Zoom to join the meeting. Following the session, thanks to Bill, we'll have lunch and refreshments provided. Feel free to reach out if you have any questions. Looking forward to seeing all of you soon! Tommy  Sarah, are you gonna bust your Papi's balls in front of everyone for posting that naughty photo? 💀☠️🪦 Frank (Interior Design) Will there be an opportunity for discussion following the presentation? I'm eager to delve into the minds of SlackGate and understand the motivations behind their actions the other day. Connie (Reception) It's clearly because they're fucking, Frank. 🍆🍑🦪 Frank (Interior Design) Who is? Our fearless leader and our shy girl in IT? Until one of them makes it official, it's just hearsay! Is this meeting a hard launch for a new power couple? 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 Sarah (HR) Yes, there will be an open-forum discussion after my presentation but NO, we will not be talking about the events of the other day in detail. Connie, this is a professional space and we will conduct ourselves as such. Connie (Reception) Why am I always being singled out?? Frank started it! Frank (Interior Design) Did I not professionally conduct myself? Geez Connie, I'm not the one sending nudes to our Boss when clearly, he has a girlfriend. Wait. Oops? (Sorry Connie 🤡) Bill (Civil) Frank! What do I have to do to get you to behave for once? Frank (Interior Design) Oh, I could think of a few ways... Why don't you come and find out once you're done handling your bratwurst out there? Sarah (HR) I don't get paid enough for this shit.

"Thank you, everyone, for coming together at such short notice. While I'm aware this all-hands meeting was abrupt, recent events in the past few days have made it essential. Tess and I genuinely appreciate your presence as we address these important matters," Sarah says with a bright smile, handing out materials. "Here's an updated Employee Handbook with a few edits. I thought it would be beneficial for us to go through it together. Are there any questions before we begin?"

"Yeah!" Tommy exclaims from the back of the room, his feet casually resting against the edge of the table. "How long until we get to the part of this meeting where we discuss just how much of a bad boy your Daddy was the other day?"

Tommy Look, I love my brother, I do. He's always so serious, so noble, providing for everyone and all that, making sure we have a roof over our heads. Shit, he's gotten me out of a lot of binds in my life- [He looks a bit uncomfortable and clears his throat, nodding.] ... anyway, it's a rare thing to see my brother slip up like that, you know? Didn't think he had it in him, honestly. It's been a few decades since I've seen his twig and berries, but shit, I know he's packing! He's a Miller, for fucks sake!  [he puffs his chest out a little at that, chuckling to himself] But Sugar? She's been a fucking godsend! Never in my life have I seen my big ol brother act a fool, especially over a woman! What can I say? It's great to not be the fuck-up brother for once! I'm gonna milk out SlackGate til the end of time!

"Tommy," Joel warns through his teeth, glaring at his brother. "Cut it out."

Sarah rolls her eyes in response as she fiddles with her laptop, the projector behind her illuminating with her PowerPoint presentation. "Like I was saying, this presentation is just going to go over the changes we have implemented in the last few days, including proper Slack etiquette and conduct. You would think that as grown adults, we would know better than sending inappropriate images and messages through company property and time," she clears her throat, glancing over at Joel, then to Tommy, who winks in her direction knowingly. "...including those who decide to engage and participate in unsanctioned secret channels-"

Frank's hand suddenly shoots up, his face awash in mock outrage. "I'll have you know, the watercooler channel serves a purpose, folks! When I caught wind of this 'secret channel' gossip circulating among the Nosy Nancies in the breakroom, I was appalled! Who would dare to stoop so low—"

"Frank, you invited me to the chat just this morning," Jesse remarks, casually holding up his phone as evidence. "It's titled 'Frank's-secret-slack-chat.' I thought it was some kind of exclusive club or something."

Frank Hi, [waves to you] is this on? Yeah? Hi. I'm Frank.   Listen, Sarah was getting a little too vigilant about monitoring Slack ever since Tommy sent us a little treat last year [he laughs] so I had to do something about it, you know? [It pans out to Frank leaning against his desk chair, typing away on his secret Slack Chat.] The chat started as an open forum for discussion on the everyday going-ons of Miller Construction Group. Do we just so happen to discuss the private lives of our peers? Maybe. Do we mean any harm by it?  [He gives you a wicked smile] Maybe.

"You guys, you know, the longer I keep getting interrupted, the longer we're all going to stay here in this conference room, and the longer we have to wait to eat Bill's food. You know how he is," She looks outside of the window, the smoke from Bill's grill swirls like a plume as he flips over a juicy steak. "He hates it when he has to serve his food cold. As I was saying, it should be obvious that we shouldn't be sending inappropriate images or photos to one another through Slack or e-mail."

"Hey! It was just one time, and it was an accident!" Tommy retorts, "Besides, it was hardly inappropriate, I was just only trying to show Maria this weird rash I got-"

"What does that mean, anyway?" Connie cuts in, casting a glance your way. "Inappropriate photos? And is there a difference between accidentally sending them or doing it on purpose?"

"Yeah," you shoot her a pointed look. "Sending nude photos to someone who doesn't want them is actually considered sexual harassment," you say, raising your voice a bit and turning in your seat. "I mean, you could get arrested for that, Connie," you add with a sing-song tone, a smirk playing on your lips as you glance at her. "You have nothing to worry about though, right?" you challenge, rolling your chair towards Joel, and taking his hand in his. "Not unless you did send naked photos to my boyfriend?"

Connie Look, I didn't know that Mr. Miller and Sugar were boning. I know how this looks- like I don't believe in girl code or something. I am a girls girl! If Sugar was just forthcoming about who gave her those damn hickeys before SlackGate happened, I wouldn't have sent her boyfriend nude photos of myself! A girl's gotta try, you know? I was only trying to shoot my shot! [She looks a bit uncomfortable, picking at a hangnail.] ... but you have to admit, Mr. Miller is H-O-T hot. God. I love me a graying man in flannel. I always thought to myself, there must be a story here. How does a millionaire who looks like that be single all this time? does he have anyone? is it a sugar baby? does he have a secret love child? I mean-  [she looks over her shoulder where Joel is, arms around his chest as he winks at Sugar. There's a hint of jealousy in Connie's eyes.] Is it true, though? Is it really sexual harassment if I send unsolicited photos of myself? Do you think he's gonna press charges? 

"It's true. Sending unsolicited photos of yourself to unsuspecting parties is sexual harassment, Connie. Not to mention creepy," Sarah winces, shooting you an apologetic smile. "So please don't be sending any photos of that nature to anyone that you work with, especially not in the admin group Slack."

"Yeah, Joel!" Tommy chides. "Keep that shlong in your pants, brother!"

Sarah You would think that working for my family is a cakewalk? Please. I've been diagnosed with IBS and GAD since I started working here five years ago. I sometimes take half an edible just to make it to lunchtime.   [Her head rests on her desk, and as the events of SlackGate unfold, an endless barrage of messages from the admin Slack channel floods her monitor. She can't help but groan in response.] Listen. I love my Dad. I've never really had to worry about his behavior at work before, not like how I have to with Uncle Tommy... but what the hell was he thinking? I can't unsee that! What if Ellie was on that chat? Could you imagine the trauma? My trauma?

"Okay, let's turn to page 12, where we'll go over all the recent updates," Sarah announces, clicking through her PowerPoint. A collective gasp echoes in the room as the slide projects onto the screen, revealing an image – the image of Joel. However, where his exposed package would be, an eggplant emoji tastefully takes its place. It resembles one of those generic memes easily made with a phone app, complete with the semi-imposed words 'Keep Calm and Shlong On!' in big bold letters.

"Shit!" she exclaims, hurriedly pressing the ESC button as she tries to close out her PowerPoint. She slams her laptop shut, the tell-tell sound of a crack echoing throughout the conference room. You hear Tess silently scoff in the distance, and Sarah closes her eyes in embarrassment as the room falls silent.

... and then, all hell breaks loose.  

Tommy is beside himself, his face red, and his eyes filled with tears as he doubles over in laughter, clutching at his middle. "Shit, Henry! When I asked you to do this, I honestly didn't think you had the balls to go through with it, but I so owe you, my man!" he exclaims, enthusiastically high-fiving his nephew-in-law. "This is the best fucking day of my life!"

"Henry?!" Sarah exclaims, her face flushed with rage. "This is what you needed to do in the office at 6 am this morning?!"

Henry's expression crumbles as he witnesses his wife's ire, suddenly realizing that he's just dug himself into a deep hole. "Sarah," he stammers, attempting to regain composure. "This isn't what it looks like—"

Henry Yeah, Tommy asked me to put that meme into Sarah's PowerPoint last night. I would have done it at home, but Sarah doesn't like to bring her laptop home, you know, work-life balance? So I had to make an excuse to come to the office this morning. Was it a dumb ass idea? Yeah, probably. Did I kind of want to get back at Sarah's dad for making my life a living hell? [He looks at you awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.] Honestly, when you're like five beers in, drinking with Tommy- everything seems like a good idea. He dared me, you know? Said that I'm such a simp, trying to always please Joel. Called me a fucking pussy and everything! What else was I supposed to do? Sarah's going to kill me, huh? Do you think that she's gonna ask for a divorce?

"It's a meme. A meme of my Dad's dick pic with AN EGGPLANT EMOJI?!?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??! WHAT DID YOU MEAN FOR IT TO LOOK LIKE?!" she screams, pulling at her hair. "AND YOU, TOMMY MILLER!" she points at her uncle furiously, "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK??!"

"Baby," Henry replies, his hands raised in an attempt to calm her down. "It's just a harmless prank, look—"

"No, you look, Henry! Does it seem like it's just a harmless prank?" she gestures to the room, her eyes wide. "Don't even think about coming to bed tonight. I can't even look at you! How dare you collaborate with Tommy, do you really want to go this way? Because I see you fucking around, and you're about to find out-"

"Oh come on, Sarah! you know these all-hands meetings are dull as fuck, I don't even know why you even bother, no one ever listens anyway!" Tommy exclaims, looking around the room. "Isn't this fun you guys? Come on, lighten up! It's not like y'all haven't seen my dick before! Your Papi's gonna live another day, I think we should all feel as comfortable as we want, fuck the rules!"

"...but Joel's is much bigger than yours!" someone yells amid the chaos, laughter, and banter echoing through the room. Sarah looks around helplessly in a panic, trying to grasp the situation unfolding.

"Hey! I'll have you know that I ain't small!" Tommy yells in retaliation.

"Do you think that this is helping, Uncle Tommy? I'm beginning to believe that the only reason why people don't take me seriously is because of all of the shit that you pull!" Sarah groans, looking like she's at the end of her rope. "I could mention that Tess is helping me facilitate this meeting to scare everyone but she's just off to the side, pretending to not be drinking under the table!"  

Tess [She is sitting off to the side, smiling to herself as the chaos ensues, shaking her head.] I am drinking, because who else thinks it's appropriate to call an all-hands meeting first thing in the morning? I don't even want to be here. It's so fucking pointless, trying to get these shitheads to conform to a set of rules.   [She witnesses Joel storming up to Tommy, his face full of rage and irritation, finger pointed right at him.] This is the consequence of hiring friends and family, isn't it? I tried to tell them it was a bad idea, but who's listening to me? I get it, everyone thinks I'm a bit of a bitch, and well... yeah, I am. Alright, time to rein this in— [She suddenly stands from her seat and walks over to Sarah, who appears to be disassociating into madness.]

"HEY!" Tess bellows, clapping her hands together. The room abruptly falls silent, Joel's hands frozen mid-grab on Tommy's flannel. Forty-eight pairs of eyes pivot towards Tess, a blend of shock and embarrassment spreading across their faces, reminiscent of children caught sneaking cookies from the jar by their mother. "Okay, that's enough!"

Her eyes are narrowed, hands on her hips. "This is what's going to happen. You're going to stop sending each other dick and tit pics through Slack, because as much as it is amusing," she smirks, winking at you, "I would really rather not have to deal with the fallout that comes with it," she shoots a pointed look at Connie, whose eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.  

"The next time someone tries to fuck around and find out? I'm going to take that dirty photo, print a thousand fucking copies of it and stick that shit all over the office. Every fucking inch, every fucking nook and cranny is just gonna be dick and tit central," she paces around the room, placing a warning hand on Frank's shoulder. "As for this secret Slack chat, I'm going to give you all one chance to come clean. If you don't, and Sugar's report doesn't match who outs themselves right now," She scans the room, a smirk on the corner of her mouth appearing in satisfaction. "Yeah, you didn't think that we were monitoring that shit, huh? Well, I'll throw you all a bone: raise your hands if you are in this secret group chat, and I'll consider not docking your pay for insubordination. Your choice."

Frank [Looking at Tess as she slightly stumbles from where she's standing.] Yeah, she's toast.

The majority of the room begins to raise their hands, except you, Tess, Joel, and surprisingly, Frank.

Tess scoffs. "Really Frank? Really?"

"I have no clue what you're trying to imply, and seriously Tess? Are you really going to play that card? Are you going to dock your pay too?" Frank retorts. "I mean, just last night, you were drunkenly telling me that you heard Joel and Sugar-"

"If you utter another word, I'll fire you on the spot, Frank!" Joel shouts from across the room. "I mean it this time!"

Joel and Sugar [Joel wraps his arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss your forehead while gently pushing a strand of hair behind your ears.] There, that's better. Don't hide your face, Mami; you're too beautiful to be hiding all of that, okay? Right, [he clears his throat.] You would think that people would be a little more professional around here, show me a bit of respect— [His gaze shifts to Tommy, who's engaged in laughter and banter with the team, his chest puffed out in triumph. Joel glares at him, shaking his head.] I'd like to think I try really hard to be a good boss. I pay fairly, I allow remote work, and damn it, I take pride in offering the best employee benefits in all of Austin. We even take a company trip to Hawaii every year, for fucks sake! [You squeeze his hand, pressing a kiss to his temple as he takes a frustrated breath.] Papi, if it means anything, I think you're the best boss any of these folks could ever ask for. They don't deserve you. [Joel nods.] Look, I don't know what to tell you. I got the ride of my life that morning, my sweet Mami riding my cock just right, you know? I would have been okay, going into my meeting with blue balls, just as long as Sugar got hers. Your pleasure is my pleasure... but I was just so fucking horny! I started to work out, yeah? Wanted to keep shit tight for my baby, and fuck, I was... what do they young kids say?   Feeling yourself? [Joel nods again, smiling at you.] Yeah, 'feeling myself' or whatever. Anyway, I was in the meeting, and you messaged me, right? saying that you weren't going to be in for lunch? and I don't know if was the disappointment, or if I was just too horny, but fuck. I quickly excused myself and took a quick dick pic in my bathroom. I thought I was in the right Slack channel... so I sent it, and then the guys at The H Group asked me a whole bunch of questions, and then an hour later- Chaos. The messages kept flooding in! Frank was asking about how long I was, and Connie was sending me nude photos of herself- in my fucking office! Wait, what? [Your gaze meets Connie's, nervously seated as Frank goes on and on beside her. Her hands twitch like a possum that just got run over by an 18-wheeler. Yeah. Squirm for me, you think to yourself.] Yeah! And I just sat there, in shock, you know? Like this is the kind of shit that Tommy pulls, and I couldn't believe that I was so fucking stupid! Can you imagine the kind of therapy Sarah's gonna need? What if Ellie saw this?

"Who's up for some snacks?" Tommy calls out to the team, holding a basket filled with rather sizable cucumbers, bananas, and eggplants. "Help yourselves, compliments of Joel!"

Ellie  [at the job site across town, hard hat fixed crookedly on top of her head.] Yeah, I saw it. There is not enough bleach in this world that could ever erase that image from my existence.   [she glares at Sam, who just shrugs.] Thanks a lot, asshole!

"Alright, you degenerates!" Bill booms, bursting through the conference doors wearing a 'Kiss the Cook' apron, tongs in one hand, and a tray piled high with thickly cut steaks in the other. "This steak isn't going to eat itself!" 

The team swarms Bill like seagulls spotting a tasty piece of bread on the boardwalk. Tommy grabs a t-bone with his bare hands, biting into it with the enthusiasm of a caveman.

"Hey," Joel whispers to you, his shoulder gently bumping yours. "Want to help me with something?" You nod eagerly as Joel swiftly guides you out of the conference room, heading towards the executive offices. You giggle as Joel ushers you into the room, pulling you into a kiss, his foot playfully kicking the door shut.

He moves the both of you over to where Tommy's desk is, pushing aside its contents off the tabletop in one fell swoop, the items clattering onto the floor. "Papi, what are you doing?" you ask cheekily as he bends you over the desk, lifting your skirt.  

Joel growls and shoves you down onto the desk, his hands harshly grabbing onto your hips. Your arms scramble to find purchase as you knock over a framed photo of Tommy and Maria, watching helplessly as the image of their smiling faces falls onto the floor. His palm travels across your back, pinning you in place as he fiddles with his zipper with his other hand. "Line item 6," Joel murmurs as his hands begin to travel across the globes of your ass, squeezing and spreading and slapping them until you're so wet you can feel it dripping down your thighs.  

Joel hums in appreciation. "Thats right Mami, get nice and wet for me, okay?" You can feel him pump his cock against you, notching his head at your entrance. "You gonna make a nice mess for me, baby?" he asks through gritted teeth as he strokes through your folds with his dick.

"Yesss," you moan, pushing your ass back toward him.  

Joel pushes into you to the hilt in one brutal thrust as you cry out, grabbing onto the edge of the desk as he begins to pound into you in earnest, his thrusts so hard and punishing that the desk begins to rattle. You squeeze your eyes shut as Joel gathers your hair in his hand, pulling you back towards him. "Fuck baby, I'm gonna come so fucking hard, fill this pussy up and watch as it drips out of you, maybe fuck you again if we still have time-"

You gasp, taking a deep breath as his thrusts become so erratic it pushes you up the desk, lifting one leg onto the surface as Joel angles himself higher, hitting a spot so deep within you that you bite your lip from crying out, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. You squeeze around his cock as you chase your high, hoping that Joel can maintain his composure long enough so you both can finish together. "No Mami, stay with me, come with me-"

He leans over you, pressing you onto the desk as he grabs onto your shoulders, pounding into you, his breath hot against your neck as he buries his face into it, huffing from exertion. "I'm so close Mami, I'm gonna... Fuck!" He bites your shoulder as he cums in one last brutal stroke, his hands harshly grasping your thighs as you feel his hot spend flow deep into your belly. You rock your hips onto him as his hand goes to your clit, rubbing until you are weak in the knees, your body trembling beneath his. "Fuck Joel," you say a little breathless as you slump onto the table as Joel pulls out of you, his finger probing into you as he pushes his leaking cum back where it belongs. "Come on, lets clean this up and head back before they notice-"

Joel just snorts as he zips up his jeans. "No," he replies nonchalantly as he catches his breath. 

"No?" you ask as you straighten yourself up, frowning at him.  

"Line item six says I bend you over his desk and leave a little souvenir," he motions to the mess on the floor, pens and papers scattered about.  

"He's going to fucking murder you, Joel," you chuckle, pulling him into a kiss.  

"Yeah? Well, he shouldn't have fucked around, because he's about to find out." He simply replies, taking your hand in his. "Come on, little Mami, quickly now, before he realizes we're gone..."

You share a laugh as he guides you back into the conference room. Bill raises an eyebrow at both of you, handing over a plate with steaming steak, as if he just finished cooking it. "I thought I'd save your lunches for last, figured you guys needed some extra time," he says, clearing his throat and nodding towards Tommy, who seems entirely oblivious to your brief disappearance. "You know Tommy, can't resist a good piece of steak," Bill continues, gesturing at Joel. "It's like everything around him disappears for a moment; you could rob him blind, and he wouldn't even notice," he adds with a small smile, placing a hand on Joel's shoulder and giving him a knowing look. "Enjoy your lunch, you two."

Bill Look, I wouldn't call myself a nosy person, but I am perceptive.   [He glances at Frank whispering and giggling to Connie off to the side, rolling his eyes.] Look at them. They think that they're the eyes and ears of this operation, but what they don't know, is that I. Know. Everything. I am a survivalist. I gather intel on all of my surroundings, even if I am surrounded by absolute morons.   [Bill takes another sip of coffee, subtly glancing around him before making eye contact with you, the reader, once more] So if you want to know the real scoop, the real ins-and-outs of this company, and not have to deal with the lunatics in Frank's not-so-secret shit talk club, come to me, I'll set you on the right path. At least I have snacks.   [He looks off to you and Joel, giving a curt nod as he starts to cut into his own steak.] As much as I respect Tommy, he's not the one signing my checks at the end of the day. If there's anything that I value more than anything, it's loyalty. I don't like to play around, hate it when people bite the hands that feed them. People like that need to be taught a lesson. Joel's a good man, and sometimes, we fuck up... but it's how we handle ourselves after the fact that matters. If that means I help out an old friend, well- [he smiles as Tommy walks towards the conference room doors, heading back to his office. Bill smiles out into the distance.]

Taglist: @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @gwendibleywrites @brittmb115 @joeldjarin @drewharrisonwriter

@littlebunnybigheartfics @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @quicax3 @casa-boiardi

@amyispxnk @untamedheart81 @paleidiot @laurrrra @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@bbiophiliaa @thewiigers (I apologize if I missed anyone, but if you are looking for any of my fic updates, please feel free to follow my updates blog @chiriwritesstuffnotifs!)

#The Girl in IT #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller angst #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #the last of us fic #the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou #hbo the last of us #the last of us fanfic

[augustjustice]

Second in Line (aka Blake Harrington fic), 2/?

AO3 Link

Part 1

The telltale sound of footsteps echo again from inside the apartment, approaching the door.

“Eds? What is it?”

The voice rings out before Blake can see him, and a second later, he’s sliding into the doorway beside ‘Eds’ despite the tight space, one shoulder on the frame and his hip pressed firmly up against the other man’s.

Blake feels his heart speed up in his chest. 

The man now standing before him has on a red Chicago Bulls sweatshirt, so faded it looks almost pink. Despite the cold outside, he’s wearing light wash, cutoff jean shorts at a length that would earn a dirty look from Blake’s father, and thick white baseball socks that are pulled up over his calves. His hair is floppy, not as long as Eds’ but curling over his ears and brushing the back of his neck–unkempt, Blake can practically hear the derision in his mother’s voice–and a shade or two lighter than Blake’s own, sun-kissed blonde highlights shimmering in it. 

He squints down at Blake through thick-rimmed glasses, his brow furrowing in obvious confusion and…

…There they are. His mother’s honey-coated brown eyes peer back at him.

“Who’s this?” he asks.

When the man turns his head to look at ‘Eds,’ Blake catches a flash of white, so small and subtle he almost missed it entirely.

His brother’s got a single pearl earring, shining in the lobe of his right ear.

Eds gives a shrug of one shoulder, the twitch of his lip seeming to hint he’s repressing an amused smile. His eyes swivel between the pair of them, from Steve to Blake then back again, taking it all in.

"Sweetheart, why don't you ask the little dude his name?" 

When Steve turns to him again, Blake feels an uncanny sense of déjà vu, like he’s looking into a mirror, or being reintroduced to a family friend he met when he was too small to remember. 

“What’s your name, buddy?” Steve asks dutifully. 

“Blake,” Blake stutters out nervously, having lost all of the decorum he managed to hold onto when introducing himself to Eds, “–Harrington.”

Eds and Steve’s heads turn towards each other in unison, perfectly in sync. Blake feels an inexplicable stab of jealousy at that, the way the pair of them move in tandem. It speaks to a familiarity that runs bone-deep.

“...Holy shit,” Steve murmurs, running a hand up through his hair.

Eds nods in agreement. 

“Yeah, babe. What can I tell you? This one’s a doozy.” 

Then he opens the door a bit wider, all while Steve continues to stare into the middle distance of the hallway.

“You’ll have to forgive Stevie here–he’s usually more of the Suzy Homemaker type than me, but, uh…you’re gonna have to give him a second, on this one, I think.” Hooking his arm easily into Steve’s own, Eds tugs the pair of them backwards, then gives a flourishing bow. “So come into our humble abode, young traveler. Sit a spell, and spin your tale for us.”

The two men back away from the doorway completely, then, giving Blake room to cross the threshold. 

He does.

And it’s a small thing, really, but it feels big. Because, for the first time in his life, he’s stepping out of his parents’ wealthy, polished world…and into his long lost brother’s.

Quick tag list below the cut:

@zerokrox-blog, @just-super-fucking-gay, @justanother-anon, @aphrobites

I did my best to tag people who expressed interest in being on the tag list when I wrote the first part of this. However, I recognize that was back in December, so if you're on this tag list and would like to be removed, please feel free to let me know! I understand it's been a while and people have moved fandoms, etc. My apologies also if I missed anyone, and if you would like to be added, tell me and I'll be happy to tag you going forward!

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #future fic #steve harrington's parents #and his family in general #blake harrington au #my writing #my stuff #my things #second in line

[ronearoundblindly]

L and S for RoaR!Ransom plz

- 👜

From this ask game and this AU series where Ransom ends up with a very wealthy reader and does not kill his grandpa.

Oh....I am reeeeeeady 🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴 but Minors are not welcome to this party!!

L - Lighting

Are the lights on? off? Are there light fixtures? Is there even electricity?? When it comes to sexy times, Ransom does not fucking care. He'll do it anywhere, any way. He does not give a fuck.

...well, ok, so... maybe. maybe, if he had to choose, if you told him he could only have it one way for the rest of his life, he'd say 'lights on.'

He does enjoy seeing his cum drip out of you, and he does enjoy your desperate little expressions.

Fuck if he's gonna ever set up some sort of mood lighting. Hard pass. Waste of time. Click the fucking lights on or don't. No candle bullshit, please.

S - Sleepy Sex

Oh, you mean the only time Ran is nice during sex???

YES, THANK YOU, SIR, I'LL HAVE ANOTHER.

He's a mushy puddle of goo when he's on the verge of sleep or just waking up. That boy whines and sighs like a whore. He'll tell you all his damn secrets if you just keep dragging his tip through your folds. You wanna hear him say how pretty you are? Just shove his face between your tits as he's about to conk out. Sometimes, it's not even about the sex so much as he cannot filter his thoughts through his ego when super tired.

But there's a fine line.

Cranky-Ran and Soft-Hugh are two very different beasts. Do not--I repeat, do not--mistake him being strung out exhausted for that hazy, relaxed sleepy. Cranky-Ran is mean. Lots of spanking and doggie-style or forcing you to ride him until he comes (doesn't give a fuck if you come like that, he's tired). Soft-Hugh is some bizarrely sweet version of this man-child who cannot survive without cuddles and kisses. Like it's almost disgusting.

This, of course, means that it is super obvious when he reaches a fatigue threshold during sex.

You could be going pretty hard, and it turns into this lazy rut while he makes out with you, holding your body flush with his. You could be delicately touching each other first thing in the morning, and then he's wide awake and flipping you over, quickly stretching you on his fingers for only the amount of time it takes to not hurt you when he thrusts in to the hilt.

Now that I think of it, there are--yeah--quite a few 'versions' of Ran's sexual persona...

Thank you for asking!

A/N: Lawd, this sequel is comin' for me... She's gonna be a doozy.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#ro answers #dirty asks #ask game #the root of all ransom #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x female reader #👜 anon

[the-kr8tor]

Thread the needle

Thread the Needle Masterlist

Prologue >>> Chapter 1

God, you're so late for class. Your white sneakers squeak against the linoleum floor, feet running as fast as you can. Your hastily thrown backpack struggles to cling on to your arm. You regret going out last night, on a school night too.

Almost running past the classroom, your feet skid to a stop in front of the door. Taking a breather you take a second to fix your appearance, fixing your backpack properly, breathing out a puff of air, you mentally ready for the weird stares thrown your way once you open the door.

You open the door with a loud creek from the old hinges, cursing the metal for the loud intrusion. Grimacing from the sound, your eyes roam around the room, surprised to see that the professor's late too. You sigh in relief, sitting down in your station, you decide to clean up the mess that you left yesterday in haste.

While picking up loose threads, misshapen cloths and cluttered tools littered around your space, you accidentally listen in on a conversation.

"Did you hear? About our last project?"

"Yeah, I have a friend from the other class, heard it's a doozy. Can't believe Mrs. Williams' making it forty percent of our final grade "

Unbelievable, you thought. And here you go thinking that taking fashion as your major was gonna be easy. You sigh, pondering what kind of next stress is gonna befall you.

Suddenly the door opens with a loud creaking sound– your ever fashionable professor saunters in, clad in her stiletto heels, posture perfect and neck always covered in pearls. God, you want to be her when you grow up.

She stands tall in front of the whiteboard.

"Since this is your last two months here, I'm gonna make this last project the biggest and hardest one you've ever done," she doesn't beat around the bush, going straight to the point, speaking in her posh accent, making elegant gestures as she talks, "This final project will be sixty percent of your final grade, therefore if you fail this you might not graduate this year"

Various sounds of protests can be heard around the room, some groaning in pain, others straight up scream in anguish, but you just look at Mrs. Williams like she grew a second head.

Sixty percent?! This close to graduation? Does she not want anybody to graduate? You think, biting your tongue just in case it slips out.

"You've gotta be joking Mrs. W!" A classmate of yours shares your sentiment.

"Do I look like I'm someone who makes jokes, Flash?" The professor raises a neat eyebrow, side eyeing your classmate.

Fuckety, fuck fuck. You internally swear. This is so much worse than forty percent. Outside you might look calm but inside you feel like spontaneously combusting right there on your chair.

Mrs. Williams stares at her class silently. The entire room feeling the dark aura she exudes, they all clam up immediately.

"The project - find someone, I do not care if you're already close, or you're strangers to each other. Just someone who's willing to model for you-"

"For the record everyone, I'm available" Flash interrupts the professor, with one look from her, he sits back down defeated and embarrassed.

"This project requires you to make an outfit," she continues, staring daggers at your classmate "not just any other piece you have ever made. You have to cooperate with your model, in creating it."

That's easy enough you thought, you've already worked with models before, like changing some aspects of the clothing to match their sizes, and changing some designs if they're not comfortable wearing it.

Mrs. Williams raises her index finger, "This outfit, it has to encompass the both of you, so it's a requirement, a necessity, to pick a model that has an entirely different style from you"

Different style? Your mind goes to him immediately, with his heavy leather boots, spiked accessories, and overall Punk aesthetic, compared to your fluffy cardigans, sneakers and plain button ups. He's perfect for this project. The only problem is how in the world are you gonna convince THE Hobie Brown, your best friend of ten years, to model in front of the entire graduating class.

Mrs. Williams' voice brings you back to the present. "They, whoever you pick, must be willing to fully participate in making, and modeling it. They don't even have to be a student here, all that matters is that the final product must be a perfect blend of both yours and their style"

Flash raises his hand this time "How would you know that they have a different style from us?"

"Next meeting you must bring them, and" she emphasizes the last word "a picture of them with a timestamp from a year or two ago, this prevents cheating. And if I ever find out that you edited the photo's timestamp, don't even think about graduating"

"Um, ma'am, when are we presenting it?" A brave classmate of yours raises their hand.

"You have a month to work on it, the show will be three weeks before graduation, if you'll even be qualified for it"

You swallow down your anxiety at her last comment. Bringing Hobie in class will be a bitch and a half itself. You're already thinking about how to convince him.

"And remember this project fosters teamwork and cooperation with each other. Do not forget it has to be a perfect blend, not some smorgasbord of an outfit." The professor adds.

Great, now armed with the great task of convincing Hobie, you think, if he still owes you a favour, maybe you can call it in for this.

#hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #thread the needle #thread the needle series #thread the needle Prologue #spider punk #hobie brown #the kr8tor's creations #spider man across the spider verse #x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv x reader #atsv fanfic #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you

[tightjeansjavi]

Jail Bird | Joel Miller x smuggler/raider f! reader | part 2

“All I’ve Ever Known Is You”

A/N: and so we have reached the conclusion of this tragic story of unrequited love. I warned y’all earlier that this would be a doozy. Tread carefully.

~word count: 2.4k~

Summary: Joel Miller refuses to let you go, and it proves to be a costly choice.

Warnings: major character death, depictions of violence, fatal gunshot, angst, grief, regret, emotional manipulation, mentions of blood, stalking, refusal to let a person go, anger, stubbornness, obsession, unrequited love, pining, possessive behavior, actions have consequences, lots of imagery used, dark themes, Joel is an emotional mess, protective! Joel, darkish! Joel, grieving! Joel, sprinkle of PTSD from the night Sarah died, this content may be disturbing for some viewers. Please read the warnings carefully, and do not proceed if this sort of content upsets you. +18 minors dni!

Cornered: (of a person or animal) forced into a place or situation from which it is hard to escape.

"nothing is more dangerous than a cornered wild beast"

Joel had no recollection of how many hours had passed since you locked him away in this cell. He should have known better than to trust you. He beat himself up over the fact that he let his guard down that easily. What the fuck was he thinking? You kissed him and suddenly nothing else mattered. He should have sensed you were going to trick him. Maybe if his mind wasn’t so clouded, he would have stopped you when he still had the chance.

“What do you mean you don’t know where your brother is, Tommy?” Ellie was walking alongside her uncle from the mess-hall, wrapping her arms tightly around herself to lock out the chill.

“I haven’t seen him in hours El. He’s been actin’ fuckin’ strange these past few days, ever since we brought that woman in from the woods. For all we know, he skipped town or somethin.’”

“My dad wouldn’t just leave without telling one of us. That’s bullshit. Where’s the jail located? Wasn’t he interrogating her or something?” Ellie quickened her pace to keep up with her uncle.

“Yeah, you’re right, kid. He wouldn't skip town like that. That’s unlike my brother, especially now. We’ll go and check the jail and see if he’s there.”

Joel pulled himself up to his feet with a heavy grunt when he heard the main door open with a loud creak. For a split second he thought maybe it was you returning to him, but that sliver of hope was quickly vanquished when Tommy and Ellie came into his peripheral.

“Joel?! What in the hell are you fuckin’ doin’ in there?!” Tommy was already pulling out his spare keys from his pocket and quickly unlocked the cell door. “What the hell happened?!”

Joel looked up with a defeated expression on his face. His eyes were rimmed red with glassy tears pooling in his irises. Ellie was at his side with her arms wrapping around him, hugging him tightly to her. “Dad, what happened?”

Joel leaned into the comforting touch that his daughter unconditionally provided for him. A heavy sigh passed through his cracked lips as his gaze fell upon his younger brother. “She tricked me.” Was all he could utter.

“Tricked you how?” Tommy scrubbed his hand across his face, shaking his head to himself. “She over power you or somethin?’”

“She kissed me, alright? She fuckin’ kissed me..and I fell right into her goddamn trap.” Joel’s tone was bitter, laced with frustration as Ellie helped him to his feet.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now Joel? How long ago was this?”

“A few hours ago? I don’t know. She just fuckin’ locked me in here and ran. I told you when we brought her in that we have..history. I know I shouldn’t have let my guard down like that but—”

“Yeah you told me that she left you back in the QZ, and you spent all your time fuckin’ lookin’ for her. Maria said one of the horses was stolen right before dinner, so it’s gotta be your jailbird, brother.”

“Will you help me go out there and find her, Tommy? Please? I think she was just scared that somethin’ was gonna happen to her here, and that’s why she ran. If we leave her out there, she’s gonna die. I don’t want that on my conscience.” His arm was lightly draped around Ellie’s shoulders.

“Are you fuckin’—fine. I’ll grab a couple of the guys and we’ll go and look for her. She must mean a lot to ya if you’re willin’ to take these lengths. What’re you gonna do if we find her, and she doesn’t want to come back?” The three of them left the jail cell and treaded back out into the bitter cold.

“I’ll jus’ hav’to find a way to convince her to come back.” Joel stated what he believed to be the obvious. It wasn’t a matter of if he would find you. He would find you, and he’d do whatever it would take to convince you to come home with him.

The horses were saddled up with four men, including Joel and Tommy at the front. Maria told her husband that going after this jailbird was beyond stupid, and he agreed. He just had a rather difficult time telling his brother no after all the years they spent apart. Ellie didn’t like the idea either, but Joel always came back home to her. He always promised to return so this time would be no different as he kissed the top of her head, and smoothed down her hair gently. “Don’t worry about me kiddo. I promise I’ll be home as soon as we find her.”

“I know, Dad. Just be careful, okay?” She hugged him tightly.

“Always am.” Joel promised her.

The further away you were from Joel, and Jackson, the more at peace you began to feel. You didn’t believe that escaping jail would be that easy, but as soon as Joel fell into your perfectly calculated trap, you knew it was your ticket out and that you couldn’t waste another second. You had no idea where you were going to go now, and with darkness falling quickly, it would take a miracle for you to survive the cold cold night that lay ahead.

You had endured worse conditions before, and the chill didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. You listened to the comforting crunch of snow beneath your horses hooves as your heart thrummed gently in your chest. Joel would have to be a fool to come after you now..or so you thought. Your moment of calm was fiercely destroyed when you heard the thundering of hooves approaching in the distance.

Joel fucking Miller just wouldn’t give up.

You heard him call out your name as a desperate plea through the once still snowy forest. It echoed through the surrounding evergreens, ricocheted off your thundering heart like a pinball machine. You eased your horse into a canter, desperate to escape Joel’s nearing approach.

Please! Please stop runnin’ from me darlin’! I don’t want to chase you, but you're leaving me no other choice!

He was closer now, far too close for comfort.

Your hopes for escape were cut short when your exit route was impassable due to the rushing river that stretched for miles on end. You eased your horse to a halt, frantically looking around as if you were a scared doe being narrowed on by a pack of wolves. The wind howled as you were reaching for your gun just as Joel, Tommy and two other men emerged on horseback through the snowy evergreens.

“Stay back! Stay back or I will fuckin’ shoot!” Your voice trembled like a branch being jostled through a harsh wind. Your finger held steady over the trigger despite your nerves and the frantic look in your eyes.

Joel cautiously dismounted from his horse with his hands above his head to show you that he didn’t come to harm you. He just came to ‘rescue’ you and bring you back home where you belonged. “Easy. Easy. I’m not gonna harm ya darlin.’ Please put the gun down, and then let’s talk. Okay?” His tone was soft, reassuring but it caused bile to rise deep from the pits of your stomach. You didn’t want to go home with him. You wanted to never see Joel Miller ever again.

“Like hell I’m going to put my gun down!” Your horse took a nervous sidestep to the left, nearly slipping into the icy depths below. “You need to fuckin’ let me go, Joel! I don’t want you!” You kept one hand on the trigger as you carefully dismounted from your horse.

“You know I can’t do that darlin.’ You know I can’t. Please just come home with me. We can put this all aside! C’mon. You’ll freeze to death out here.” He pleaded with you with an outstretched hand in your direction.

“I’d rather fucking freeze to death out here than go anywhere with you. Take five steps back right fucking now, or I shoot. Why can’t you just let me go? Why can’t you just fucking move on! I don’t love you, Joel. I never have, and I never will. What we had years ago was good, it was fun, but you’re chasing a fucking ghost. What you want from me is something I am not capable of giving you. You need to move on.” Now you were the one pleading with him. You didn’t want to have to shoot but if it meant that Joel Miller would never be in your life again…

“You don’t love me, sweet girl? That’s bullshit and you know it. All that time we spent together? It meant fuck all to you? I don’t believe it! You’re a terrible fuckin’ liar, and you’re making this way harder than it needs to be! Please, stop fighting me. You’re breakin’ my fuckin’ heart, baby.” He didn’t listen to your demand for him to take five steps back and instead took two cautious steps forward.

“I am NOT your sweet girl! I never was Joel! Stop trying to convince yourself that I have ever cared for you below a surface level! The only liar here is yourself. Now, you can turn around and go home and forget all about me. It’s for your own fucking good. You think that one day I’ll wake up and suddenly develop feelings for you? That’s not how the world works! That’s never how it worked, and you just have to accept that!” You kept the barrel of your gun trained on him as he stepped closer to you.

“Joel, maybe we should just—” Tommy tried to reason with his brother.

“No, Tommy! She’s comin’ home with me one way or a fuckin’ other.” He didn’t even look back at his brother as he took another step forward. His eyes were desperately pleading with you to give in and you truly were beginning to feel like a cornered doe with a pack of vicious wolves caving in.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

You saw Joel reach out to grasp your arm and the second he did, you went to shove him away. Screaming profanities at him with tears stinging your eyes. Your screams died in your raw throat when a gunshot shot rang through the air. It was not your own gun. It all happened so fast as the bullet tore through the flesh of your heart, where Joel had once built a home there. The windows shattered, the wood splintered, and the bed exploded into a cloud of down feathers. The house he forged with his bare hands laid in a pile of ash as you sank to your knees. Dark crimson blood pooled through the layers of clothing on your body as you struggled to take your final breaths.

Everything around you began to grow fuzzy as your lashes fluttered. The sensation of blood draining from your body like the rushing stream was eerily calming. You had never been afraid to die. Not when the world had gone to shit, and everyday could be the day that you would depart the living realm. The once white snow was stained scarlet as you slumped into Joel’s arms with one final breath.

Joel felt his own life flash before his eyes as the bullet tore through your flesh. It all happened so fast and there was nothing he could do to stop it as you slumped into him. He desperately pressed down on the wound as more blood filtered through your body. His hands were stained in it along with his clothes. There was so much blood and so little time. “No no no. Fuck! No. You are not dyin’ on me like this!” He relived images of Sarah dying in his arms flash through his brain as he let out a bone chilling sob.

“Tommy! Help me! Fuckin’ help me!” He finally looked over his shoulder at his brother who could only stare back from where he sat on his horse.

“SOMEBODY FUCKIN’ HELP ME!” He screamed as he clutched your body against his chest, rocking your slumped form as he cried into your cold shoulder.

No one moved a muscle. No one said a word as Joel held you for one last time.

Your body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as Joel struggled to lift you into his arms. Your eyes forever unmoving, staring up at him with a ghostly film falling upon your once vibrant irises. Your body grew cold. Colder than the temperatures outside and the skin around your lips was fading blue. Your time living on earth's hell hole was over.

“Who fuckin’ shot her.” Joel’s tone was deep and threatening as he trudged through the snow with your deceased form limp in his arms. “WHO FUCKIN’ SHOT HER?!?!” His voice cracked as fresh tears began to fall and land along your icy skin.

“ILL FUCKIN’ KILL—”

Tommy was already hopping down from his horse to attempt to console his wrecked brother.

The man who shot you was known to be trigger happy. He only acted on impulse when you had moved to shove Joel away. He was already riding far far away from the scene when he realized what he had just done.

“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME TOMMY!” Joel used the strength he had left to shove his brother away from him.

Tommy’s own heart broke when he witnessed Joel struggle to secure your deceased body onto your horse. All the younger Miller Brother could do was watch, and the image that laid before him would never leave his mind.

The only two people to attend your funeral were Joel and Ellie. He dug your grave in the town's cemetery. It took hours due to the ground being so hard and frozen. Ellie was there for emotional support. She might have never met you, but you meant something to her dad, and she wanted to be there for him in those final moments.

He laid your wrapped body into the cold dark earth below. His body had spent all of his tears, but that didn’t stop the physical dry sobs to part from his soul. He pressed a kiss to your covered head, whispering that he would once see you again. Your headstone was hand carved in stone by him, and when it was all said and done, Joel and Ellie stood above your grave, arms wrapped loosely around one another as her head gently rested along his shoulder.

“Who..was she to you, dad?” Ellie softly asked.

Joel slowly looks over at his daughter, his lips curving up into a gentle smile. He inhales, exhales with a puff of cold air departing his lips, “just someone I used to know, a long time ago, kiddo.”

Joel Miller had finally let you go.

Tagging people I think will enjoy! @chaotic-mystery @cavillscurls @morning-star-joy @sinsofsummers @cupofjoel @thetriumphantpanda @dinsdjrn @darkroastjoel @korynnekorynne @kirsteng42

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller story #joel miller angst #dark joel miller #joel miller fanfic #protective joel #joel miller the last of us #joel tlou #tommy miller #ellie williams #the last of us x you #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #character death #dark themes #jailbird #tight jeans javi fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

A Place To Call Home: Long, Long Time

Summary: While at the store one day, unexpected visitors from the reader’s past reappear. Sometimes though you should be careful what you wish for...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x foster daughter!reader

Word Count: 13,600ish

Warnings: language, so much angst

A/N: This one’s a wee bit of a doozy! 

__________

“Does mom like carrot cake?” you asked as you pushed the cart down the baking aisle. JJ shrugged as your dad picked up a box mix. “Guys. Focus. We’re here for ideas, not the mix remember?”

“Why does mom get a homemade cake and I don’t?” he asked, shaking a chocolate mix.

“Uh, your cookie cake was homemade, thank you very much,” said JJ. “What do you think I was doing at Y/N’s the night before?”

“You said you went over there for help with your math homework,” he grumbled, setting the box mix down.

“Oh yeah, she never comes over for homework help,” you laughed, your dad groaning. “He’s so sweetly innocent, isn’t he?”

“He really is,” she laughed as he grumbled, picking up a lemon box.

“Is seventeen when the sass comes out like extra hard? I’m sensing a theme developing with my children,” he said, JJ taking the box and putting it back. “Well…thank you for the cookie cake. I suppose we should do something homemade for mom then.”

“I vote for strawberry,” said Arrow from further down the aisle, Zeppelin rolling his eyes at her. “What?”

“Strawberry’s gross. It should be chocolate.” 

“I second chocolate,” said your dad.

“I think we should do funfetti,” said JJ, Arrow quickly agreeing. 

“You’re tie vote, tall munchkin. What’s it gonna be?” asked your dad. 

“I’m going to have to go for-” You cut yourself off when you saw two figures further down the aisle by the flour, feet instantly taking you closer. You froze when you recognized them, their heads turning when they felt your stare.

“Uh, Y/N?” asked Arrow, your dad quickly by your side. 

“Oh my god,” said the woman, her hands covering her mouth. The man was slack jawed as your dad grabbed your shoulders.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Who-” he cut himself off too when he looked at them properly, his eyes wide. “That’s not possible.”

“Uh, who are these people?” whispered Zeppelin in your ear as you and your dad just exchanged blank stares with the couple.

“This is Don and Brandie,” you breathed out. “My parents.”

“Your parents died,” he mumbled. “That’s not-”

“Is this your family?” whispered your dad. You nodded, taking a small step forward.

“This is really happening?” you asked. You felt a steady hand on your back and looked up, your dad’s green eyes still shocked but smiling down at you. “You see them too?”

“They’re real, kiddo.” You took another step forward and then you were in their arms, being smothered in a deep hug. Your head hurt. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made fucking sense. 

But god did something inside of you heal at being in their arms once more.

Two Hours Later

You were jumping for joy when you got back home, your parents on their way over to talk through everything. It was apparently very long and complicated which you were sort of expecting considering you’d thought they were dead for the past nineteen years. 

But an unsettling feeling overcame you as you watched your dad go to the back porch with a bottle of whiskey the second you got home. Your siblings were gratefully old enough to know how serious this was and decided to head to your house to bake the two different cakes they’d settled on. 

Which left you alone with your dad for the moment.

You opened the back door, finding him looking out at the water, whiskey and empty glass on the table behind him. He was breathing heavily, your heart aching as happy as it was. You walked up behind him and gave him a hug, his body flinching at the touch.

“Don’t be stupid, dad. This just means I have two sets of parents at the same time. That’s all it means. Nothing else has changed.” You slid up under his arm, surprised to find him fighting back tears. “Dad?”

“You don’t have to do that for me, for us. Your parents are alive, Y/N. You don’t-” You grabbed his right side where his scar was with one hand, his bicep where his tattoo for you with the other. He blinked a few times, swallowing thickly. 

“You are my father and Dee is mother just as much as Don and Brandie. You have never been second to them.”

“Y/N,” he whispered, forcing a sad smile. “They’re your parents. You can pick-Ow!” he said when you squeezed him hard.

“My parents have been back for two hours and you already think I’d walk away? Are you still scared that this is conditional love on my part?” His jaw dropped before he squeezed his eyes shut.

“TJ told you I said that a while back, didn’t he,” he said, voice ragged.

“It has always been unconditional. And you…with how much you love me, you’d let me walk away like that to make me happy, wouldn’t you?” He nodded, pursing his lips.

“We love you with all our hearts and that means letting you go where you’re happiest. If that was somewhere else, then that’s all I want for you.”

You caught his chin, forcing him to look at you, his green eyes wet with unshed tears. 

“They will accept you and my family and understand that I am not picking a set of parents…or else they will make that decision for me.” He blinked rapidly as I smiled. “You’ve been my dad far longer then he was. We’ve been through some serious shit. There’s no walking away. You’re stuck with me for the rest of fucking eternity, understand? JJ and I are gonna make fun of you for like eons of the afterlife so-”

He hugged you tight, squeezing too hard but you didn’t really mind. “You okay, dad?”

“Just glad I’m still dad,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. “You know that you could pick them and I’d never stop loving you, right? You don’t-”

“Dad,” you said, leaning back, catching his smile. “I know. Don’t worry. If they are the kind of people to force me to choose, I’m choosing you. Because I know you’d sell your soul for me. You’d let me go if that’s what I wanted. So please don’t worry. Please?”

“Okay, tall munchkin,” he said as the back door opened again, your mom stepping outside with wide eyes.

“Please tell me I didn’t miss them,” she said. You shook your head, pushing your dad over to her.

“Not here yet. Please calm down your husband. He’s being a worrywart for nothing,” you said, giving her a quick hug. “You know you’re always my mom, right?”

“Yeah…” she said, looking at your dad with a frown. “Oh don’t tell me he thought-”

“Yup. So please calm down my anxious father that I love very much,” you said, all three of you turning your heads when you heard the ding for the gate in the house. Your dad slipped past you inside, hitting the button to let them in and down the driveway. You followed after with your mom as she ducked off to the kitchen, quickly throwing some snacks on a platter.

“Do you want to talk to them alone?” asked your dad when you found yourself staring at the front door. Your race pulsed, breath quickening as memories flooded your mind. Memories of them hurt in the car. Of them dead. “Y/N.”

“No. I…I need you guys to ask questions for when I freak out that they’re…” you closed your eyes, your dad’s hand on your back. You crouched over, hands on your thighs as you breathed in deeply. “I feel like I’m going to puke.”

“We’re right here. You don’t have to do this by yourself,” he said, sounding like his normal self again. 

“How can they be alive?” you whispered as he knelt down beside you, rubbing your back. “It’s not possible.”

“Obviously there are things that happened that none of us know. I know this is…” You forced yourself to look at him, swallowing when the doorbell rang. He tucked your hair behind your ear, smiling softly. “Just listen to them. You don’t have to decide anything or do anything right now. Just listen and we’ll all try to make sense of this.”

You nodded and let him help you to your feet, hanging back while he opened the door. They were in jeans, your dad a polo and light rain jacket, your mom in some kind of flowery blouse. 

“Jensen,” said your birth dad, shaking his hand when he extended it. 

“Don. Brandie,” said your dad, letting the two of them inside. 

“I’m Danneel,” said your mom, scurrying over and giving them each a slightly awkward hug. It was quiet for a few seconds, the tension in the room overwhelming.

“Well this is awkward as fuck,” you said.

“Y/N,” said your birth mom with a stern face.

“I’m thirty years old. I swear now. I do a lot of shit I didn’t use to,” you said, voice harsher than any of you were expecting. Everyone stared at you as you sighed, your dad’s hand on your lower back and rubbing gently. “We should sit down and talk.”

“Why don’t we sit out back?” said your dad, guiding you over to the back door. “Would anyone like a drink?”

“I’ll take a glass of that if you’re offering,” said your birth dad, nodding to the whiskey bottle on the porch table. “I have a feeling we’ll need it.”

An hour later and you hadn’t said much. Your parents were asking your birth parents plenty of questions all while you slumped down in your chair, sipping at your second glass of whiskey. A quiet rage was building inside, the joy of finding your birth parents alive having worn off. Now, all you felt was betrayal. Scars they caused. Scars that took a long ass time to heal. So much pain you didn’t have to go through.

“Can we cut to the bullshit?” you asked, interrupting your birth dad, their four heated gazes on you once more. You narrowed your eyes as you drank, setting the glass down loudly. “So you saw a crime and were witnesses and the car accident was an attempt on your life, right? So let’s say I forgive the whole you two going into witness protection without me because hey, you thought I’d have a better life and would be safer not in it. You were way off base there but say I understand that because I’m a parent. I get it. You want your kid safe. I can get past all of that.”

You sat up in your chair, leaning forward with fury in your eyes, your birth parents both looking startled.

“You were only in witness protection for a few years you said. A few. So why the fuck didn’t you two come back and get me?” you growled. You felt your mom’s hand on your shoulder as your body started to shake. “I can forget the leaving me behind, no matter how much like bullshit that sounds like and I can believe that some of my memories of that night of the accident aren’t real because I know I hit my head and got hurt. But why did you leave me in foster care? I didn’t have these guys yet. I was alone and you left me alone.”

“Because…we didn’t trust the police,” sighed your birth dad, closing his eyes. “We didn’t believe that it was safe to make contact so we didn’t. You’d already mourned us. We weren’t willing…we stayed away to keep you safe. We thought you’d…the murder we saw, those were bad people. People perfectly fine with doing unspeakable things to a child.”

“We let you go so you’d be safe and if that meant never seeing you again, we were willing to pay the price. Only recently…” said your birth mom, squeezing your birth dad’s hand.

“The last of this group that we saw died a few days ago in prison. We live in Michigan and don’t have much so it took a few days to get down here but we came here to find you. We’ve seen online that…that you wound up with a uh, unusual family, but we knew you were still here in Austin and we came to try and find you. We weren’t expecting to bump into you in the store,” he said.

You sat back in your chair, closing your eyes as your mom kept rubbing your shoulder. “Y/N, we know-”

“You two don’t know jackshit about what happened to me,” you said, shaking your head, running your hands over your face, staring them down with wide, angry eyes. “You have no idea what my life has been like. You thought I was safe in foster care?” You scoffed.

“Y/N,” chided your dad but you shrugged him off when he rested a hand on your knee. “Y/N. Look at me.”

You ripped your eyes away from your birth parents, meeting his hard green eyes. “If I were in their shoes, I would have made a different choice and had you in witness protection with us but and I want you to listen to me, kiddo, really fucking listen.” You nodded as he inhaled. “If I thought the safest thing for you was to stay away from you, then I would stay, no matter how much you hated me for it. I can live with a pissed off daughter. I can’t with a dead one. You are a parent. You have a right to be angry but consider that line of thinking before you say something you end up regretting.”

“I…” you trailed off. You glanced down to your lap and sighed. Why did he have to have a point like always? You ran your hands over your face, your dad’s hand on you back. You forced your head up to meet your birth parents faces. “He’s right. You should have taken me with you. I wasn’t safe here. I would have been safer with you because my life was in danger in those places.”

You inhaled deeply. “But I understand you thought it was best. I don’t agree with it or understand how it happened but I get it. And…” you looked over your shoulders at both Jensen and Danneel. “And your choice put me through hell. But I also found a family I love and that loves me. These people are as much my parents as the two of you and you will accept the Ackles or…”

Your birth parents shared a quick look before your birth mom smiled and reached her hand across the table. You took it, surprised at how sweaty it was and the slight tremble to it.

“Your family is our family. Jensen and Danneel took care of you when we couldn’t. We will always owe them for that.”

“And it’s strange for us but we understand, we’re not your only parents anymore,” said your birth dad. You nodded, letting a tiny smile onto your face. “Can we come back?”

“Guys,” you chuckled. “I might get pissed and mad as hell sometimes but you can be part of my life. Of course you can. As long as you understand you gotta share me.”

“We are more than okay with sharing you,” said your birth mom. She stood a bit awkwardly and you took the lead, giving her a hug, your birth dad joining you both.

“Y/N! What’s with the-holy shit.” You glanced over your shoulder at TJ, eyes practically bugging out of his head. He started to form a sentence but stopped, eyes darting around the room. “Are those…”

“Yeah. It’s a long story. One I want to know more of,” you said, swallowing thicky. “If we’re allowed.”

Your birth dad smiled. “You can know anything you want to.”

One Month Later

“And we went out to dinner last night. I can’t believe they’ve never had seafood before!” you said. Your dad grumpily sipped from his can of beer, staring bitterly at the roaring fire in the pit before you. He’d been weird since you came over for dinner. At first you thought it was because TJ was driving the kids up to his mom’s for the weekend and was staying overnight. All three boys were supposed to go fishing in the morning but he wouldn’t be back in time when they were going at first light.

But your mom was being overly peppy too, her usual wit and dry humor lacking. Even when you’d brought up going shopping for a mardi gras outfit and saying she could go crazy on you this year, all she did was hum and re-wash the same plate she already had five times.

“You want another beer?” you asked, throwing a thumb over your shoulder, pointing back at the house.

“Bring down a bottle of bourbon. Strong,” he said, your mom waggling two fingers for glasses. You hummed and went up to the house, barely inside before you were grabbing your little brother in the kitchen and cornering him against the pantry.

“What’d I do?” he said, your sisters pausing as they came downstairs wearing hoodies. “Guys, Y/N’s got that murder look.”

“I do not have a murder look,” you growled.

“You’ve had a murder look since as long as we can remember. It normally means you’re upset,” said JJ, approaching your side. “If this is about the scratch on your car, I did it.”

“No, Zepp did it and I don’t care about that,” you said, closing your eyes. “You don’t have to protect them from me. That’s my job.”

“Yeah well, I’m almost eighteen so tough shit. I’m their big sister too,” she said with a small smile. 

“Then what’s wrong?” asked Zepp, Arrow’s eyes widening in the background. “What?”

“Dad made me promise not to say. Like he told me to take it to my grave,” said Arrow. You crossed your arms, watching her struggle with what to do. 

“Mom and dad have been weird around me all night. If you know why, I want to know.” She groaned, throwing her head back. “Arrow, what’s the secret?”

“Y/N,” scoffed JJ. “Come on. It’s obvious. Mom and dad might say they’re cool with your parents being back in the picture but they clearly aren’t. All you’ve done the past month is talk about how great they are and take them out to fancy restaurants and concerts and stuff. They know you’re paying for all of it.”

“Mom and dad buy stuff for me and TJ and the kids all the time even though we tell them not to. They know we have plenty. Besides, I haven’t seen my parents for over a decade and we want to hang out and do fun stuff like we all do with mom and dad.”

“That’s not the problem. Mom and dad are your parents, not the other way around,” said JJ, Zepp and Arrow taking the opportunity to head back outside. You pursed your lips when the back door closed, JJ stepping closer. “You want the honest truth? We don’t like them, especially mom and dad.”

“Excuse me?” You shook your head, JJ humming. “Mom and dad said they were totally okay and understood they had to share me. They’ve always had to share me.”

“Mom and dad are okay with it. But those people? They left you alone. You were abused because they left you on your own. Do you think mom and dad would have done that to you?” You saw red, furrowing your brow.

“They were protecting me. Mom and dad would have-”

“They’d have taken you with them and you know it. You’re way too close to this to see those people for who they are.” You shook your head, going to the liquor cabinet to get out a bottle, pouring yourself a double and knocking it back. “Y/N-”

“Think what you want, JJ. It’s so easy to know all the answers after the fact. All I know is that I am so damn happy they’re back.” You got in her face, bottle in hand, staring her down. “For the record, loving them doesn’t mean I love mom and dad or any of you less. They’re not some random stranger pretending to be my half-brother. They aren’t some weirdo coming out of the woodwork. These people raised me for ten years. They were good to me. You don’t have to like them but you will respect them, understand?”

She tilted her chin up, narrowing her eyes. “Follow your own damn advice and stop shoving in mom and dad’s faces about how amazing your birth parents are. They’re the people that have always loved you, even when you were a hot mess and had no idea how much your words hurt them. It’s really easy to love someone when they’ve got money and their shit together. Mom and dad got the fucked up version of you and they loved you for all of it. Your birth parents walked away from you before you went through shit. Do you think they would have taken you back when you were the mess you were the day you walked in this house for the first time? Because I know they wouldn’t have. They-”

“Shut up. You don’t know anything, little brat,” you snapped. Her eyes watered but she kept her expression stern, swallowing thickly.

“I don’t want you to get hurt again. And we’re all scared you’re going to and it’ll tear you apart.”

“Well you can stop worrying about me.” You shoved the bottle in her hands, bypassing her and heading for the front door. “Tell mom and dad I’m not feeling well.”

Ten minutes later you were at home, laying on the couch, hands on your face. You’d overreacted and knew it. They were worried about you. It wasn’t a crime on their part to do so. You sighed and reluctantly sat up, muttering when you caught your dad through the window, heading for your front door.

You met him as he went to reach for the door, his face unusually hard.

“Listen,” you said, not liking how he crossed his arms. You stepped onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind you. “I was on my way over to apologize so you can save it.”

He smiled, shaking his head, looking over the top of yours. You frowned when he scrunched up his face.

“You’re thirty years old. She’s seventeen. You know better than to fly off the handle like that.”

“That is not fair-”

“So you didn’t call her a brat?” You looked at your bare feet, closing your eyes. “Why the hell would you say that to her?”

“She was insulting my parents. Apparently, none of you care for them. Instead of telling me, you’re weirdly passive aggressive. Who knows better than to do that, hm?” you shot back. His chin raised up as he nodded once.

“We have never made one comment to you about your parents. Mom and I had a fight before you came over. That’s why we were both in bad moods. Do we like your parents? No, not particularly. But we respect them and so do you siblings. They were not insulted. Your sister shared how she felt and you took it as an attack.”

“You’re the one coming here to attack me right back,” you snapped. He stepped closer, gazing down. 

“I came here to ask you to apologize to your sister. Me not liking your parents is not an attack. Not everyone has to like everyone. We don’t like Rick yet I don’t see you having a problem with that.”

“Rick was awful to TJ. This is so not the same.”

“Y/N,” he said, voice firm. “Let it go. Apologize to your sister and then spend some time with your siblings. They were looking forward to hanging out with you tonight.”

“Somehow I seriously doubt that’s true,” you scoffed. He shook his head, walking away down the path, suddenly stopping.

“You’ll find this out someday but when your kids get older, they realize their parents aren’t superheroes afterall. They’re just human. They lose that magic. But a big sibling? Shit, I still call my big brother when I don’t know what to do. You’re the one that when mom and me are gone, they’ll look to you. They’re all teenagers, kid. They know mom and me, we’re just human. But you will always be their superhero, even if they don’t say it.”

You sighed, curling your toes against the cold concrete. 

“I wish everyone got along,” you said, your dad walking back up onto the porch. He put a thumb under you chin, urging you to look up. You wrinkled your nose when you found his green eyes, gentler now. “I feel like everyone’s mad at me for being happy.”

“No. No we’ll never be upset at you for having joy in your life. We are so incredibly happy to see you like this. But you know us. We’re overprotective and…I don’t agree with the choices they made when you were a kid. It angers me because I can’t comprehend leaving my child behind when there’s danger. So no, mom and I will probably never get over that. But we can try harder to get to know your parents. Mom and I will invite them over, let the four of us try and get to know each other.” You felt large, warm hands on your shoulders, rubbing up and down. “We’ll try. You always tried for me so I owe it to you to actually try with them.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, letting him pull you into a soft hug.

“Please don’t expect your siblings to though. They will kind and respectful but-”

“I understand,” you said, breathing deeply. “All they see is people that left me.”

He inhaled like he was about to speak but quickly dropped it, stepping back. “Come back over when you’re ready. I’ll save you glass of bourbon.”

An hour later, and many hugs, things were okay between you and your little sister again. You understood her concern and she understood she hadn’t phrased things the way she’d wanted to. Currently, she was was sharing a lawn chair with you, sneakily taking a sip of your bourbon while you munched on a smore.

“I saw that,” said your mom, giving you both a side eye. “No hard alcohol until you’re twenty one.”

“They’re all talk,” you whispered in her ear, getting a laugh from her. “Dad’s going to give you your first beer when you graduate and after that? Pft, they’d be hypocrites.”

“I heard that,” he said, an arm coming down from above you, taking the glass away.

“That’s mine!” you said, watching him knock it back. “She had one tiny sip.”

“It was kind of disgusting,” she said, your dad feigning shock.

“Oh no. You’re going to be a wine girl, aren’t you. I may have to disown you for this,” he said to JJ, avoiding her trying to smack his arm. “You’re slower than Y/N too.”

“We can’t all be perfect,” you laughed, earning a ruffle on the head for it. When your phone rang, JJ took the opportunity to steal the rest of your smore, sticking out her tongue at you. You were about to say something back but you caught that it was from your birth dad. You slid out of your seat, walking away before answering. “Hey dad.”

“Y/N! I’m not interrupting am I? I know TJ and the kids are out of town so your mom and I thought maybe you’d want some company tonight.” You glanced over your shoulder, spotting five pairs of eyes staring back. 

“I have plans. Sorry,” you said, your dad getting up and walking over. “Tomorrow night?”

“That sounds great. Your mother found this restaurant she’s dying to go to,” he said. 

“Yeah, sure,” you said, your dad by your side, making a grabby hand. You handed the phone over, hoping it wasn’t a mistake.

“Hey Don, it’s Jensen,” he said, pausing for a moment. “No, no, everything’s fine. Dee and I were wondering if you and Brandie would like to come over for lunch tomorrow. It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other while Y/N spends some quality time with her siblings…no, no, we got plenty here to eat…one sounds great, we’ll see you here.”

He handed the phone back, letting you say a quick goodbye. 

“Hey dad,” you said, shoving the phone in your pocket. “Thanks for inviting them over.”

“I didn’t do it for them.” He kissed your temple, throwing his arm over your shoulders. “Make me a s’more?”

“You got it.”

Jensen POV

“I thought we were going to enjoy our rare, child free, work free day by laying in bed,” Danneel whined from the kitchen. I sighed, rinsing some salad off in the sink, setting it in a bowl for lunch.

“I know but I promised Zepp we’d fish this morning.”

“You promised me we could have lots of sex. However loud we want sex.” I turned off the water, wiping my hands dry.

“Why don’t we ask Y/N to keep the kids tonight and after Don and Brandie leave, I will keep you thoroughly entertained this evening.” She walked up to me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she said, pecking a kiss on my lips. A ping went off, both of us groaning that our visitors were at the gate. “We promised we’d be nice to these child abandoners. Remind me why we said we’d be nice?”

“Because our daughter asked us to try,” I said. Even if they didn’t deserve it. 

Maybe we were too pissed. Maybe we were acting like children holding onto a grudge. 

But god, I’d rather die than leave any of the kids behind. If things were so bad we had to go on the run, you could bet my ass they’d be right by my side where they were safe.

Y/N had too many scars that would never heal all the way because of them choosing to do the easy thing and leave her behind.

And for that, I could never forgive them. But I could try to move past it, at least be friendly with them.

“Jay.” I turned my head, Dee standing close by, eyes worried. “You look like you could kill someone.”

“Just hate that everything Y/N went through could have been avoided,” I said, gripping the counter's edge. “She could have…”

“I know. We can’t change the past,” she murmured into the crook of my neck, holding onto me. “Them being back makes her happy.”

“We’ll just…try like we said we would,” I said as the doorbell rang. Dee left me to answer, taking a beat to put a smile on her face before opening it.

“Hi, guys,” she said, Don and Brandie entering with a bottle of wine and a leather portfolio. I bit back a comment. For some reason, that portfolio made me nervous.

“Thanks for having us over. We’ve been saying we mean to get together with you both,” said Brandie. 

“We know it’s been a crazy month,” I said, nodding to head out to the back porch. A few minutes later we had some snacks on the table along with several glasses of wine. 

And that freaking portfolio.

They weren’t thinking of trying to, I wouldn’t even know, adopt her back? For medical reasons? Was that even a thing? Maybe they were just looking for advice on where to live in the area?

“Jensen,” said Dee, patting my thigh. I glanced up, Dee very aware I’d been zoning out. “Don was saying he’s surprised Y/N isn’t using her architecture degree.”

“Oh well, maybe not in the traditional sense but she has been doing a lot more set design stuff lately. She’s getting a bit hands off with the brewery which is fine with us. Once we saw her doing design work, we could see how passionate she was for it. The brewery was a good stepping stone for her while she decided what she really wants to do. She and TJ do some occasional side jobs for design through word of mouth actually as well. He’s certainly more focused on staying with his firm but maybe someday they’d team up together, make their own business. Y/N’s been freelance but with all the filming work going on in Austin these days she’s actually just joined up with the union,” I said, clearing my throat when I realized how long I’d been going on.

“To be fair we were a tad nervous when she started to get involved with our industry,” said Dee. “It can be rough. But we’re really proud of how she’s handled herself. She doesn’t let herself get pushed around or backed into corners. She’s had some opportunities to get into other areas of it all but she seems pretty happy to stay behind the scenes which is more than fine with us.”

“I remember she wanted to be a cardiologist,” said Don, pursing his lips, voice a bit dry. “Surprised she didn’t do something more…academic.”

“The architecture program was no walk in the park,” I said, feeling a slight tension in the air. “She works hard.”

“I think that’s quite clear to both of us,” said Brandie, swirling her drink in it’s glass. There was an awkward beat, no one sure what to say. 

“All of us care about Y/N,” said Dee, gratefully dissipating the nagging feeling that’d been growing. “Her life changed dramatically when you two were gone and bad things happened to her, things you guys couldn’t have anticipated. Her life isn’t what you or even she thought it’d be when she was ten but I think we can all agree she’s got a pretty damn good one now.”

“And you guys being back,” I said, glancing at Dee, feeling her hand squeeze my knee under the table, “We have a shot to make her life even better which I think is what we all want in the end.”

Don and Brandie shared a long look, something that made my stomach churn. 

“We all want what’s best for Y/N, right?” I asked. Dee was gripping my knee hard, Don and Brandie having some sort of silent conversation before us. 

“It shouldn’t be a hard question to answer,” snapped Danneel. I grabbed her hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Let’s just all take a breath,” I said, carefully watching Don put a hand on the portfolio. “To be perfectly honest, Dee and I, we don’t agree with the decision you made to not take Y/N with you into witness protection. We can’t fathom leaving behind our kids when there’s danger, especially knowing how it all turned out for Y/N. But Y/N asked us to try and give you a chance so that’s what we’re going to do.”

I turned to Dee, some of the anger leaving her as she nodded. “It’s just hard. I know you guys didn’t know what would happen back then and surely you had your reasons. Jay and I…we know we…”

“We would walk away from them to make sure they were safe if it came down to it,” I said, a flicker of surprise on both their faces. “But we wouldn’t have done what you did. From the little we do know, it sounds like you were all in danger. To us, you left Y/N vulnerable to the danger you ran from. That’s the part we could never do and that angers us. But I’m sure there’s more to the story, a story we’re not owed. But it sure as hell might help us to understand and get past it. For Y/N’s sake.”

Brandie leaned forward in her seat, resting her hands on the table. She glanced at Don who gave her a small nod.

“We know you don’t like us and that’s okay with us, really,” she said, strangely calm. “We get the feeling you don’t necessarily enjoy sharing Y/N which again, we understand. When you signed up for this, you thought we were dead. We know that.”

“We have a proposal,” said Don, sliding over the portfolio.

“What sort of proposal?” asked Dee as I flipped it open, scanning through the words on the page quickly. It didn’t make sense and I moved it closer so Dee could read. From the shake of her head, she didn’t understand it either. “What is this?”

“It’s a contract,” said Don, nodding at the stack of papers. “You two can remain Y/N’s parents with no interference from us. We’ll walk out that door and never speak to her or see her again. All you have to do is provide financial compensation.”

I closed my eyes, trying to wrap my head around what he was saying. “Are…what?”

“We’ll stay away from Y/N in exchange for a payment,” said Brandie. I opened my eyes as Dee held up a hand, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry. I think there was a miscommunication somewhere. Jensen and I are not asking you to stop seeing Y/N. That would devastate her. We would never have her choose,” said Dee.

“Do, do you guys need money?” I asked. “I know you said you didn’t have a lot and you came down to Austin very quickly. We can help if you need it so you don’t have to go back up North. We…trust us, whatever our thoughts are on your past decision, we know how important you are to Y/N and we want you guys in her life. We can help you find a place down here or-”

“Jesus christ,” said Brandie, Don sighing, sinking back into his seat. “Are you two fucking idiots? I’m seriously asking. No wonder Y/N wound up choosing to be a set whatever over a doctor.”

Dee looked like a deer in the headlights and as much as I wanted to get angry for them insulting us, I had no fucking idea what was going on.

“Did we miss something?” I asked, Don tapping the sheets of paper in front of me.

“God, it’s good you’re pretty. Nothing in that head of yours, is there?” he asked, pressing his finger firmly against a bolded number. “Give us this much money and we’ll fucking leave forever, dipshit.”

“Do not speak to my husband like that,” growled Dee. I snapped out of it as she stood, Brandie and Don doing the same. I was on my feet and stepping in front of her without thinking, heart racing as Don pushed the papers closer. 

“We know you have a lot and this is nowhere near that much,” he said, snapping his fingers at me when I furrowed my brow. “Do it or we take this to Y/N and tell her you tried to get rid of us.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” argued Dee, slipping out beside me, their voices growing louder as something clicked in the back of my mind.

“Hey, kiddo,” I said, knocking on the open door to Y/N’s room. She flinched in bed, sitting upright quickly, eyeing me cautiously. She hadn’t done that much recently. Only when I spooked her accidentally. I took the chance to sit on the edge of her bed, glad to see she didn’t shy away. “Dee said you had a rough day at school.”

“It’s Thursday,” she said, her face in a frown. “You’re supposed to be at work. Tell me you didn’t fly down-”

“I only had one scene first thing this morning. I got a long weekend so I came home early.” I tucked her hair behind her ear when she turned away, her head kept low. “I know Thursday is normally therapy with Dee but I’m going with you today.”

“I don’t want to go,” she sighed, shifting herself away. “Please don’t make me go today.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You don’t have to go if you tell me what happened at school and why it did.”

“I hate you,” she mumbled, putting her back to me completely. I stood up, quietly heading for the door. 

“We’ll head out in ten minutes,” I said, shutting the door behind me. I closed my eyes, sighing when I found De in the kitchen. 

“She say anything?” she asked.

“Nothing except she doesn’t want to go today and she hates me.” I pursed my lips, glad for Dee wrapping me up in a hug. “She’s still afraid of me.”

“She’s afraid of being abandoned again, not of you.”

“You don’t make her flinch,” I said quietly, resting my chin on her shoulder. “Four months and she’s still scared.”

“Four months of her having a father who loves her. Don’t you forget that because she sure hasn’t. You know how much she asks when you’ll be home when you’re gone.”

“Just wish she could say it to my face some day,” I mumbled. 

“She will. You’ll be the one she tells everything to. Just be there for her,” she whispered. We broke apart just as Y/N came down the hall. She looked small in her oversized navy hoodie and black leggings, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. She hid it well but her slightly puffy eyes meant she’d been crying after I left.

“Can we go?” Y/N mumbled, going past and over to the front door. She pulled on her sneakers and ducked outside, Dee resting her head on my shoulder. 

“She always feels better after therapy,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “Can you make that pasta she likes for dinner?”

“Sure thing. Go take care of our girl.”

I typically didn’t say much during our sessions. Normally we liked to let Y/N take the lead, it let her feel comfortable talking about important things in front of us her therapist said. It was a slow process but we were certainly starting to see it having benefits. She opened up quicker in sessions and at home she was more vocal. She had her quiet days but it was nothing liked when she first came to us and didn’t say much.

But today, today I couldn’t wait.

“What happened at school with the substitute teacher?” I asked the moment we sat down. Y/N crossed her arms and slumped down into her usual corner of the couch. “Y/N.”

“Jensen,” chided the doctor. “Let’s back up-“

“I got scared,” said Y/N, facing me full on, her big eyes on the brink of tears. “What’s the fucking point of all this if I’m going to be afraid of every adult man in my life. You can’t fix me so you might as well stop trying.”

“Excuse me?” I said, cutting off the doctor, Y/N’s face holding a scary amount of confidence. 

“I’ve lived with you for four months. Four months. I’m still afraid of men. I told you you’re wasting your time on me but you won’t listen to me,” she said, sniffling slightly. She shrugged, her whole body exasperated. “Why are we doing this? It’s pointless. I’ll never be normal.”

“Y/N-” said the doctor as I held up a finger to him, his mouth snapping shut. Y/N frowned but kept eye contact, a tear slipping down her cheek. Somehow my heart ached for her even more than it already had. If only she knew how badly it hurt, I think she’d finally understand how much I loved her.

God, I had to let her know how much I did.

I scooted over on the couch, quickly wrapping my arms around her, pulling her into my chest. She inhaled sharply, tucking her forehead into the crook of my neck, burring her face against my shirt as she cried silently for a few moments.

“I’m sorry I don’t have the right words to say to make your fears go away,” I whispered, her body starting to relax beside mine. “But know that you were never broken. It’s been awhile since someone’s loved you so I know it’s funny to get used again. But I will always, always, love you.”

“You feel sorry for me,” she whispered, keeping her head down under my chin. “That’s all it is.”

“I feel sorry for a lot of people. You have never been one of them.” That got her attention, her head slowly raising so she could look me in the eye. I wiped off her cheek, smiling softly when she wrinkled her nose. “You’re a badass with more guts than anyone I’ve ever met. Why on earth would I feel sorry for someone so fucking amazing?”

“I got scared at school with the substitute teacher, so scared I cried when he yelled at me. How the fuck can you say this is even remotely working?” she asked. I smiled, glancing down between us and back up.

“You used to be afraid of me. How’s that working out?” I asked. She sighed, glancing away.

“You don’t count. You’re different.”

“How?” I asked. She groaned, swearing under her breath. “Come on. I won’t tell anyone.”

“You’re…you, okay? You’re just…” she pursed her lips, closing her eyes. “I know you love me. You tell me everyday and call everyday even when you’re in Canada and…if you were going to hurt me, you’d have done it by now. So it’s not you I’m worried about, okay? It’s everyone else.”

“Okay,” I said, rubbing up and down her back, her head falling back to my shoulder. “So why’d the teacher yell at you?”

Y/N sighed. “I was asking Kelly what page he said to turn to and he yelled at me that I should listen better. He wasn’t even that loud. I don’t know why but it scared me.”

“Isn’t that a phrase your father used when you were a child?” asked the doctor, flipping back through his notebook before nodding. “Yes, in one of our first sessions where we discussed your birth parents discipline methods in comparison to different foster parents we said that was one of your dad’s methods.”

“The whole we’re not mad, just disappointed thing,” said Y/N, nodding with a sigh. “Never thought I’d end up missing that.”

“I’m sorry that must have been one of the sessions Dee was at,” I said, shaking my head. “I remember she gave me the run down but I don’t think we talked about what Y/N’s parents used to do.”

“Like I said, they’d do the disappointed thing,” said Y/N, sitting upright, peeling away slightly but remaining close. “I have my period right now. I know I’m more…sensitive to stuff when I’m on it too.”

Nearly an hour later, Y/N was feeling better but I was most certainly not. I made an excuse about needing to talk to the doctor about insurance, telling her to head out to the truck without me.

“Doc,” I said when we were alone, a concerned hum coming from him as he went back to his desk. 

“You’re quite perceptive, Jensen,” he said, setting our session notebook on his leather desk mat. “Why didn’t you push it when she said her parents used disappointment as a discipline style?”

“Why didn’t you?” I asked, crossing my arms, lifting my chin. “You make us talk about all sorts of shit. She’s talked about getting the shit beat out of her but you don’t push this. Why?”

“We both know Y/N puts on rose colored glasses when it comes to the past and her birth parents. Now we will never for sure but my gut says her birth parents weren’t as perfect as she makes them seem.”

“No parent is perfect,” I said, watching him take a seat in his chair. 

“True. But there are difference between good and bad. Again, this is conjecture, but based on comments throughout different sessions, I do not believe her birth parents were all that great. Yes, Y/N is afraid of adult men but that has toned down significantly in only a few short months. I think the phrase triggered her in school today, not the teacher.” 

I sat in the chair across from him, rubbing my hands together. “It could have been one time he yelled at her as a kid though. We just don’t know. Y/N’s never said anything about her birth parents doing anything to her.”

“It’s just a gut feeling, Jensen. I’m not saying they were abusive, not at all. Just that, behaviors are learned from a young age. Just keep it in mind in the future in case she ever says anything more about their punishment style,” he said. I nodded, glancing down to my lap. “She has made remarkable progress in a few short months. Try to remember that.”

“I just…it breaks my fucking heart to hear her talk about herself sometimes. I wish I could make her see what I do.” The doctor tapped on the keyboard for a moment as I took my cue to leave.

“Jensen,” he said when I was standing. He gave me a gentle smile, one he normally reserved only for Y/N. “You’re her safe place whether you agree or not. What you’re doing with her, it is working. Someday she’ll come to realize that.”

“Thanks,” I said. He hummed, tapping on his keyboard again.

“I’ll send you and Danneel all of our session notes going forward so we can avoid missing things in the future,” he said. I went to leave when he called me one last time. “Jensen?”

“Yeah?” I asked, fishing for my keys in my pocket, realizing Y/N already had them.

“Try not to worry so much. She’s in good hands with you guys.” 

“We’ll do our best.”

I stared at Don, noticing Dee was in a full on shouting match with him and Brandie. 

“What is wrong with the two of you!” shouted Dee. “You can’t just abandon your child because you have to share her with us!”

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty cause-”

“Oh.” All three of them stopped, giving their attention to me. I slowly stood, feeling the bile rise in my throat. It was too much of a coincidence. 

The way Y/N had overreacted to her teacher back in school only confirmed what my gut had been trying to tell me all along.

“You two never wanted Y/N in the first place, did you?” I asked. Brandie sighed while Don rolled his eyes. “You left her behind on purpose. You never wanted to be parents. That’s why you would snap at her as a kid. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Danneel sat down, her face pale as it dawned on her.

“Tell us the truth,” I said. “Tell us the truth and I will give you what you want.”

“Jensen-“ 

“Be honest and I’ll give you what you so clearly want.”

Brandie frowned, crossing her arms after a moment. “Fine. We never wanted kids. Our parents were the ones that wanted them. Y/N was a mistake but our parents insisted on us having her. They even changed their will and made it a requirement to get the full amount. So we kept the mistake. Then they went and died not long after she was born and we got stuck with her. End of story.”

“She is not a mistake,” growled Dee, bite in every single word. “If you didn’t want her, you should have given her up for adoption when she was a baby.”

“It took years to get through the fucking litigation for who got what from her parents estate,” shot back Don. “By the time we had our money, she was too old. So when the chance to leave came, we took it.”

Dee was staring in horror at the two of them while I breathed slowly. “That’s why you left Y/N behind. That’s why you waited years to make contact. You don’t want her. You never did. You want her money.”

“But witness protection…” said Dee, shaking her head. “How would they let you go without Y/N?”

“It don’t work like the movies,” said Brandie, still frowning at us. “She had a head injury. We couldn’t stay and she couldn’t leave the hospital. It wasn’t difficult to convince them to have us relinquish custody when there were odds she had head trauma. Now give us our money and you can have her all to yourselves again.”

I pushed the portfolio across the table, narrowing my eyes. “I’d rather die than give you disgusting people a cent. You kept her for money. Money. Did you ever even love her?”

“How many times do we have to say it? We don’t give a rats ass. The brat should be grateful we even left her the little we did in a trust for her. Money now or we tell her you tried to pay us to leave. We all know who she’ll believe.”

“Get out of my house,” I growled. “And stay away from my daughter.”

“Good luck with what happens,” scoffed Don. In under a minute, they were gone and I shakily sat down, hearing the sound of a car taking off.

“Jensen,” Dee breathed out after a long few moments. 

“I know.”

“If she finds out how her parents feel about her-”

“I know.”

“She thought they were the only ones that ever loved her. It’s how she survived on her own as long as she did. She’ll be devastated.” I nodded, closing my eyes. “It’s worse than her worst fears. God, Jay. We were the first people in her life to love her unconditionally. She’s going to come apart at the seams.”

“I know,” I whispered, gut churning. I put my head in my hands, fingers gripping my hair too tight. “We have to show her the tape from the porch camera.”

“Why?” she asked, her arms wrapping around my waist. I laughed dryly, shaking my head.

“Honey, the second we tell her about her birth parents, she’s going to doubt us. She’s going to doubt that we won’t turn around and abandon her too. It will kill her but she has to watch the tape.” 

She sighed but agreed. Unfortunately, we barely had the thing pulled up before Y/N was storming into the house, face scrunched up.

“What the fuck is going on? Did you guys seriously try to bribe…” she trailed off when Dee turned her head away, wiping at her face. “What happened?”

I didn’t know where to start. How do you tell your child the people they’re supposed to always be able to depend on never wanted you in the first place? All I could do was glance at the computer, Y/N moving and hitting play before I could come up with any words.

Dee and I were dead silent as she watched the five minute conversation, Y/N’s face unreadable. When it finally ended, she shut the computer slowly, staring at the countertop.

“Y/N,” I whispered. “Mom and I love you. We love you so much. Please believe that.”

When her eyes met mine, I swear my soul tore in half. The light was gone from her eyes, replaced with that cautious trepidation from the day we met her. 

“Y/N, honey, we-” said Danneel, stopping when Y/N put her hand up. 

“I need to be alone right now.” 

She was out the door fast, leaving us standing there, no clue what to do next.

“She doesn’t trust us anymore,” whispered Dee beside me. I wanted so badly to tell her she was wrong, that this was a gut reaction on Y/N’s part and it’d blow over.

But that was a hope and a prayer at this point. 

“She needs space so let’s give her space,” I said, pulling her into a hug, holding on too tight. “It’s not us that broke her heart. It’s them and she knows it.”

“You’re an awful liar,” she mumbled. “She thinks we’re going to hurt her too so she’s going to pull away and you know it.”

I wished it weren’t true but I knew Y/N too well. Whatever she felt for us was now shrouded in doubt.

And there was nothing we could do to tell her how wrong she was.

Reader’s POV

One Month Later

“Momma,” said Allie, skipping as we walked around the block and down to my parents house. Honestly you  didn’t even know what they were to you anymore. You loved them but it was complicated.

Your birth parents were dead as far as you were concerned. You told them off and hadn’t seen or heard from them in two months. It was fine with you. You’d lived most of your life without them already and you weren’t putting up with any shit ever again.

But your adoptive parents, Jensen and Danneel…you’d barely spoken a word to them in a month. Allie and Colin still spent plenty of time with their grandparents but there was no more hanging out at their house. No more at yours. Your siblings were confused and angry with you. TJ was suffering silently at the loss of his two parental figures. Any and all communication went through him.

You knew he texted them sometimes but he kept things vague. He loved them but loved you more and tried to respect your boundaries when it came to discussing you.

You weren’t even sure why you’d assumed Jensen and Dee would be like your birth parents. Logically you knew you shouldn’t have done that. You knew they loved you. 

But it was tainted. Instead of feeling warmth from that knowledge, all you did was sick. Someday, somehow, they’d end up fucking you over and you wouldn’t be able to put yourself back together after that. It’d been hard enough with your birth parents after all. Only recently had you started to feel somewhat okay again.

“Momma! It’s Jay!” she squealed. You refocused on the road, startled when he was at the mailbox. His heard turned at the sound, looking as shocked as you did, quickly hiding it when Allie let go of your hand and ran up to him, hugging his legs. “Hi Jay!”

“Hi pumpkin,” he said, returning the hug. He picked her up and twirled her around for a moment before setting her down. “Remember to hold mommy’s hand when you’re walking in the road, okay?”

“I know,” she sighed dramatically. “But there were no cars! I looked!”

“Well stay with mommy until you’re older,” he said, booping her nose. 

“Can we play?” she asked. He glanced at you. You gave a short nod, Allie quickly taking off down the driveway and heading for the bucket of chalk in the garage.

“I’ll pick her up in half an hour,” you said. You started to leave when his fingers wrapped around your wrist. His face was pained as he released you. 

“Can we talk later? If you have time, I mean.” You looked down at your feet, sighing slowly. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I’ll be back in a bit to get her.” 

Two nights later you were laying on your bed, staring at the ceiling. TJ was quiet beside you, the kids put to bed nearly an hour ago. 

“You okay?” he asked. You shook your head, grateful when he pulled you into his side, face scrunched up. “You can go talk to them and end this anytime.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” you spewed back at him. He tensed for a moment, guilt riddling your veins. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious. You’re scared everyone was pretending to love you, not just those assholes.” 

“Not everyone,” you mumbled. “Just them.”

“Why do you doubt them? You heard them on the tape. They love you,” he said. 

“But what if they change their minds?” you asked. His fingers gently grasped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Every parent I’ve ever had was a monster that didn’t care. Why are they any different? I just haven’t met their monsters yet.”

“You can keep choosing to believe that. I’ll be right here if you do. But you’re in pain. You have to move on from them or let them back in. Those are your only choices.”

“I know.” You sighed and sat upright, wiping off your face. “I’ll be back in awhile.”

“Stay as long as you have to,” he said, kissing your cheek. 

Three minutes later you were in your parents driveway, ready to go inside and have a very awkward conversation. You weren’t expecting to hear music the second you got out of the car though. You wandered around to the back of the house, spotting your dad by the small porch by the path down to the dock. He was plucking at his guitar, singing softly, only a few string lights offering any kind of light in the dark space.

You froze when you recognized the song, feet planted firmly in the dewy grass.

“I’ve done everything I know, to try and change your mind. And I think I’m gonna miss you for a long, long time. Cause I’ve done everything I know, to try and make you mine. I think I’m gonna love you for a long, long time,” he sang quietly, words just barely reaching you. After a few more strums, he set the guitar down, his head going into his hands.

Quietly you walked over, standing at the railing, not looking when you felt his gaze on your back.

“I’ve been so afraid of you and mom hurting me too when I’m the one that walked away. I’m the one that fucking hurt you.”

“Y/N, that’s not-”

“Look at yourself,” you said, turning around, waving a hand in his direction. “I’m a grown woman. You can admit that I hurt you.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring out at the dark water. “One time when you’d been here about, three months or so, we made plans to go to that food truck day downtown. Just the two of us. It was a Sunday in February. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah?” you said, standing by his side, risking a glance up to find his focus on the water. “I remember mom got mad at us cause we ate way too much and we had reservations to go out for some charity thing that night.”

“Ah,” he chuckled. “See, you remember the weekend we went. We were supposed to go the weekend before but I had a con I’d forgotten about. I remember calling you to tell you that Friday afternoon I wouldn’t be home that weekend. You told me don’t make promises that I had no intention of keeping. You were pretty sure I lied to you. We got into a pretty big fight about it. That day? That day you hurt me. You tore into me, called me names, all because I was human and made a mistake. Even when I said we’d go the next weekend. That hurt. What’s happening right now? Honey, I miss you like hell but you haven’t hurt me. You’re not doing this to me. Fuck, you asked for boundaries while you work through something that literally no one deals with. No one. I’m proud of you for knowing to ask for what you need right now. Do not think that I’m hurt.”

You closed your eyes, lowering your head as you rested your arms against the railing.

“I’ve been hiding from you and mom because I’m scared. Don’t be proud of me for being a coward.” You felt his shoulder brush against your arm, his tall body solidly beside you. 

“Tall munchkin, you are many things. A coward isn’t one of them.” A light gust of wind tickled your face, followed by a gentle finger pushing your hair behind your ear. “I know you threw them out of your life for good. I know what you said to them. Don’t blame TJ for telling us. He and I made a little pact a long time ago that we have your back-”

“Would you just stop?” You forced your eyes open to find his mouth snapped shut, a curious yet pained look on his face. “I’m an asshole. I cut you and mom out of my life, out of TJ’s life, for no reason at all. Because I’m scared when all I saw on that tape was you and mom defending me, being disgusted with my birth parents. You did nothing wrong and still I’ve treated you like you’re going to turn into monsters too. So stop being the strong dad for one fucking minute and just be honest. I’m an asshole and you know it.”

His eyes casted down to his feet, a long, quiet sigh slipping past his lips.

“Honestly, I’ve always hated that I had to share you with another set of parents. I hated it because no matter how good a job I did, mom did, how the fuck were we supposed to compete with people that were dead. The good ones. The ones where you got to have a normal childhood filled with love and none of this other shit. But then when you were a teen? Well mom and I realized it wasn’t as peachy fucking keen as we thought. Your birth parents were assholes sometimes but fine. It’s hard being a parent and maybe they weren’t perfect but maybe they did their best. We couldn’t know for sure and you were such a good kid that they must have done a pretty decent job with you. But still, we hated it. Hated being second best. We would always have the asterisk next to our names. No matter how much you told us you loved us, there was always a chance you’d stop trusting us. And that fucking happened because of those assholes. I wish they’d stayed dead. I wish they’d never come back at all because you’re ours. You’re my daughter. Mine.”

His face was hard, jaw clenched. “I hate that I’m the first person in your life to love you unconditionally. I hate it so damn much. You shouldn’t have been alone for so long. If I could have taken you at that airport when you were a little girl and kept you, I would have. If I could go back and do it differently, I’d sell my soul to. You’d never have doubted for a second you were loved. I’d give up anything for you and I don’t know how I get you back. It’ll never go back to how it was and I can’t stand it. I want my daughter back and I have no idea how to get you to trust I’m not the monster but that guy that protects you from them. I know I fucked up with your birth parents but give me another chance. Please give your family one more chance.”

You stared at him, watching him swallow thickly. He turned his head away, looking back to the river with a sigh. 

“When I was eight, we went camping,” you said quietly, watching a light ripple in the water below. “We went on a hike but it wasn’t a trail or anything. My parents said they had to use the bathroom and took off. But they didn’t. They left me in a forest. Alone. I was lost for a few hours but somehow made it back to our camp. I really liked stories so I’d snuck some bread and made a little trail like in the fairytale. Ended up following it back. When I got back, my dad was so angry that he spanked me until I was black and blue. I thought they were angry I got lost and wandered off. That’s what they told me. But…it was black bear season back then. They tried to get rid of me and they were so angry I had the audacity to come back unharmed.”

“Why’d you never tell us?” he whispered.

“I didn’t understand what that day was until two months ago. That was the first thought that popped into my head as I watched that tape in the kitchen. The monsters had always been there and I didn’t realize.”

You waited a beat, inhaling the spring breeze. 

“Every father figure in my life either beat me or emotionally neglected me. Until I walked in that house, not a single man protected me. Cole did his best and I am grateful to that man for going above and beyond but he was never my father. I was his job. A case.” You swallowed, a gust of cool wind hitting you both. “I know you’re closed off sometimes. I know it’s like pulling teeth to get an honest emotional response out of you.”

He nodded, forcing himself to look you in the eye.

“There’s this show where this guy stops the monsters,” you breathed out, his face scrunching up slightly. “And they say family don’t end in blood in it. And it doesn’t start there either. And that guy, he’s not always great at expressing his feelings but he feels really deeply, more than he lets on. Because he has a good heart and a good soul.” 

He nodded slightly, inhaling sharply. “That’s the kind of guy that I’d want to be my dad if I got to pick. He’s not perfect but he’d protect me from the monsters and love me and that’d be enough. I’m not greedy.”

“He sounds like he’d be up for the job,” he whispered.

“I think so too,” you said, offering a smile. “She’s kind of a handful sometimes but she’s her father’s daughter after all.”

“He doesn’t think that at all,” he said, nodding to himself. “He thinks she’s pretty fucking amazing.”

“That guy would be a pretty fucking great dad,” you said, shrugging your shoulder. You sniffled, his gaze turning even more worried. When you just smiled back, he looked so lost. “But I picked you instead if that’s okay.”

He finally smiled, nodding his head with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, that’s okay with me.”

“Good. You’re the only dad I’ve ever had so it’d be a shame to have to change it now.”

“I’m not the only…” he trailed off when you raised your chin, wrinkling your nose. “Okay. Dad position is mine. Understood.”

“You and mom were always my favorites,” you said, a surprised look on his face. “Kids know when they’re loved and when they aren’t. Just forgive me for being an idiot and not having this conversation sooner?”

“I do. I can’t blame you. You take after your idiot father after all,” he chuckled. You bumped his arm, his own falling over your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. He hugged you, hard, kissing your forehead as you felt him inhale deeply. “I was really your favorite dad?”

“You were my favorite since that night in the rain on my birthday,” you said quietly. You buried your face in his chest, his head resting against yours. “I used to feel really bad about it. But not so much as I got older. Now, I should have listened to my gut. My head got scared but my gut never has been. I’m sorry for pushing you guys away.”

“It’s okay. I was getting ready to go over your place and force this discussion anyways,” he said, his body relaxing. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop the monsters this time.”

“Daddy, I was always going to get hurt but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. On that tape, I saw you and mom trying to protect me. That is all I’ll ever ask for. Dean couldn’t always stop the monsters either but he sure as shit tried.”

“Alright, alright,” he murmured. “I see your point.”

You both turned when you heard a thud, your mom standing about halfway down the lawn, a bottle of wine currently sitting in the grass from her opened hand.

“Go hug your mother. She needs a conversation too,” he said, patting your towards her. But you grabbed his hand, tugging him along after you as she stood there, her face blank.

“Hi mom,” you said, her eyes glancing over to his. “Does it help if I say you were my favorite mom?”

“I was?” she breathed out, watching your dad nod with a big smile. 

“I mean, you still are. Honestly between you and him, you wonder where I get it from? Pfft. I get it though. You make the mistakes on the first kid, right?” you said, instantly wrapped up in a pair of arms. “I’m sor-”

“This is all I needed,” she whispered, holding on tight. “Did daddy convince you to trust us again?”

“No. I don’t think I stopped in the first place. Just had to stop being scared long enough to remember you guys are the ones I can go to when I am. After that I just felt sorry for him. He was singing Linda Ronstandt.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “He’s been playing it every night for weeks! Thank god you’re putting us out of our suffering.”

“I see the everybody ganging up on me thing is still happening,” he said, throwing his long arms around you both. “I missed that.”

“You missed it?” you asked as he started to shake his head. “Aw.”

“I missed nothing,” he said, snuggling you harder. You felt your mom pull back, the two them sharing a look for a beat before turning towards you. “Mom and I would like to discuss something with you.”

“It was something we were going to do to try and win you over,” she blushed, a wide smile spreading on his face. “But we’d still like to do it, with your permission of course.”

“Alright. What is it?”

You woke up the next morning in your old room which was quiet surprising as you distinctly recalled last being in the family room. When you trotted into the kitchen wearing a pair of old pajamas and your mom’s hoodie, you found your dad at the stove, humming lightly as he worked on a quiche.

“Morning,” you yawned, hopping up on the counter top and stealing his mug of coffee. You winced when you took a sip of the black coffee, a quiet chuckle slipping past his lips. “Cream.”

“Bad for your heart.”

“But it’s good for the soul which is good for the heart,” you said, taking another sip. “Besides, you put way too much in. It’s called a splash for a reason.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” he said, glancing down at himself. “I’m trying to bulk up if you couldn’t tell.”

“I thought you were just walking around in sweats and no shirt cause you had sex last night.” His eyes widened as you took a long drag of coffee, your grin growing behind the ceramic as he started and stopped a sentence more than once. “I’m not judging. It’s good to keep active in your senior years.”

“I’m fifty four you little shit,” he said, taking his mug away and knocking it back like a shot. He shook his head a few times, going back to the eggs in the bowl. “How do you even know that?”

“Mom got a little tipsy one night while doling out marriage advice,” you teased, watching him shudder. “Apparently you guys go at it like rabbits-”

“This is not a conversation that is happening at barely nine in the morning,” he said, JJ coming downstairs with messy hair and her usual morning pout. 

“Why are you talking so loud?” she whined. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Dad didn’t know we know about his morning after sex outfit,” you said, a pair of green narrowed eyes aimed in your direction.

“Really? It’s been obvious since I was like, eleven. You guys smash like, a lot-”

“Girls!” he said, ditching the whisk in the bowl of eggs, hands on his hips. “Enough!”

“Alright, alright,” you said, giving him a moment to relax. “Good for you for that it’s still working down-”

He grumbled and grabbed you off the counter with one arm, scooping up your sister in the other and carrying you out to the back porch. 

“What’d I do?” she asked as he set you down on the bench at the table, giving you both a stern look.

“You two haven’t spoken in nearly a month. Now talk,” he said, pausing at the back door. “For the record, your mother is right. Having regular fun with your partner is fun. And your mom thinks I look hot without my shirt on so there.”

“So does a margin of the population,” said JJ, shaking her head. “Something wrong with those people.”

“Agreed,” you said, getting a warning about getting no quiche before he left and shut the door after himself. The fan was on overhead offering a slight breeze in the warm morning air. She shifted away slightly, pursing her lips while she stared at the set plate in front of her. “I understand why you’re angry at me. I went radio silent on mom and dad and I get it. I hurt them and you didn’t understand why.”

“I knew why. We all did. The part we don’t understand is why would you assume mom and dad are going to ditch you too? We never did anything wrong to you and still you assumed we’d be like every other bad person in your life.”

“Because your sister has trauma, honey,” you heard from behind, a cup of slightly creamy looking coffee being set down in front of you. You turned, watching him rub her back as he put a cup of orange juice down for her. “It doesn’t disappear. It just gets quieter. Your sister’s got loud again and it takes time to make it shut it’s mouth.”

“She didn’t have to be such a jerk about it,” she mumbled. He glanced at you, a question in his eyes. You nodded with a smile, his hands resting on her shoulders as she sighed.

“You turn eighteen soon. Try to imagine if for your whole life, not a single person loved you. If mom’s screamed at you to wait on them hand and foot. If dad’s pushed you and hit you and made you afraid to sleep at night. If you were alone your whole life and then finally, right now, some family popped up and said, we’re not like those other guys. We pinky promise! That is a scar that doesn’t heal, kiddo. Your sister fights that feeling that we’ll turn on her like all the others have. She had a moment of weakness which she is more than entitled to. It’s our job to tell her we love her when that happens, not get angry with her. Understand?”

She nodded, glancing at you quickly. “Sorry. I forget stuff happened to you sometimes. You just act so normal.”

You knew your dad was giving you a smirk for that one without even looking. 

“Yeah. Most of the time I am, I guess.” You turned in your seat, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be making us quiche?”

“Ungrateful children,” he said, ruffling both of your heads. “You two relax and catch up. It’s going to be a bit.”

Ten minutes later you were getting a refill of coffee while your siblings were attempting to toss grapes in each mouth’s on the back porch. The quiche was in the oven and TJ would be down soon with the kids to enjoy a nice breakfast with everyone.

“Y/N,” said your dad, now wearing a light t shirt, his phone in hand as he exited his bedroom. “You still okay with mom and me doing that thing?”

“Yeah,” you said, chuckling when you heard her snore from the room. “Mom said letting your spouse sleep in sometimes is equally as healthy for a marriage.”

“That’s a pretty good one,” he laughed, tapping his phone a few times before putting it away. “Alright. It’s out in the world if you want to take a look.”

“Later. I trust you,” you said, bumping his arm. He ruffled your head once more before following you outside, clasping his hands together.

“Who’s team am I on?”

You laid in bed late that night, staring at your phone as you leaned back against TJ. 

“The post your dad put up was pretty touching,” he said, rubbing your shoulders. 

“It was. They’ve never hidden me but they’ve respected my privacy. But they wanted to do it as a gesture about how much I mean to them. My parents said they’ve never made a birthday post for me or adoption or anything like my siblings. They just wanted to put it out there how much I mean to them.”

“And the donation thing?” he asked. 

“I told them they had to wait until my birthday unless they were willing to put up a link to that fund that helps prospective adoptive parents with legal fees. So naturally they got that sorted out before dawn,” you laughed.

“Still. You could have taken the praise all for yourself for once you know,” he said, kissing the top of your head. 

“You know I don’t like to be gushed over,” you said, his hands swatting the phone away and instead wrapping around your waist. 

“Really? Never noticed,” he said, sliding out from behind to hover over top of you. You smiled, getting a peck on the nose. “You’re happy again. I like that.”

“Me too,” you whispered, closing your eyes when he kissed you gently. “Me too.”

________

A/N: Read the After Shocks Timestamp here!

#jensen x daughter!reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x daughter!reader #spn fanfic #jensen ackles fanfic #daughter!reader #daughter!reader series

[ladykailitha]

I would like to rant about something. It's been awhile since I've done that and it's been kinda bubbling under the surface for a long time.

Again: you can headcanon whatever the fuck you want, this just my "takes me out of a story" thing.

There have been a couple posts that I've seen going around lambasting people for using other names for Eddie then Edward (Edwin, Edison, Edmond etc) when it's on his missing poster as Edward Munson.

Only there is a couple things wrong with that.

One: Not everyone goes through every frame of the show and are actual causal viewers! I know, shocking! (heavy sarcasm here, folks) I personally had seen the missing poster gifed and screenshotted a billion times and never caught that they had his first and last name until someone pointed it out.

Two: it lists Eddie's age at 17. So how well can trust it, really? I know I've seen several takes from production getting the age wrong, to Wayne making him younger so people care, to Kas theory, to even Eddie being one of the kids that went missing before Will and his age is listed as what it would have been in 1983 (which could go either supernatural or Wayne just used the old missing poster from then).

So until there is something ELSE in the show that shows his name AS Edward, you can call him whatever you want, because canon just tells us that his name is Eddie.

So why am I bringing this up?

Because the people going around shouting this bit of information tend to also people who will use one or the other or even both of the next headcanons in their meta/fanfics.

1- Eddie CAN'T swim. This one always takes me out of the story when I see it because we have TWO on screen events that show him swimming. The first is the one most people forget. When Jason and his friends chase Eddie out onto the lake and he falls in. If he couldn't swim, dude would have DIED. But he makes it to Skull Rock. The second time is jumping after Steve. Trust as someone who can't swim, there is no way he would go jumping in after Steve if he couldn't. He would go back to shore and let the kids know what was going on.

So I tend to back out of a fic when I see it, because if you're off about that aspect of his character, I'm not sure I want to read further because what else might they get wrong about him.

2- This one is a doozy for me because it really makes me mad. When they say Wayne is Eddie's mom's brother.

"While all the other dads were teaching their kids to fish or to play ball...my old man was teaching me how to hotwire. Now I swore to myself I wouldn't wind up like he did, but now I'm wanted for murder and soon grand theft auto so...uh, yeah really living up to that Munson name."

Right, I had to transcribe the whole phrase because IMDb only had the hotwiring part. Because it's that last part that is so important to my point. Now I don't know if there are other ways to interpret that line, but if Wayne's last name is Munson and Eddie talks about living up to the Munson name...wouldn't the logic follow that Eddie's dad (named Allen Munson in the Stranger Things: First Shadow play and that's how I'll refer to him from now on to make it easier to type) is also a Munson? So if Wayne, Allen, and Eddie all share the same name wouldn't that make Wayne and Allen brothers?

Now, I think I know where this logic that Wayne is related to Eddie's mom and not his dad, is because how could sweet, hardworking Wayne be related to criminal, most likely in jail Al? Because I don't know who needs to hear this: but even growing up poor in a family that isn't known for its honest living (not that I think all the Munsons are like Al, by the way) one can still chose not to follow in those footsteps. Hell, Wayne could have even straightened up FOR Eddie.

Hell we know more about Eddie's dad then we do his mom. The only thing we know is that she isn't around to take care of Eddie. Dead, in jail, or just doesn't give a damn, she's not in Eddie's life.

So yeah, it upsets me because to me it smacks a little classist. Good guy Wayne can't be related to criminal Al *clutches pearls!* He absolutely is.

/end rant

#ladykailitha rants #stranger things #eddie munson #wayne munson #eddie munson's dad #meta #headcanon

[j-nope-not-today]

Ok, so I've got quite the doozy for you! how would each of the turtle brothers try and help their bro if one of them was getting married and they're trying to put together a wedding ceremony?

TMNT helping with their brothers wedding

A/n: thanks so much for requesting! I hope I got what you were imagining and sorry it took so long!

Raphael

Alright so for starters..he's gonna tease the all living hell out of his brother... doesn't matter who it is.

Their getting teased.

Then he's gonna throw in the sincere congratulations, but it's only gonna be him and said brother.

Raph isn't getting sentimental with anyone else around. No way

He isn't the best planner

Let's be so for real he'll probably need help from everyone else to plan any sort of wedding ceremony

The only thing you can guarantee he'll have done is his speech

Ohh..he's gonna have a bomb ass speech and he's definitely gonna have someone shedding tears

But despite his planning fallbacks he is really happy for his brother and I can definitely see him secretly crying at the wedding and defending himself with

"what? Did someone cut an onion?"

He's a softie..we all know it..but he's gonna act all tough.

Leonardo

Surprisingly I think Leo would be the life of the party..which hear me out

Yes he's all serious and leader-ish

But when it comes to his brothers wedding he lets loose

He plans the fuck out of the wedding

He goes all out with everything

It's definitely gonna fancy

One word..well two: chocolate fountain

Yeah.. that's right he's got one for the buffet table.

He'll invite everyone he absolutely can

It's gonna be a blast for everyone present

He's gonna freeze up on his speech though but float past it because he planned a great ceremony

And when the night winds down before his brother takes off with his new partner..

Leo is going to be shedding a tear and squeezing his bro in a death grip hug with the words

"I'm so proud of you.."

Donatello

Let's start off by saying he is very happy for his brother

But he isn't gonna be the best at showing it

Donnie can't really express his joy completely..he's weird like that

But he does put in a lot of effort to help plan the ceremony

He'll help with the banquet and who will sit where..

Donnie will take on the unfun planning stuff and plan it so his bro can be stress free

That's donnie's way of showing his happiness for his brother

He isn't gonna give a speech unless he's thrown into it

Then it's gonna be a stuttered mess of a speech but at least he's doing it

And he's probably gonna pull his brother to the side where no one can hear to tell him

"sorry if I'm being weird..it's just hard, because I'll see you less..and I don't know what to do without you around.."

It is then and only then that he'll crack a smile and hold his brother tight

Michelangelo

Mikey is HYPED

All caps because he is just so beyond happy for his brother

Though the planning of the ceremony is going to be absolutely hectic

He is chaos

So someone is going to have to keep him on track

Otherwise Mikey is honestly pretty good at planning

Though don't ask him why the buffet has like five different types of pizza

Because he doesn't know how that happened?

His speech is all over the place and he's crying in the middle of it

Full on crocodile tears

"I'm so happy for you..I can't wait to see you have little babies bro and i-"

He could go on and on all night

But he's truly super happy!

#teenage mutant ninja turtles x reader #tmnt 2014 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt imagine #tmnt x reader #tmnt donatello #tmnt mikey #tmnt leonardo #tmnt ralph

[hockeynoses]

rain on me (R/oy x Jam/ie)

Summary: Jamie is sick. He and Roy are cuddled up in bed, and Jamie can't really help himself and accidentally sneezes all over Roy's shirt.

Warnings: Mess! Especially towards the end. 1.3k.

-

Jamie has managed to catch himself a doozy of a cold, and Roy’s sitting in bed with him, keeping him company. They’re using their bedroom tv that’s usually hidden in a cabinet designed specifically to hide the garish monstrosity, and Roy only lets them use it for very special occasions. He does not want to become that couple that watches the telly in bed every night, thanks very much.

Jamie begs for them to watch some trashy reality show that Roy only knows about against his will. Roy reluctantly agrees. He’s quickly learning that he’s unable to deny Jamie anything when he’s this sick. Red-rimmed puppy dog eyes and a cute, pink, swollen nose will be his downfall.

They start watching sitting up in bed – Jamie with the hope that the upright position will help drain his sinuses, and Roy trying and failing to focus on his book. Jamie rests his head on Roy’s shoulder, only disrupted when he has to twist away every time a sneeze sneaks up on him. Roy has been trying to get him to be better about covering, but Jamie’s just too out of it, and too much of a spoiled mama’s boy for a 100% success rate.

After the first episode, they find themselves horizontal, snug under the covers. Roy’s arm is wrapped around Jamie’s shoulders and Jamie is latched onto his side, practically on top of him. His head rests on Roy’s shoulder. Roy catches Jamie’s eyes closing, his breath slowing as he fully relaxes into the embrace.

“Are you even watching anymore?” Roy asks in a low rumble.

“Yeah, mbate,” Jamie murmurs, and Roy can feel his warm breath through his shirt. “Jusdt leave it on. I like the sound.” He nuzzles further into Roy’s chest, rubbing his squishy, damp nose against the fabric in an attempt to quell an itch.

“Oi! You get snot on my shirt and I’ll make you run extra laps once you’re better.”

“I didn’t!” Jamie argues in a tone that Roy is well familiar with by now. Responding with nothing but a low growl, Roy lets it go.

The minutes pass in a drowsy haze. The rich girls on the screen are arguing about who got invited to what party in the background. Jamie gives a low moan of discomfort and slings a leg around Roy, wrapping him up tighter in his arms. Roy threads a hand through his hair, from the brown roots to the walnut-mist tips. His fingers brush Jamie’s forehead in a sly attempt to gauge his temperature - still too warm for his liking.

Jamie presses into the contact, always desperate for it, and gives a sleepy snuffle and a satisfied hum. His nose twitches, scrunching up, and Roy thinks, momentarily, that he looks like a cute little bunny, before realizing –

“heh…hih’AESSHHH’ih!” Jamie turns into his chest on instinct, spraying Roy’s black t-shirt with a warm, wet sneeze. The material that was in the line of fire turns an even darker shade of black.

“Jamie!”

“S-Sorreh- ehh… heh’ITTSHH’IEW!” This one is more of a glancing blow, wrenching through Jamie and misting Roy’s chest down to his stomach.

“Fuck!” Roy curses, then feels a little guilty as Jamie sits up, grasping for the tissue box he’d left on the bed behind him while his other hand covers the mess on his face.

“Shiiii-ihh- ih’TTSSHH!” A thick-sounding burst that adds to the mess in his hand. Locating the tissues, he pulls out one-two-three of them and buries his face in the bundle. The sound of his long, bubbling noseblow fills the room, until he’s interrupted mid-blow by a harsh, “huh’GGSSHH’IUE!” that fills the tissue to the brim.

He groans into the soiled cotton, finally looking over at Roy to assess the damage. Roy plucks at his shirt and knits his bushy eyebrows together.

“You’re on laundry duty for a week for that.”

Jamie tries his best puppy-dog eyes; he doesn’t have to put too much work into looking pathetic. “I can’t helb it, Roy! I’b sick!” As though any further proof is needed, he barely has time to yank a fresh kleenex from the box before a muffled, congested, “nngk’GSSHT!” gushes out of him.

Roy pins him with a flat, unamused look.

“I said I was sorreh!” Jamie pouts, looking like Rudolph with his chapped, damp nose. “Cadn we still cuddle? It was helbin’ me sleeb.”

“I’m not your own personal human tissue, Jamie.” Roy is determined to put up a protest, but he already knows he’s fighting a losing battle.

“If I don’t get good sleeb, how cadn I get- heh…eh’ERRSSSHSH’IEW! Ugh. How cadn I gedt bedder?”  He punctuates his question with a truly awful-sounding noseblow, filling the tissue with all the sludge that had been packed in his sinuses.

Roy growls again, rolling his eyes. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.” Jamie brightens as Roy lays back down. “Just try not to sneeze on me again.” Jamie looks at him like he’s just asked him to swim to China. It’s not gonna happen.

“Oh! I have an idea.” Looking pleased with himself, Jamie plucks a tissue from the box and delicately lays it flat across Roy’s pec. Roy arches a dark brow at him. Several more tissues follow, until Roy’s chest and shoulder are covered in a couple layers of thin, white cotton.

“There!” Jamie says proudly, admiring his handywork. His eyes flutter closed before he curls into his elbow with a chesty, “huh’KIISSHH’ah!” then comes back up, blinking and dazed.

“You’re such a muppet.” Roy’s voice is warm with reluctant affection.

“I’m bein’ considerate.” Jamie wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Those’ll protect your precious shirt. You kdnow, the onde you have thirty other versions of?”

“And yet somehow, they keep getting covered in the bodily fluids of a certain star striker.”

“You love idt,” Jamie says as he settles his head back down on Roy’s shoulder. Roy’s answering hum buzzes through him as Jamie wraps his limbs around him again. Strong fingers card through Jamie’s hair, light skritches that have him melting into the other man.

“Thaggs, babe.” Jamie gives him a squeeze.

“Mmhmm.” Roy brushes a kiss to the top of Jamie’s head.

The drone of the tv continues in the background, time passing hazy and slow. Jamie is almost lulled back to sleep when an itchy tingle springs to life in the back of his nose. His breath is uneven and he sucks in a sharp gasp - the only warning before he unleashes a dense shower of a sneeze across Roy’s torso. “hih’AEESSHHHUH!” The contents of which dapple the thin barrier of Kleenex.

Roy looks down. “The things I do for love,” he quips with a sigh.

Head swimming, Jamie can’t manage a response before gearing up for what’s sure to be a relentless fit. His chest expands against Roy as his breath hitches, muscles tensing as he’s racked with a full-bodied triple - “ehh…heh…Heh’GKSSHHTT!  iihhh…hih’IIISSHHHuu!  Gsh’HT’CCHHuh!” The clearing barrage leaves a sheer gloss of mess on his cupid’s bow. He hazily looks down and sees the tissues in front of him darkened with liquid, well on their way to being soaked through.

“I think we might need to-” Roy’s protests are interrupted when Jamie curls into him, possessed by another bout of punishing sneezes. He rolls forward, angling himself more on top of Roy, and buries his face into the thin layer of tissue coating Roy’s chest.

Roy, not knowing what else to do, holds Jamie through it with a strong hand pressed to his back.

“Hiiiih-ZZSSHHESSH!” Jamie’s frame shakes with it. “uh…huh-gkTSSHHuh!” The viscous mess of them starts to seep through Roy’s shirt, heating his skin. “kx’GSSHT!” Jamie groans, completely at the mercy of his own body.

He lifts his head, tendrils of mess tethering them together. Flushed and bleary-eyed, he says, “Shidt, I- iihhh…Hih’GSSHUH’IUE!”  The strength of it forces the hot stickiness straight through to Roy’s skin.

A whine scrapes from Jamie’s throat as he sinks back into Roy, exhausted.

“It’s okay, love, just relax,” Roy says, resigning himself to a soaked shirt and a long night.

#snz fic #snz fics #snzfic #snzfics #snzblr #jam/ie ta/rtt